The back of the hairbrush on the table featured a graceful maiden in a white gauzy dress. A virginal dress. Batya couldn’t twist away from the shame as she brushed her hair and rebraided it. It was absurd—even blasphemous—to give a picture the power to embarrass her, she told herself. Yet her own face reflecting in the mirror seemed different, more angular. Her becoming a woman showed for the whole world to see.

The maid returned to help her with the light-blue taffeta dress, buttoning it up in the back. Stroking the rich folds of a skirt the color of the sky, Batya recalled that she had imagined such a dress for Queen Esther. She was already living the life of a wealthy matron, a woman who couldn’t dress without help.

As the maid laced the silk cord at the front under the chest, Batya looked down. Her breasts had budded the previous year but had been hidden under the layers of her blouse, pinafore, and the bib of her apron. This bodice made them seem fuller.

The maid left the room, and Batya sat on the chair to wait for Grabovsky, her shoulders hunched to minimize her chest.

Chapter Twelve

The ship jolted as it detached from the pier. A deep, distant rumble rose, and like a Leviathan, the ship turned slowly. Batya held on to the sides of the chair as a low hum vibrated through the walls. She lifted her skirt and climbed on her bed to look out. The lights on the pier were receding, while more ships glided into view, their hundreds of windows lit as though the starred night sky had fallen into the water.

Soon, those ships, too, were left behind.

A sense of desolation enveloped Batya. She was sailing to America all alone.

Only when they were in open sea, with nothing left to see outside but tar-like darkness, did Grabovsky return for her.

He crooked his finger. “Come,” he ordered, not waiting for her as he marched away into the corridor.

Batya stood. The floor shifted beneath her, and she grabbed the bed for stability, then took careful steps through the cabin and braced herself against the doorframe. Grabovsky was already far ahead, so she closed the door behind her and hurried after him. She bounced against the wall, then regained her balance, only to bounce against another, as she followed him along the hallway, up a flight of steps, through another corridor.

In spite of his bulk, Grabovsky moved briskly. Batya’s legs tangled in her petticoats, making it hard to keep up with him. Finally she caught her breath when he stopped in front of a pair of glass doors guarded by twin uniformed footmen. He lifted Batya’s right hand onto his left arm, then placed his right hand over her fingers, locking her hand in place.