She was sobbing now, and her tears mingled with the water running over her. It took all her strength to wash her hair and brush the oil through it. Exhausted, in pain, and craving the inviting bed with its pink cover, she skipped the lemon treatment.

Upon returning to her room, Batya found a tray of warm food. The knish stuffed with chopped meat was like her mother’s, only meatier. The fatty soup was thickened with red beans, but its spices stung her mouth. The grainy bread was fresh, and the chicken must have been cooked in a coal oven, as it carried its savory smoke flavor. Root vegetables she didn’t recognize were heaped next to it, and when Batya tasted each, wary of the hot spice that had suffused the soup, they turned out to be delicious.

She had just lain down when a short, squat woman with dark skin, scraggy hair, and eyes buried under sagging lids brought her a slice of cinnamon cake and a cup of fragrant tea. No milk, of course. At least breaking this rule of kashrut wasn’t one more sin on Batya’s list. After she swallowed the cake, Batya prayed again. “God, please make sure that one day soon I’ll share the bounty of such food with my parents, Koppel and Zelda, and my sisters Keyla and Surale.” She would never mention Hedi the ghost along with the names of the living, or she’d draw the evil eye to them. “Instead of my next meal, I ask that, in Your mighty power, You take my tray and fly it to them. I would be forever grateful. Amen.”

It was still light outside, and the house was filled with music and laughter, not crying like in Nina’s house. Batya closed her eyes, dejected but curious about this new world. Had it been less than four weeks since she’d left Komarinoe? She hugged her pillow, trying to ignore the pulsating pain in her abdomen and praying that her parents would know the hug was meant for them.

Chapter Eighteen

The next morning, after Batya’s breakfast, a big-boned woman entered her room without knocking. Her hair was tied in a top bun so tight it pulled smooth the wrinkles around her eyes and on her forehead, while the bottom of her face remained grooved and slack.

“So you are the new girl? I hear that you’re very sick.” She sniffed as if testing the air in the room.

Batya sat up. This must be Freda.

“You’re still a child.” Freda’s eyes raked Batya’s body, then she tilted her head sideways as if assessing her. “Will you give me any trouble?”

Batya shook her head.