No, she didn’t. She felt both her eyes and nose running, smearing her makeup. It no longer mattered. What was important now was to convince him to take her away from here. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and clutched his arm. “I must tell you what happened. It’s not my fault—I was beaten and locked up and—”

“But you’re all right now, right?” The sound of his familiar, honeyed voice warmed her heart. “Have you been well-fed, as I promised?”

“Yes, but— No!” she cried out. “Let me explain—”

“My dear, everything will be all right now.”

She tried to control the panic in her voice. “I understand why you no longer want to marry me, but I beg you to take me to your sister’s house. I’ll be a good maid. You saw how I worked at the tavern.” Her voice was shrill to her own ears.

“Shhhhhhh. Listen to me.” He pulled her into the office where the Professor had written the letters, put both arms on her shoulders, and looked deep into her eyes. “I’ve had a business reversal. I owe money. Would you mind helping me?”

“Me?” She was relieved that he talked to her, that he wasn’t shunning her. He even sought her help! “Anything.”

“Good. Stay here, then.”

“Stay here? In this house of prostitution?” At that moment—one she would recall many times later—it dawned on her that many of the sisters had greeted him. They knew him. He knew this place well. Yet, shouldn’t it be expected from a healthy man still searching for a bride?

He touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Just for a while, until I get my affairs in order.”

The genial smile, the concern in his eyes, hadn’t dimmed. Did he believe that she was like the rest of these women? He knew that she had come from a good home—poor but decent, where both her parents had been lucky to still be alive. How could he wish her to be a prostitute?

Batya’s head was buzzing. Of all the scenarios she’d churned in her imagination, none had involved Reb Moskowitz knowing what would happen to her. Even now, her mind refused to accept what it was telling her. Reb Moskowitz couldn’t have initiated her kidnapping. Of course he couldn’t have. Yet— “Where’s that rich sister of yours?” she asked.

“Freda is my sister. Hasn’t she been teaching you, just as I promised?”

Batya swatted away the hand resting on her shoulder and stepped back from him, her palms rising in front of her to fend off the evil eye. Her throat constricted. “You knew?” she whispered, still hoping he would deny it.