It was worse, she was in danger, and all at once she connected what she’d seen at Willa’s house with what might happen to her tomorrow. She held Leah close and stared into the fire. Would it smash her head like it did Willa’s, or would it tear it off completely? “Oh my god,” she whispered, while Kaye watched. “Oh my God.”

“Rachel, please. Tell me,” Kaye said.

“I can’t. But you have to help me anyway. Please, oh please . . .”

“I’ll find a mikveh,” Kaye said.

They almost missed the driveway for the Temple Ben Zion mikveh in Armonk. There were lights in the building, and Rachel heard voices. They walked into the lobby as two women came out with their wet hair covered by damp silk scarves. They were putting on diamond rings and replacing earrings and bracelets. Their clothes were stylish and their faces looked fresh even though they weren’t­­­­ young. They stopped when they saw Rachel and Kaye and Leah, and nodded shyly.

“Some crowd tonight,” one said.

“We’re new,” Rachel told them. “I . . . we . . .”

They both waited.

“I’m not sure what to do,” Rachel said. They looked at each other and she expected them to say something smart and rush away. But the older of the two, who was wearing a bright orange, loose-­fitting dress, asked gently, “Are you a convert?”

“No,” Rachel said, “I’m Jewish. I have to be purified, that’s all.” A sudden case of corruption, she thought, smiling at the women.

The women looked at each other.

“She’s Rachel Levy,” Kaye said quickly, “and she’s driven all the way from Long Island. She needs help, so . . . help. What can it cost you?”

The older one smiled and said in Yiddish, “Only a little time,” and led them through a door at the far end of the lobby and down a long hall lined with cubicles covered with flowered drapes. Rachel thought of the thing waiting behind another flowered curtain, and she had to stop because the fear that first brought tears to her eyes now paralyzed her.

“Are you all right?” the older woman asked. Rachel nodded and followed them. They passed an open door and through it Rachel saw a pool that looked like any swimming pool, but there was no chlorine smell. Wonderful, she thought. If that thing doesn’t kill me, I’ll die of typhoid.

She held open a curtain on one of the cubicles for Rachel. “Take off all your clothes,” she said. “There’re clean sheets on a shelf, wrap yourself in one. Do you have a fine comb?”

“I have a plain comb.”

“A fine comb’s better. You can use mine.” She fished a tortoise-­shell comb with tiny teeth set close together out of her purse and handed it to Rachel.

“Thank you . . .” Rachel hesitated.