She lay still, watching the ceiling, then the snow that blew against the window. She asked him when she could see the baby, and he said he didn’t know. Then she asked where Golda was, and he told her Golda was with Jacob. His voice was soft, and she knew he was trying to sound kind. They didn’t say anymore to each other and she tried to fall asleep. She closed her eyes but couldn’t forget he was there; she even thought of trying to get out of bed, when the door opened and she saw Jacob. He threw his arms wide and shouted so loud nurses came running down the hall.

“It’s a little girl, Rachel. The prettiest baby in the whole world.”

Rachel and Levy learned how to take care of the baby together. Golda showed them how to bathe her and she recommended brands of powder, paper diapers, cotton, baby oil, even though she’d never had a baby herself. She said she’d read a lot, so they listened to her. They called the little girl Leah. She was born with hair, which was thick and black, and curly by the time she was three months old. Her eyes turned hazel, then brown. She didn’t get fat enough to suit Levy, and he worried, even after the doctor said she was fine.

On Fridays, Rachel lit the Sabbath candles according to Jacob’s instructions. She shielded her eyes against the glow the way he taught her, and with him and Leah watching, she held her hand flat and waved it around and between the flames in an odd Eastern gesture, the meaning of which was lost, but Jacob said women did it anyway.

She cooked, kept the house, helped Levy in the store in the afternoons with Leah in her playpen next to the cash register. She played cards on Tuesdays, went to the movies on Saturday with Golda or Barbara Fineman, and thought that it would have been a good year if she could sleep nights.