“I trust you heard?” said Frumkin.

“About the fight?”

Moshe Dovid scoffed. “The attack, more like. Issur tells me that wild beast of a boy jumped on him out of nowhere. My fine new hat is ruined, my son’s nose broken….”

Yehuda Leib’s guts squirmed at the injustice of Issur’s story, but at the same time, he was pleased he’d managed to break Issur’s nose.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Moshe Dovid,” said the rabbi.

“You’re always sorry,” Frumkin said.

“Yes,” said the rabbi. “I suppose I am.”

The butcher stepped closer. “But the situation isn’t getting any better, Rabbi. Something needs to be done.”

The rabbi nodded. “And what do you suggest?”

“Well,” said Moshe Dovid. “I caught up with that schlepper Yankl, and I asked him about Avimelekh.”

Avimelekh. There was that name again. Yehuda Leib had almost forgotten it in all the excitement.

“He says,” continued Frumkin, “that Avimelekh has racked up some heavy gambling debts. He’s set on coming to Tupik today or tomorrow—before the Rebbe’s wedding. Says he can get a good amount of money finding conscripts for the Tsar’s army. Now, would it be such a terrible thing if we just let him have the boy?”

The rabbi tugged at his beard and nodded again slowly. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I think it would be.”

Moshe Dovid sighed again, so loudly it was almost a word. “You can’t keep protecting him like this.”

“I don’t see why not,” said the rabbi.

“Because,” said Frumkin, “it’s just a matter of time. It’s in his blood.”

“What is?”

“You know what, Rabbi. And it’s going to come out. Let Avimelekh take him off our hands.”

“I think,” said the rabbi, with a sigh of his own, “that it would be best for you to look to your own house, Moshe Dovid. The way I heard it told, it was your little wild beast who did the attacking. Good evening.”

Yehuda Leib grinned.

At least someone was on his side.

But something was still bothering him.

Let Avimelekh take him off our hands.

It was growing dark. He should be getting home.

Chapter Two: Crossing Over

Shulamis was bent over the fire when Yehuda Leib pushed through the front door, and she turned at the sound of his voice.

“Mama?”

Shulamis stood, consternation gathered around her shoulders like a heavy shawl.

“I heard what happened this morning.”

She opened her mouth to scold, but there was a question burning in Yehuda Leib, and he blurted it out before she could begin.

“Mama,” he said. “Who’s Avimelekh?”

Shulamis stiffened.

Yehuda Leib did not know what he’d expected, but this was not it. Despite the popping of the fire and the rolling boil of the potato water, it felt as if all the sounds in their little house had fled in fear of the word he’d just pronounced.