soon, I mouth. But then I realize it’s not just anyone, it’s Miriam. Her face is white as a sheet.
“Miriam?”
“My sister,” she whispers, a mixture of stunned and elated. “I think I have found the right hospital.”
“You found… oh, Miriam, that’s wonderful!”
“Can I, when you are finished?” She reaches her hand out toward the telephone. “Outside, they say I could skip the line.”
“Yes, yes, of course!” I exclaim. “I’m hanging up right now!” I grab her outstretched hand, and she takes mine and jostles it in excitement.
“My sister!” she says again, now holding my hand with both of hers as we jump up and down.
“Miss Lederman?” The tinny, distant voice of the clerk in Berlin reminds me that I still have the phone pressed to my ear. “Miss Lederman, are you still there?”
“I’m still here, I’m still here,” I assure him. “I’ll try calling back next week, just as you said. Thank you.”
When I hang up, I pass the telephone to Miriam. She takes a deep breath before picking up the receiver, calming herself, smoothing down her red hair. Her index finger shakes as she starts to dial. I think about staying, but then remember how when I’d returned to Sosnowiec, I’d wanted my reunion with Abek to be private. Miriam gives me one last terrified, joyful look as someone picks up on the other end.
“Good luck,” I whisper, slipping out the door.
When I leave Mrs. Yost’s office, I don’t leave the building. Instead, I walk down the hall to the empty room that is going to become the library. What I’d really love is a fashion magazine, a thick one, with advertisements from ladies’ clothing stores to give me ideas for Breine’s dress or at least confirm that my own ideas aren’t hopelessly out of date. I haven’t worn a new dress in five years. I haven’t set foot in a decent shop in longer, not since the Germans took over our factory. I would like to sit down the way I once did with my father, turning pages slowly, learning how to anticipate trends, what kinds of fabrics we might need to order more of.
But the library isn’t finished yet: There’s a drop cloth on the floor, the acrid odor of fresh paint clinging to the walls. Boxes, of books I assume, are piled in the middle of the room, but I don’t feel I should open them.
I step outside and hear the clicking of footsteps: Breine rushing toward me. “There you are!” She grabs my hands. Hers are still dirty under the nails; she hasn’t been to the room yet to wash them. “I have good news. My uncle’s train hasn’t had as many delays as we expected. I just got a telegram; he should be here tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow?”
“Isn’t that amazing? In a few days, I’ll be married!”
“Breine, your dress.” I panic. “I’m not very far on it yet. I was just going to look for a magazine to get ideas, but I have hours’ worth of work left.”
“I know you’ve been busy.”
And I have been busy, but that’s not the only reason I’m behind. The few times I’ve sat down with the material, my hands have been wooden. I think part of me doesn’t want to. Sewing a dress is moving forward with my life. Sewing a dress would be healing, which is why the nurses tried to get me to pick up a needle and thread when I was sitting in my hospital bed. Sewing a dress would be a betrayal. Wouldn’t it? Should I be allowed to move forward before I’ve found my brother?
“I’ll go start it again right now,” I tell her.
“You don’t have to go right this very second. Come eat first.”
“No, I don’t want to put it off any longer, and I also wanted to ask around for a better needle.”
“We’ll ask the other girls at dinner,” she insists, pulling me toward the door. “However good you are, I bet I’ll thank myself later for not letting you sew on an empty stomach.”
In the dining hall, our regular corner doesn’t look as it usually does: Instead of one small table, several have been pushed together, with twelve or fourteen people sitting elbow to elbow.
“Meeting night,” Breine apologizes. “I forgot; I’m sorry. You’ll just have to sit through our talking for a few minutes at the beginning.”
I recognize a few of the new occupants, vaguely, as the ruddy, healthy-looking people Breine and Chaim work with in the fields every day. Chaim’s front-room housemate