Free Another Eden by Patricia Gaffney

incessantly in Russian and Yiddish and German. "She's not here," Sara said, but Alex touched her shoulder and pointed.
    "There?"
    Sara squinted through the dense smoke into the darkest corner and saw her. Alone at a tiny table, staring straight down, stiff arms wound around each other, hands clutched between her knees. "Tasha," she breathed, and moved toward her.
    Alex kept his distance and made no attempt to overhear their low-voiced conversation. No one paid any attention to him; even the white-aproned proprietor left him alone. He observed the girl named Natasha Eminescu and made out in the murk that she was young, probably not even twenty, dark-haired, with heavy-lidded black eyes and full lips. She had a generous figure, almost voluptuous, but strangely small hands, short-fingered and graceless. After returning Sara's first quick, hard embrace, she huddled back into herself and kept her head down while they spoke.
    "Where did this happen to you? Tasha, I know it's hard but you must talk about it. Please." She touched the side of the girl's face gently. "Tell me."
    Mumbling, not looking at her, Tasha said, "It happened in the alley beside my building, where I Eve."
    "Tell me what happened."
    "I was late coming home today because I didn't finish my piecework on time and Mr. Lehman said I must do it or I would lose my rate."
    "Yes. And so—?"
    "So I stayed late and—the man, he was waiting for me. Hiding in the alley, in the dark." She stopped again, holding herself very still. "He grabbed me. He put his hand over my mouth, hard, so I couldn't scream." She touched her fingers to her lips gingerly, as if they hurt. When she started to cry, Sara put a hand on her shoulder.
    "Did you see him?"
    "No. Too dark, and he pushed me down. From behind. I couldn't move. Then he—did it. Talking the whole time. And when he finished—" She broke off, choking. Sara held tight. She had to whisper the rest. "He said it was just the first time, that he would have me again and again, as often as—" She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
    Sara felt hot and cold horror rush through her. She glanced up, searching for Alex, and he was beside her immediately. She reached for his hand and squeezed it, fighting for her own composure. "Tasha," she said, stroking the bent head, "this man is Mr. McKie, he's a friend of mine." She wouldn't look up. "He brought me here, and he's going to go home with us now."
    She jerked up at that. "I cannot go back there! Please, I'm so scared, I can't—"
    "No, no, you don't have to go there. You'll come to my house tonight and stay with me until we decide what's best to do."
    Tasha's huge eyes filled. She seized Sara's hand and kissed it, wetting it with her tears. "Oh, Mrs. Cochrane," she began, then lapsed into a fast, voluble combination of languages Sara couldn't understand. The outburst of gratitude went on until her embarrassment was so acute, Sara drew her hand away and spoke almost sternly.
    "Enough now, Tasha. Come, let's get away from here." She stood up. To Alex she said, "Do you think you could find us a cab?" He shook his head; he had no intention of leaving them alone. "Not around here, I don't think. Come with me, we'll look for something on Third." Tasha got up shakily. Sara put her arm around her waist and the two women went outside, Alex following.
    There were no hansoms in sight on Third Avenue. They waited on the busy, teeming corner, staring southward, Tasha speechless, Alex and Sara saying little to each other. At last they gave up and caught a horse car, riding it in silence all the way uptown.
    Inside the house, Sara told Alex she was going to take Tasha upstairs. "You've been so kind, I can't thank you enough. If you like, I'll call you—"
    "I'll wait."
    "No, honestly, there's no—"
    "I'd like to wait."
    She was unspeakably grateful. "All right. I'm not sure how long I'll be. Thank you very much." A maid appeared in the hall; Sara asked her to come upstairs with her and Tasha.