Free The Little Bride by Anna Solomon Page B

They hadn’t been peers exactly. Faga had been older and stronger. And now Minna was going off to start a new life while Faga continued her old one, washing clothes, albeit in a new place. Faga had heard all about Minna’s house, with its running water and comfortable bed and even—possibly! Minna had added, for accuracy’s sake, because Faga seemed to trust her—possibly even a servant. So it seemed natural that Faga might be a little jealous.
    “I’m going this way,” Faga said, pointing toward the city.
    “I’m waiting here. He’s supposed to meet me here.”
    Faga touched a finger to Minna’s cheek. She smiled. It was a gentle smile for such a large woman. And Minna understood. Faga wasn’t jealous. She simply wanted for Minna what Minna wanted for herself, and didn’t want to get in the way.
    “Don’t worry,” Faga said. “You’re worried, don’t worry. Just keep your eyes up, that you’ll see the handsome man.” Then she walked away, her chin high, her dress jangling with spoons.

EIGHT

    M INNA Losk.”
    Hearing her name, whole, confused her. It sounded like a cousin’s name might—related to her, but distantly. She stood still, in the spot where she’d been instructed to stand, waiting to hear it again.
    “Minna?”
    The voice was deep. The man who appeared before her was short and thick. His nose was broad and bulbous. He wore a strange hat, perfectly round, and a collar without a collar: it simply ended, like a ledge, at his neck.
    “I’m not Max,” he said, and smiled as if to reassure her.
    “Who’s Max?”
    “Max Getreuer. Your husband. Husband-to-be.”
    Minna was indeed reassured. Though the name Max struck her as a bit small—gone as soon as it was said, leaving an itch in the back of the mouth. “Then who are you?” she asked.
    “Jacob.” He held out a plump hand. “I was sent by Max to fetch you. Fetch. An English word, do you know any English? No? We’ll stick to Yiddish, then—for now. They said you were fair—and here you are. Shake hands, shake hands. Don’t make me look a fool.”
    Minna gave him her hand, which Jacob proceeded to pump up and down. His voice, she heard, was growing higher, and up close she saw that his beardlessness was not a result of having shaved. His skin was nearly as smooth as hers, with a faint smudge above his lip as though he’d been rubbed with coal. He was a boy, probably younger than she.
    “Where is Max?” she asked.
    “Oh, he’s not such a keen traveler. Do you know that one, keen —no, of course not. And he’s busy, Max. Very busy.”
    Jacob grinned as if he’d made a joke. Behind him, Minna saw the quiet girls whose fathers or brothers or husbands had not yet come for them being gathered together by a woman in a feathered hat, who was calling, “Clean rooms! Clean rooms!” The woman’s boots were pointed, and polished; her dress was wide with petticoats; she held a parasol against the sun. Minna guessed the woman was either entirely legitimate, or else a kidnapper. “Come, girls!” she trilled. “Come with me, clean rooms! Do not be led astray!”
    “How far are we traveling?” she asked.
    “Not far.” Jacob grinned again. “Far. Four days—maybe five.” He saw Minna’s alarm. “It’s not so bad, you’ll see, if you like that sort of thing.”
    “What sort of thing?”
    “Oh. The world, I guess. You look uncertain. Well. No one except me is ever certain about anything. The train leaves in an hour. Are you hungry?”
    Minna laughed—at the boy, at the absurdity of his question. Her legs felt suddenly weak. The stones beneath her swelled and rocked. She looked out beyond the arrival station—Castle Garden, they called it, as if here one could be processed and stamped into nobility—and saw NewYork City. It was dark, compared to Odessa, and tall. The mouths of the streets looked like tunnels.
    “There’s anything you could want, all sold off carts. Sausages, rolls, nuts, coffee. Every street a market.