Free All Other Nights by Dara Horn

his father’s colleagues wore in New York. They barely wore any face powder, and their shoes were battered and old. But even in their unstylish clothes, Jacob thought, any of the three of them would have made the ladies he had met in New York envious. The three girls smiled at him modestly, one of them even blushing as Rose let out a hiccup. He remembered his mission and stared at them all in disbelief. Was he really looking at a ring of spies? He had expected some sort of hint, in a gesture or a glance—subtle perhaps, but unmistakable enough to erase his doubts—of ambition, calculation, evil. But there was nothing of the sort. These were simply Philip Levy’s daughters. And they were beautiful. He swallowed, fighting down fear.
    Eugenia was the last in the row. All four girls looked quite a bit alike, even the little one, but Eugenia immediately caught his attention. Her hair was wilder than her sisters’, tamped down by at least six pins and ribbons that he could see. The two sisters standing beside her had avoided looking directly at him, but she looked straight at his face, with deep brown eyes so intense that he could not look away even if he had wanted to. She was smiling, but there was something odd about her smile. Her expression puzzled him until he saw that she was trying not to laugh.
    Embarrassed, he tried to speak. “The pleasure is mine,” he said, in far too loud a voice, and then, stupidly, bowed to Eugenia again.
    This time Rose, standing alongside her sisters with her father’s hands on her low shoulders, burst into giggles. Jacob turned to look at her, then at the other girls, and watched in bewilderment as all of them but Eugenia began snorting, struggling not to laugh out loud. Several agonizing seconds passed before he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the opposite wall and noticed that he was wearing one of Eugenia’s hair ribbons.
    He grabbed at it with clumsy hands, his scalp stinging as he pulled it off his head. How on earth had she done it? His face was burning, but he knew that shame was not an option. It was his assignment to be a gentleman at all costs, even if it meant playing the fool. He turned to Eugenia, and forced a smile.
    “My dear Miss Levy,” he said, as he held the ribbon out to her in the palm of his sweating hand, “I do hope you will accept this small token of my new affection.”
    He was proud of this reply, and even prouder that her sisters finally laughed out loud. The chorus of female laughter sounded to him like a round of applause. Eugenia smiled back at him, a friendly smile. He looked at her, still encouraged by her sisters’ laughter, and felt suddenly at ease.
    But his pride couldn’t last. Eugenia curtsied again, and spoke. “Gladly, Mr. Rappaport,” she sang. Hers was an actress’s voice: clear, distinct, presumptuous. “But only if you will allow me to repay you.”
    She reached into the bosom of her dress. Jacob glanced at her father, who was checking his pocket watch, before allowing himself to admire the shadowed curve of her skin as she slipped her fingers beneath the dress’s neckline. He was still captivated by this display when she suddenly withdrew her hand, flourishing it before his eyes. And that was when he saw that she was holding his own wallet.
    He stood there flabbergasted as she opened the wallet and removed a two-dollar Rebel bill, which she then dangled in front of his nose so that he was looking at Judah Benjamin’s lithographed face. “I suspect you will agree that this is worth far more than that token of your affection, even with the current currency depreciation,” she said. “But for your troubles, Mr. Rappaport, I do hope you will accept it.”
    Jacob was speechless. He looked at Eugenia again, then at her laughing sisters. Eugenia reached toward his stock-still open hand, helped herself to her ribbon, and placed both the bill and the wallet in his frozen palm. “We hope you will join us for supper,” she