Free Trafficked by Kim Purcell

Petru and Valeria, but they don’t have room for you too. If you stay, you may have to move to the village alone,” Olga said.
    The village? She was a city girl; Babulya always teased her about wearing gardening gloves when they pulled up the carrots.
    â€œUnless you plan to marry?” Olga asked.
    Hannah shook her head. Not anymore.
    Olga bought a bag of carrot salad and dipped her finger in to taste it. Hannah rushed to give her a plastic fork, embarrassed that she’d forgotten and Olga had had to use her fingers. A small voice inside said that it wasn’t very good manners to use your fingers, but she ignored it.
    â€œMmm,” Olga said. “This is good. But do you really want to spend your life making carrot salad in the village and bringing it to the market every day? Or shall I tell them you are interested in starting an exciting life in Los Angeles?”
    Hannah’s voice croaked. “Los Angeles?”
    Olga gave her a queenly smile and nodded.
    This was the first time anyone had said Los Angeles. It sounded too good to be true. She could run on the beach and feel the wet sand between her toes, like she’d seen in the movies. She’d never been to an ocean before, and she’d always wondered what it smelled like.
    â€œThey’ll pay four hundred American dollars every week.” Olga paused to let it sink in. “What do you think?”
    Four hundred dollars?
“It sounds wonderful,” Hannah said, though she was having a hard time believing it might really happen. “I’ll have to talk to my babushka, though,” she added, knowing Babulya wouldn’t want her to go. She’d already lost her husband and two of her children.
    Olga frowned. “Perhaps you are not so interested.”
    Hannah rushed to reassure her. “No, I am. Really.”
    â€œWe need time to get the documents ready for your travel. You can tell me tomorrow?”
    Hannah hesitated, noting how Olga was pressuring her. “That’s pretty soon.”
    Olga continued, “I am doing a favor for Valeria, but you know, if it is not for you . . .”
    Hannah told herself that she shouldn’t be so paranoid. Valeria knew Olga, and this was a job in America. Not Turkey. Not Israel. Not anywhere in the Middle East.
    â€œOkay,” she said. “Tomorrow.”
    â€œGood,” Olga said brightly, and gave her a wide smile. It was a smile of victory, a smile that made Hannah worry she might have lost somehow.
    But before she had much time to think of it, Katya came up to the booth. “Hi,” she said, looking curiously at Olga, running her hand back casually over her blonde hair.
    Hannah introduced them, and Olga gave Katya a long look before saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hannah!”
    Hannah told Katya, and of course Katya thought it was a crazy idea. She said Olga seemed sketchy to her, but Hannah figured it was just that her friend didn’t want to lose her.
    That night, when Hannah was having her tea with her babushka, Hannah asked her if it was true about the eviction notice.
    Babulya nodded. “We will do something. Don’t worry. How did you learn of this?”
    Hannah told her about Olga.
    â€œValeria told me about this possibility.” Babulya nodded and pursed her wrinkled lips. “Do you want to go, my girl?”
    Hannah shrugged. “They’re going to pay four hundred dollars a week. It’s America.”
    Babulya looked out the window into the courtyard fourteen stories below them for a long time. Then she tightened her bright purple and yellow scarf around her neck. “A stone cannot roll if it is planted to the ground. America will be good for you.” She smiled her toothless grin, her face cracking into a hundred wrinkles so deep that it looked like the outside of a walnut shell.
    It took only two weeks for Olga to prepare Hannah for the trip. She helped her get her passport, gave her new