"Thank you for your efforts, surely you are a brave and courageous reporter and I admire your values. But these subjects do not belong in our newspaper”

"Paper. Pens. Ink. Instructional manuals in German.” What else? Becca casts her mind back to her classroom in Izmir, so painstakingly furnished. “A globe.”

A globe was not, strictly speaking, necessary, but there’s something about a globe that both depicts the vastness of the world and the fact that it can be cradled into two cupped hands.

“Feather pillows,” Emmy says. “Sheets, blankets, beds, comfortable chairs.”

Sarah lifts her hand from the paper, sets down her pen, and shakes her wrist. She blows on the page to dry the ink; thick, cream notepaper, embossed with the symbol of the Prague Women’s Charity Foundation: a Magen David intertwined with the double-tailed lion of Bohemia. She looks around at them.

“Letters of approbation from the rav, as well as various prominent members of the community.”

Becca opens her eyes wide and nods at Sarah. “A job of the utmost importance, Sarah. I would only trust you with such a task. I have no doubt that you’ll be able to present them both the need and the solution in a way that will not fail to arouse their sympathy.”

Sarah throws her a sharp look. The woman never quite knows if Becca is serious or making fun of her, and the result is mildly entertaining. Sarah is not used to being unsure of herself.

“Are you reluctant to undertake this?” Becca asks. “We can divide up the work differently, if you should want.”

Sarah picks up her pen. “I know perfectly well how to allocate tasks, thank you. I’ve spent years playing to people’s strengths.”

Becca holds up her hands. “Well, we cannot hold up a candle to your experience.” She looks at Sarah, whose expression has become as stiff as one of the hats she favors and inwardly sighs.

“Gertrude,” Becca calls. There’s a clatter of pots in the kitchen, so she must be here, somewhere, although Gertrude maintains that as housekeeper, rather than servant, she is not bound to heed their requests. “Gertrude!”

She appears. “A pot of tea, please, for our esteemed guest. And perhaps something a little stronger to ward off the winter cold.”

She hopes Gertrude will bring Ernst’s sherry. To help them stop yapping at each other like lap dogs whose mistresses do not get along. Becca catches sight of Raizel, gliding from one room to another like a ghost.

“What we need most of all is…”

“Money,” Emmy says.

“Four walls,” Sarah says.

Money. The director of the Alliance never seemed to worry about money. His budget appeared endless, but then, every evening he seemed to have another dinner party that necessitated a bowtie and tailcoat and sparkling conversation with the wealthy and notables in Paris. And there was no shortage of Jews there who came to immerse themselves in high culture.

But who are they? One housewife (admittedly, Sarah was not simply the average frau), and two girls. Spirited and ambitious, but without money or connections or even a real status in the world.

She hopes Gertrude will bring the sherry.