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“Did you not hear me first time? Away with you, I said.”
“Please, sir, I... I can do anything. I don’t mean to go against you, or bother you so, it’s just… I need work, any work. Is there really nothing I can do?”
He ran his gaze critically over her again. “No. A young woman, who cannot wash or mend? There is no use for you here, or anywhere. I am small shop, I cannot afford charity.”
She bit her lip. He turned away, muttering something in Russian under his breath, and any remaining courage she might've had crumbled. “Y-yes... I understand.”
A few gentlemen were checking out the hats in the glass display at the storefront, but they didn’t even look over when she shuffled out the front door. Why should they? Pelem Street was teeming with people this time of day— people more important than her.
When she and Stroganov had first arrived, they’d seen that as an advantage. They’d hoped that nobody would ask questions about another orphan appearing in one of the overflowing tenements, and certainly, looking at the roves of children wandering the street now, there was nothing particularly strange about one little girl dressed in a too-big coat, staring at wagons of things she could not afford.
It was not the fruit or sweetmeats that she eyed with envy, however. It was the people behind them
Never before had she seen alleys so twisted, so crowded, or buildings so tall or dreary, as in this city. New York in the autumn was damp and cold, its wide gray streets filled with all the motion and none of the friendliness. She’d been told she might find some camaraderie here. Yet she watched a man shout out his wares at the top of his lungs, his hand at one corner of his mouth in the American fashion, and she could not help a deep misery. To her these people seemed as untouchable as the American women in diamond necklaces and coiffed hairs, as the men with tailored suits and gentlemens’ sneers; as much a part of this city as the brownstone tenements looming over the streets and the stench of manure faint in the air. If not for the occasional Russian, she wouldn’t have guessed that they’d ever belonged anywhere else.
She’d been told that the Lower East Side was for people like her. Not for the first time, she thought that they’d been wrong.
“Scoping things out for your friends, are you?” She raised her head, startled, to see the proprietor of a fruit pushcart glaring at her.
“I’m sorry?”
She didn’t know what else to say, but that must have been the wrong thing. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know how you thieves work.” He was stepping closer, and she could not help but notice how he towered over her, his face as square as Stroganov’s but not as nearly as kind. “Was once not enough? Think I’m stupid target, do you?”
She shrunk hopelessly against the wall. “Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
Then, suddenly, someone grabbed Nikolina’s right shoulder. She flinched, but then they began to speak cheerily, in accented Russian, like nothing was wrong. “Miriam! What are you doing out here? It’s a rare day that all the men are out for lunch. Didn’t we agree to eat together in the shop, with Sasha and Alisa?”
Nikolina twisted her neck, and came face to face with an older Russian woman, beaming fiercely at her. In her befuddlement, Nikolina nearly asked who she was, but then the woman spotted the fruit piled high on the cart and shook her head. “Were you trying to get everyone something? That’s lovely of you, but we told you not to worry. Besides, you know that Alisa doesn’t trust the quality of the fruits on this street.”
The proprietor squinted at the newcomer. “Yana, you know this girl?”
“Of course! She’s the new feller hand at our shop. Don’t you remember that we’ve been looking for one for a while, so that Sasha can focus on basting? Her father put her in touch with us yesterday.” The woman frowned. “Miriam, Aleksi hasn’t been causing you any trouble, has he?”
“What? No, no, of course not,” the man grumbled, before Nikolina could say anything. He half-turned away, waving them off. “Just tell her that she shouldn’t be eyeing my goods like one of those street rats.”
The woman mumbled something that Nikolina could only barely catch—she vaguely recognized it to be Yiddish. “Come along, Miriam. The others are waiting for us.”
Nikolina jerkily nodded, unsure what was happening, and the woman led her to the building across the street. As they walked up the dimly lit stairs, the sounds of the street fading behind them, Nikolina finally worked up the courage to say something. “I’m afraid I’m not this Miriam you’re looking for. I don’t know how to sew, so I have nothing—”
“Goodness, there is no Miriam. That was just something to get Aleksi off our backs.”
“Th-then…” Nikolina’s mind was still reeling. “Why did you help me?”
Before the woman could respond, someone called out, “Yana! Did you bring the bread?” Nikolina realized that there were others in the room. It was bright, and loud, from the machine at work. The woman who had spoken was leaning against the wall, knees crossed tailor fashion and hands busy with the needle. She looked up from the coat draped across her lap, and sharp eyes locked onto Nikolina—like a bird’s, curious and beady-black. “ And who’d you bring with you? What’s your name?”
Nikolina hesitated.
The noise stopped. The machine operator, a thin woman with her hair neatly hidden under her kerchief, peered over. “Sasha, I don’t think she heard you. I didn’t, either.”
“That’s because the machine’s making you go deaf!” Nevertheless, she repeated herself. “ I asked for your name.”
She’d heard the woman, Sasha, the first time. Sasha’s Russian came easily, unlike the other two women, who spoke it somewhat haltingly. “N... Nina.” That was the alias the so-called great detective had hoisted onto her.
“Nina. I’m Sasha, and the deaf one is Alisa. Her husband owns this shop.”
“And I’m Yana,” said the woman who had saved her. She’d settled onto one of the uncomfortable-looking chairs, pulling something wrapped in newspaper from underneath her coat. “I met Nina outside just now, and thought she might like to join us. Don’t worry, Sasha, I have your bread here. Baked this morning, too, the way you like it.”
“The way we all like it,” Alisa corrected. She held her own package. “And of course I have the smoked salmon.”
Sasha threw her hands in the air and cheered, the coat nearly slipping off her legs. “And I brought the appetite!”
Nikolina’s eyes darted between the three of them, taking in the easy rhythm of their conversation, the confident way they held themselves. “It’s alright to you… if I’m here?”
“This isn’t the first time Yana’s brought in strays,” Alisa said, lightly. “Besides, it’s chilly this time of the year, and you still look like you’re shivering. As long as we’re on break, I can’t see why you shouldn’t stay.”
Only then did Nikolina notice her trembling hands. She shoved them into her coat pockets, willing them to still. She hoped that the other two women had assumed it was from the cold, too.
“If you want to make yourself useful, you could help me finish this coat,” Sasha said hopefully.
“Enough of that, Sasha ,” Alisa snapped. “My husband’s paying you to do your job, so do it. If you dislike this work so much, you can always find work as a servant.”
Sasha shuddered, but Nikolina perked up. “What’s wrong with working as a servant? I heard that you get food, and a room.”
The two women glanced at each other. Then, Alisa explained, “It’s not the most becoming work. You have to live with the family, and tend to their every need. What mother should want their daughter to do that? I know I wouldn’t let my girls do it, even if it meant missing a meal or two.”
Sasha murmured agreement. Yana remained silent. That didn’t sound too bad to Nikolina, but perhaps her time with Novovich Ballet had skewed her perspective on things.
“It wouldn’t be a bad option for you, Nina,” Yana suddenly suggested. “It would be hard work, but work anybody could do. I know an agent, if you’d like to talk to her.”
The unexpected opportunity of employment, after so long fruitlessly searching, took Nikolina aback.Then she remembered that she’d admitted to Yana, in a moment of confusion, that she could not sew, something every girl her age should know. She miserably thought, this must be an offer made out of pity, just like the decision to save her from that man. Even so, it was tempting—but then she saw the doubtful expressions on Sasha and Alisa, and could not help but think of what Stroganov would think. A month, two months, living away from him? In a new land? “I… I don’t think my older brother would be happy, either.”
Sasha nodded, a familiar grin sliding back onto her face. “ Older brothers are the worst. And, speaking of missing a meal or two… are the two of you ever going to share the food, or are we going spend our entire lunch break chatting?”
“You’re the one who’s been talking the most,” Alisa muttered, and Yana giggled, but the two of them got up and Yana flashed a penknife. Nikolina looked away, trying to ignore the crinkling of paper being unwrapped and the smell of fish and warm bread shortly after. Her stomach squeezed uncomfortably.
A few moments later, she heard someone approaching her, and when she looked back she was greeted with a chunk of bread, with a thin layer of pale pink salmon, held out to her. “What?” She managed to Yana, who was staring at her expectantly. “No, no, I couldn’t, I couldn’t pay you back…”
“Nonsense. I can’t invite you here and then leave you hungry.” Yana flicked her head back at Sasha, who had already received her piece and was staring at it intently. Waiting for everyone else to get their share, Nikolina realized. “Come, take it, before poor Sasha starves.”
Nikolina would have protested more, but she hadn’t eaten since that morning, and the sight and smell of the rye so close nearly made her snatch it from Yana’s hand. She forced herself to take it politely, with whispered thanks. It was warm in her hands, and she could not help but stare in wonder. Even after the weeks on the SS Burya, she was not used to such generous portions of food.
Across the room, Alisa sighed. “If only we had a little salt, too, to welcome Nina properly. If I’d known Yana would bring someone today…”
Sasha laughed, waving her slice around. “What does it matter? This is America, we can shake traditions up a little. Dip your bread in the fish! It’s salty enough!”
“Put that down, you’ll drop it!”
The two of them went on bickering. Nikolina didn’t mind. Somehow, fading into the background here felt different than on the streets of New York, where she’d felt like a misbegotten set piece, sitting in on a world not meant for her. She’d only met these people today, and all they’d done was talk with her. Yet they’d been the first, in this strange, unfamiliar city, to truly do so.
Suddenly her throat felt very, very tight.
Yana sat down next to her. “You should eat that, before Sasha finishes hers and wants seconds. That girl, I don’t know how her family feeds her.”
The thought made her curl around the food almost protectively. Then, still keeping it close to her chest, she took a ravenous bite, hoping that Yana hadn’t noticed her blinking furiously earlier. Yana watched her tear through the meal, and then said, “I never answered your question, did I?” Confused, Nikolina let her continue. “ Of why I helped you.”
“Oh, yes…”
“You reminded me of myself. Don’t give me that look, it’s true. I came here ten years ago to work at my uncle’s shop, you know, to bring the rest of our people over. My uncle passed away shortly after, and for a long time I looked as you did—young, lost. Hopeless. New York City is a big city, and big cities are not kind to those abandoned on their streets. I think that I would’ve appreciated someone to pull me into a room like this, back then. A room with people like Sasha and Alisa.”
A simple act of empathy. Nikolina stared down at her half-eaten bread, finding it very hard to meet her eyes. First the crew members of the SS Burya, and now Yana—people so kind to her, asking nothing in return. Nikolina couldn’t fathom what she’d done to deserve it.
“There are things you’re scared of. I can see that. But here, it doesn’t matter. Here, you are a new woman, you understand?” When she glanced up, Yana’s eyes were gentle and steady. “ But only if you make it so. You have a brother to take care of you. You are still young. Be grateful for these things. Take what work you can, from the agent. You may not like it, but once you have some money, and time, you can learn something new.”
“I don’t know if my brother would—”
“Never mind your brother. What do you want?”
What did she want? She wanted so many things. She wanted to take back so many things. But she could not return to the ocean, to Russia. She could not return to the past.
What did she want? She wanted to make something of the kindness she hadn’t deserved, didn’t deserve, would maybe never deserve. She wanted to become someone who deserved it. “I think… I would like to try.”
Yana nodded, as if she already knew. Perhaps she did. Perhaps she had made a similar choice. “And if, one day, you decide you want to try working in a shop… I did say we are in need of a feller hand. ” Nikolina looked up at Yana, shocked. “But only if you learn well.”
“I… I understand,” Nikolina mumbled. Her vision blurred, and she clumsily wiped her eyes. Sasha and Alisa were still conversing in the background—perhaps carefully so. “Thank you, Yana. For this. For everything.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We still have yet to see what you’ll make of it.” Even so, Yana was smiling. “And, Nina? It’s okay to cry. Just make sure, in the end, it’s worth it.”
The backs of her hands were sticky with tears, already drying. This time, she could not stop more from trickling down her cheeks. For the first time, she felt that she didn’t have to.
“ I will.”