Father exhaled, as if those words gave him a moment’s peace. But for Maisie, there was no comfort in them.
Her mind churned like an unquiet sea. Was this silence—thisrefusal to name what they both knew—linked to the Marquess’s visit? The hushed conversation she had overheard through the kitchen door the night before? She remembered the fragments she wished she could forget:Hofstätter… Jewish troubles… Eleanor Spencer is dead… nobody needs to know.And, softest of all:What about Deena?
The names tangled inside her, barbed and sharp. What could Father possibly have meant?
Nothing about the future felt steady now—not Father’s work, not the practice, not the promise Faivish had whispered into her hair. And as the waiting room’s voices lifted again, as eyes turned toward her with idle curiosity, Maisie held herself very still, aching for the day she would be something more than a fleeting glance in Faivish Blattner’s crowded world.
Chapter Five
Faivish counted thehours until he could see her again. Every lecture dragged like penance, the drone of professors a wall between him and the quiet world he wanted most—Maisie’s world. Chalk dust clung to the air in the anatomy halls, dry and insistent, as though even the silence wanted to keep him from her. Outside, the corridors hummed with a sharper unrest: pipe smoke curling under the arches, boots striking stone, the restless buzz of students too eager for slogans and marching songs. One clash of heels against flagstones and the clock seemed to lurch another torturous second away from her.
He adjusted the satchel strap, biting into his shoulder, the familiar weight grounding him as he cut toward the courtyard gate.
Alfie caught him there, voice low. “Walk with me.”
He didn’t slow until they were under the colonnade’s shade, away from the knots of students in uniform who lingered as if itching for a quarrel.
Faivish frowned. “What’s happened?”
Alfie kept his eyes on the far arch. “Word is theBurschenschaftis planning another march. They’re talking about driving Jewish students out of the cafés. Not with pamphlets—worse.”
Faivish stopped short. He’d heard the muttering, but hearing it from Alfie—who could drift unnoticed into those samecircles—tightened something in his chest. “They’ve threatened it before.”
“This is different.” Alfie’s jaw set. “They’ve got numbers. And a list. You’re on it.”
Faivish didn’t ask what kind of list. The answer was in Alfie’s tone. “I can handle myself.”
“Against one man, maybe. Not a mob.” Alfie’s glance was sharp. “And you can’t help Maisie—or Deena—if you’re bleeding in a gutter.”
The truth of it struck harder than he cared to admit. He walked on, his boots unsteady against the cobbles. “Professor Morgenschein wants me to take an apprenticeship in Calcutta,” he said finally. His voice dropped. “Says it’s the chance of a lifetime.” Was this why he’d offered it as an escape? Could it be that the professor was more concerned with keeping Faivish safe than hasting giving his blessing to him and Maisie?
Alfie’s head snapped toward him. “India?”
Faivish nodded once. “He thinks it will keep me safe. That it’ll open doors Vienna will never unlock for me.”
“And Maisie?”
The name lodged in his throat. He swallowed. “I’d ask for her hand tomorrow if I thought—” His words faltered. He fixed his eyes on the stones beneath his boots. “Do you not think we’re safe here anymore?”
Alfie looked over his shoulder and let the silence stretch before answering. “Take her somewhere else if you can.” His voice was low, deliberate. “You’ll need more than Vienna gives you. You’ll need every skill you can gather. The professor’s idea is rather brilliant, you know? India could give you everything you need for a better future with Maisie.”
Faivish lifted his eyes, wary. “And you?”
Alfie’s grin carried both challenge and loyalty. “I’m not letting you vanish to the far side of the world without me. India’s possibly a chance for me, too. Ayurveda, natural remedies—medicine they don’teven whisper about here. The professor told me about it.”
Faivish slowed, caught off guard. “You’d leave everything?”
“For a future worth building? Yes. Wouldn’t you?” Alfie’s look was steady, the weight of it pressing in. “You can’t take Maisie anywhere if you don’t live to try. And if you take her, you take Deena too. You know that.”
Faivish’s mouth tugged into the faintest smile. “You’ve thought this through.”
“Of course, I have.” Alfie’s tone lightened, though his eyes stayed serious. “It’s not only your chance. It’s mine. The professor knows it too. If it keeps you breathing long enough to marry his daughter, all the better.”
Faivish turned away, staring at the long stretch of courtyard where the light fell in pale stripes across the stones. Maisie’s face filled his mind—the quick way her smile broke through restraint, the tilt of her chin when she refused to be cowed, the warmth of her hand when it lingered just a little too long in his. The wanting pressed heavily in his chest, matched only by the danger that shadowed it.
Danger, he had never once underestimated. Not since the night the men dragged his parents from their shop and left him standing in the street with blood on the cobblestones. The aristocrats who had jeered never faced consequences. Jews always did—every whisper of resistance was met with punishment harsher than the crime, while the powerful walked away untouched. That truth had been branded into him, as permanent as any scar.
It was an unwritten law to let them get away with it. Even the newspapers were silent on the matter. No traces, no harm. Faivish groaned at the cruelty of the world.
