Page 65 - Devil's Arithmetic by Jane Yolen

On that wagon sat two people, one an older man
dressed all in black, with a white prayer shawl across
his shoulders, a book in his lap. The other was one of
the most beautiful women Hannah had ever seen, like
a movie star. She was all in white, with an elegantly
beaded headdress capping her hair. That hair was jet
black, so black that it didn't even have lighter highlights,
and electric with curls spilling over her shoulders. There
were gold rings on her fingers and gold dangling from
her ears. She had a strong nose and a fierce, piercing
look, like a bird of prey.
"Fayge," Gitl said, "this is my niece, Chaya."
Hannah wondered how, with all the noise and ex-
citement, Fayge even heard Gitl's introduction. But she
looked down from the wagon, those eagle eyes staring.
Then she smiled, not at all fiercely, but even shyly.
"The Lubliner. Come, you must be exhausted, walk-
ing all this way after having been so sick. Shmuel would
never forgive me if I did not let you ride. And what a
pretty dress. You put us all to shame." She leaned down
and offered her hand.
"I will not say I told you so," Gitl whispered into
Hannah's ear, "but I did."
As if in a dream, Hannah reached up for Fayge's
hand. She expected a princess's hand, small, fine-boned,
soft. But Fayge's hand was large and strong, with cal-
luses in the palm. When she was up by Fayge's side,
she could smell a scent on her hair and dress, like roses
and wood shavings after a long rain.
"Now," Fayge said, turning toward her and smiling
broadly. "Tell me all about Lublin."

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