WITH THE SUN in her eyes Anna couldn’t quite make out Jack’s expression, but she caught the change in tone. Discomfort, maybe even reluctance. “Go on,” she said. “I’m listening.”

“People will be cornering you with personal questions, you’re right. But there’s another subject that will be raised, and I wanted to make sure you knew the particulars before you hear about it. About Celestina.”

“Now you’ve surprised me. Go on.”

“You know that she goes to temple a few times a month on the Sabbath?”

“I’m aware, yes. Bambina goes too, doesn’t she?”

“Less often. Bambina goes to please Mama. Celestina goes to please herself.”

Anna smoothed her skirts, thinking. “I confess I have no idea where this is going.”

“Then I’ll get to the heart of it. Celestina had a marriage proposal, from the rabbi of her congregation.”

In her surprise Anna found nothing suitable to say, and so she asked the obvious question. “When was this?”

“A couple days ago. She told me about it yesterday.”

“And what did she say to him?”

“She put him off.”

“She didn’t refuse him?”

“Or accept him.”

Anna thought for a moment.

Jack said, “You just did that humming thing. What are you thinking?”

“I’m wondering about this—what’s his name?”

“Nate Rosenthal.”

“Mr. Rosenthal—”

“Rabbi Rosenthal.”

“Does she love him?”

He glanced at her, his mouth quirked up. “She doesn’t say.”

“But she didn’t refuse him outright.”

“No. I think she would have accepted him, if not for—

“Bambina. She thinks the rabbi is not good enough for her sister. She doesn’t approve.”

“Why do you come to that conclusion?”

Anna raised an eyebrow, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“Yes, all right. She doesn’t really approve of anybody. She doesn’t like Nate Rosenthal because he’s forty. A widower with two little girls. Or at least, that’s her official stance.”

Anna had seen sisters who loved and valued each other, sisters who tore at each other out of jealousy and spite, and everything in between. She and Sophie had never fought the way sisters sometimes did, and never took each other or the value of their connection for granted. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the way these things worked.

She thought of Bambina as someone who was difficult to live with and drew most of the attention to herself. If Celestina found this unfair, she hid her feelings well.

Jack said, “You don’t like Bambina.”

“There are things I don’t like about her,” Anna said. “She can be narrow minded and judgmental, and it will take a long time for me to get over the way she treated Sophie. Assuming for a moment that she has changed her mind and her manners in that regard. But she’s very young and bright and ambitious, and she’s frustrated. I think the best thing for her would be to live on her own for a good while.”

The look he shot her way was pure surprise tinged with irritation. “When this subject first came up I told you that it’s not acceptable for young Italian women to live alone. It’s just not done.”

Anna pushed out a soft breath. “Listen before you reject the idea out of hand.”

“Anna—”

“Listen,” she said again. “There are some excellent boardinghouses for young women, extremely selective, in very good neighborhoods and with spotless reputations. They aren’t cheap—the one I’m thinking of is six dollars a week for room and board—but no male visitors are allowed, not even relatives, except in the parlor, and then only chaperoned. I know of two women doctors who live in a boardinghouse just across from Gramercy Park. I’ve even visited them there. It’s beautifully kept; the food is excellent. It’s run by an elderly couple. She’s a Quaker and he’s a retired police officer. As far as I know they’ve never had any kind of incident or trouble—but you could, you should inquire at the station, couldn’t you?”

He shrugged in reluctant agreement.

“You act as if I’m suggesting she go live on the moon.”

“But what would she do with herself all day long?”

Anna resisted the urge to laugh at him, this disgruntled and overprotective and—it had to be said—clueless older brother. “She could continue with her sewing and embroidery, or she could teach, or here’s an idea and it’s one you really should consider. She could learn something else, study something that interests her and take up a career of her own choosing. Bambina is difficult and demanding because she’s unhappy, and she’s young and selfish enough to demand that her sister keep her company in her misery.”

Anna forced herself to stop talking. Jack would think about this idea if she allowed him the time he needed to do that.

“She’d be alone,” he said finally.

This time she did let out a small laugh. “Alone? She would be within a short walk or ride of us, your aunt Philomena, Celestina in her new home, and your many, many cousins. I still haven’t figured out exactly how many cousins you have, by the way. She would also have friends her own age, young women she could go to concerts or lectures or for walks or to the theater with. Living among other young women who have careers might make a very large difference in the way she sees the world. You think she would reject the idea out of hand?”

He shrugged. “That’s not what worries me. What worries me is that she’ll like the idea, and my parents will forbid it. Then Celestina is worse off.”

Anna put her hand on his thigh and felt him start in surprise. It was a bold thing to do in public, even with so little traffic on the streets—but she meant to startle him. “What if I talked to your mother about it? If she agreed, could she win your father over? At that point the subject could be raised with Bambina.”

He shook his head and let out a half laugh. “Go ahead and talk to Mama if you can get her alone for a quarter hour.” He covered her hand with his own and squeezed. Anna gave him a smile, wondering what exactly she had gotten herself into.

•   •   •

TRAFFIC PICKED UP but they still made good time. Broadway became Bloomingdale Road and houses grew farther apart, interrupted now and then by churches, dairy farms, hatcheries, horse pastures, warehouses, nurseries. This far out of the city every building was surrounded by parks: the Leake and Watts Orphan Asylum, the Insane Asylum, the Colored Orphan Asylum all looked like pleasant places to those who kept their distance. Anna, who had visited many such places when she was in training, knew better.

But they did look wonderful from the road. They drove past the Convent of the Sacred Heart in an ocean of green that stretched from 130th to 135th Streets, and then the Hebrew Orphan Asylum, one place Anna had never been but Sophie had, making rounds with Dr. Jacobi. Jack turned left on 155th and right on Eleventh Boulevard, passing Audubon Park; and turned one last time left onto a half-built road to arrive, finally, at the New York School for the Deaf and Dumb.

Anna had expected something quite small, and was surprised to see four large, well-kept buildings arranged in a quadrangle. The road approached from the rear, and as they circled around to the front entrance the landscaped grounds opened into a larger field where children were playing with a ball. The whole of the property was surrounded by woods, the kind that offered cool shade in the hottest months. A breeze came from the Hudson, which must be just beyond the woods.

Jack said, “From a distance you wouldn’t know anything was different about them.”

She followed his line of sight to the children.

“I thought there would be more of them,” he said. “It looks like they’d have room for at least four hundred students.”

Anna watched for a moment as they drew closer. Deaf or hearing, children were fearless; boys climbed onto a tree stump to fling themselves into space as though gravity had no authority and deserved no respect. A small group of girls stood in a circle playing cat’s cradle, all eyes intent on the hands of the two girls who were competing. There were children playing like this everywhere in the world, but few of them would be as silent.

“I would guess that most of them go home for some part of the summer. It’s not an orphan asylum.”

“Which raises a question,” Jack said, just as a gaunt man of about sixty stepped out of the front doors of the school. There was a woman with him who Anna guessed must be his daughter, so strong was the resemblance, from the line of the jaw and nose to the color and texture of their hair. Neat, orderly, like schoolteachers everywhere; reserved, but not unfriendly. The two waited as the carriage came to a standstill and Jack helped Anna down.

She looked up at them, using a hand to shield the sun from her face. “Hello. We were hoping to speak to the director, if he’s available on a Sunday.”