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Anyu thought she looked great in the new dress—she had always been self-conscious about her appearance because of her neighbors’ criticisms, but the dress gave her an elegant, sophisticated look.

It fitted her well at the chest and waist, and the color suited her.

When she stood at the counter, she thought Esther’s expression softened.

But unfortunately, this wasn’t enough to make customers, well dressed and overly decorated with pocket watches and gold necklaces, open their wallets.

They sidled away the moment she approached, and sometimes, as if to confirm her ineptitude, they’d even purchase jewelry from Esther after a brief talk with her.

Near the end of the second month, she still hadn’t made a sale.

Anyu dreaded entering the showroom, resigned to the fact that she was not good at persuading customers. She wished she could be somewhere other than at the counter, and frequently, she found her thoughts drifting to Isaac’s workshop.

Her pace slowed when she smelled the acrid chemicals and the burning metal, and her ears perked up when voices echoed from inside.

Whenever she could, she lingered outside the workshop, where the light escaped from the open door and winked on the mezuzah on the doorpost. Remembering Esther’s warning, she didn’t enter.

When Esther dropped another ten cents in her hands, Anyu grew anxious.

Only one month left.

She had to make a sale. She couldn’t imagine leaving Isaac and the shop.

She had grown accustomed to life under Isaac’s roof, with the glass cases of jewelry, the tide of customers, and even mealtimes with the crowd of Mandelburgs.

There was the rhythm of noisy chatter and animated liveliness in the daily routine that had eluded her in Harbin; there was comfort, security, and even moments of joy, which her life sequestered in the dank room with her mother had lacked.

And when Anyu stood in the luminescent showroom, with Isaac close by, with the jewels glittering, she felt at home. She didn’t want to leave.

She thought about having a word with Isaac. But what could she say to him, really? She was a failed saleswoman and a disappointment. She couldn’t rely on Isaac’s charity; she must contribute to the shop and prove her worth herself.

But what else could she do other than sell jewelry?

Once, when Anyu came downstairs, she saw the workshop’s door was left ajar, and a sprig of golden light burst from the workshop and reflected on the wall of the quiet hallway. Since no one was around, she tiptoed closer, unable to resist, and leaned in.

The first thing she saw was a wall covered with drawings, drawings of rings, necklaces, and brooches, all colored with vivid hues.

The one closest to her was a necklace featuring tricolored onyx, ruby, and emerald, set within irregularly shaped rectangles of varying sizes, all strung together to form a lush bouquet of elegance.

With her perfect vision, Anyu could see the images were marked with notes about the scale and the sizes and types of gemstones.

They looked exactly like the jewelry sold in the showroom.

A jeweler’s drawing, she realized, was not simply an image; it was a dance of light, an authentic vision of a craftsman, and a preview of the eloquent play of metals and gemstones.

She could do that—envision her designs, draw up the outlines, and mark them with metals and the sizes and types of gemstones, and not just one drawing but thousands.

Excited, she swung the door wide open and saw a table covered with an array of exotic tools: steel rulers, tweezers, knives, files, brushes, drills, hammers with round and flat faces, pliers with sharp tips and round noses.

Near the table, Isaac sat at a workbench with a curve and multiple drawers, holding a jeweler’s saw, cutting through a piece of metal on a wooden block clamped to the desk.

Then he put down his saw, discarded the remnants of the metal sheet, and produced the shape of a tree—he had transcribed the design onto a metal sheet by sawing it.

This was how a piece of jewelry was made; this was how a design, an idea, or an image transformed into reality. Here. In this room. By this man’s hand.

A thought struck Anyu, bright like the beam of light on Isaac’s workbench, golden, incandescent, glowing like the radiance of the Russian egg.

This was what she wanted to do—she wanted to hold the saw and the pliers, to cut metal sheets, forge plates, and twist wires. She wanted to craft beautiful jewelry—the necklaces, rings, brooches, and the Russian egg. She wanted to become a jeweler.

In the showroom, with the customers milling around, Anyu was distracted.

Even as she urged herself to concentrate and work hard to make a sale, she couldn’t stop thinking about the tools in the workshop, the drawings on the wall, and Isaac sitting at his workbench.

At night, when she drew, she began to envision designs with an eye for the gemstones, the textures, the colors, the weight, the size, and the scale.

When she wandered around the city, passing a garden with winding bridges, she’d imagine a bridge earring and its texture; when she saw an exotic French coffeehouse decorated with purple shutters and red tables, she’d dream up a pendant for a gold necklace and its color; and when she spotted the prancing horses and their jockeys on the enormous racecourse, she thought of a brooch and its movements.

Designing the jewelry was easy, but she wanted to know how to transcribe the design onto a metal sheet and learn to use tools to cut, engrave, and weld—all the metalsmithing techniques and skills. The only person who could teach her was Isaac.

If she asked, would he train her? Would he accept her as his apprentice so that she could help out in the workshop instead of selling the jewelry?

There was only one way to find out.