The Things We Cherished by Pam Jenoff Page A

replied evenly, her eyes narrowing. It seemed to Sol then that he might spend his entire life watching her face. “On holiday, she said.” Her emphasis on the last word made clear that she did not believe her sister’s story.
    “Do you know where she’s gone? So that I might tell Jake,” he added quickly.
    “I would think that he should already know,” she retorted, and whether Leah was just being protective of her younger sister or was aware of what had happened, Sol could not tell, but he knew she would say nothing further.
    “I’ve seen you working here before,” he ventured. “But I would not have thought today …”
    “I don’t normally work Saturdays,” she replied, a touch of defensiveness creeping into her voice. “But the other girl called in sick. I didn’t have a choice.”
    No, he agreed silently, forgiving her transgression more readily than might be expected, given his steadfast beliefs. Principle had to give way to practicality on occasion, if one hoped to keep working in this economy.
    She was watching him, he noticed then. Her gaze held his without wavering and there was a spark of interest there that he had never seen before—from anyone. Adrenaline surged through his veins and, pushed forward by it, he took a deep breath. “What time do you finish working?” he asked, the words tumbling out atop one another. “Perhaps—”
    “Leah,” the other salesclerk called, interrupting before he could finish his invitation for coffee.
    “I have to go,” Leah said, glancing over her shoulder nervously. “But I’ll tell Miri that Jake asked for her. If I see her,” she added, then turned away.
    Sol fought the urge to call after her, then stopped, knowing further conversation might put her job at risk. The momentary surge of confidence receded and he walked quickly from the store. Outside, he shivered, cold and lonely once more.
    As he headed back to Jake, his mind raced. He had done it, spokento Leah, perhaps even laid the groundwork for future encounters. Then, remembering the purpose of his visit to the store, his heart sank a little. He was no closer to finding Miri for his brother. She was gone; he was sure of it. And he had to persuade Jake to leave, now. His brother needed money for the journey, too, and the meager amount he saved from his job at the Gemeinde would come nowhere close to being enough.
    Perhaps
Mutter
 … he thought, then stopped. Telling their mother was impossible—she’d have too many questions, and would insist that he stay. Surely her boy, her beautiful Jake, could never have done such a thing and the world would see if only he explained. No, she wouldn’t understand, and even if she did, she did not have that kind of cash. Dora had a houseful of things she treasured but individually none was worth much.
    Except the clock, he remembered suddenly. He pictured the domed timepiece that sat on the mantel. A treasure, his father called it more than once, when no one but Sol seemed to be listening, proud of the bargain he’d wagered. He had bought it from a provincial clockmaker who was unaware of its full value, which had surely increased with time.
    Inside, the parlor was quiet, the smell of eggs from breakfast lingering in the air. He paused to listen for their mother who, God willing, should still be at market with the maid if the lines were long. Then he rushed into the dining room, where the silver from the previous evening’s meal lay neatly stacked and polished, waiting to be put away. Reaching the mantelpiece, he stopped. Beneath the glass dome the four pendulums of the clock rotated in one direction, then stopped and continued in the other direction on their endless journey.
    Sol hesitated, picturing the clock on the mantelpiece for generations to come, his mother showing it to her grandchildren. (Hewas surprised that in the vision, the children were his, girls with dark curly hair and close-set eyes.) She would be devastated to find it gone. But Jake