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needs help.” He gestured as if holding and rocking an infant.
    Meri nodded and smiled. She put the paper in her coat pocket.
    He opened the door for her as she departed, a gesture she was unaccustomed to since her Paris job search began.
    Meri waited until she was a few blocks away from the shop to reach into her pocket and read the paper the man had given to her. He had written “Monsieur Michel Dorval.” If there is one kind man in Paris, there is more.
    Monsieur Dorval was the first and last couturier who ever bothered to examine Meri’s lace handiwork.
     
    §
     
    Meri’s second lesson: Learning how to speak French would take some patience.
    Elina was her most ardent teacher since her time, albeit short, in France. She had a mastery of the accent that eluded many of the Finns in their community, even though she spoke fluent Finnish. At seven years old, Elina craved to be the “expert” at anything, so she took on the role of Meri’s French instructor with enthusiasm.
    Meri appreciated Elina’s help. How else will I find the job of my dreams? Meri reasoned. If I speak like a Parisian, perhaps they’ll think I’m one of them. Elina’s eagerness as a teacher, however, often crossed the line from helpful to annoying, at least in Meri’s mind.
    After a lesson, which usually took place at the end of a long, discouraging day of walking from rejection to rejection, Elina would not want to give up her role as “teacher,” no matter how tired Meri was.
    “I’ve had enough of French tonight, Elina.” Meri said in Finnish as she pushed herself away from the kitchen table.
    “ Non, Meri. Je ne vous parle qien Français! ” With a pout on her face, Elina insisted they speak only French.
    “I’m the adult, Elina. I’ll decide when the lesson is over.” Again, Meri spoke in Finnish to aggravate the girl.
    “You wouldn’t talk to me that way if Mamma was here,” Elina continued pouting, speaking in Finnish this time.
    “She’s not here, is she? I am. And I say we’re finished with the lesson until tomorrow.”
    “ Oui, Madame .” Elina stomped off to the bedroom she shared with her mother, who was, as usual, gone for the night.
     
    §
     
    Meri’s third lesson: Tuula had secrets.
    On the first day they met, Tuula seemed welcoming and relaxed. Even cheerful. Meri wondered what she had to be so happy about. She lived with a little child, in a tiny apartment, without private facilities, in a poor section of Paris. To make matters worse, she was now sharing what small space she had with a complete stranger. Had it been me, I never would have invited her to share my cramped apartment . If I had been so foolish as to promise my cousin such a favor, I certainly wouldn’t be so happy about the situation.
    Tuula’s disposition changed Meri’s second day in the city. She became more like a businesswoman, telling Meri her duties as a “guest” in the apartment. Meri had to pay rent—one-third of the rent Tuula paid to her landlord. She also had to buy her own food, help with meal preparation and other domestic tasks, and perhaps most importantly, Meri had to agree to take care of Elina when Tuula was out.
    “What do you mean, ‘when you’re out’? Do you mean when you’re working?” Meri’s hands were on her hips. She wanted to challenge this requirement. Having spent much of her life raising her brother and leaving that life for good, Meri thought her childcare days were behind her. Meri fumed to herself, I don’t have time to babysit Elina. I have to find a job and my own apartment!
    “I work almost every night, rarely getting home until morning. Elina needs someone to be with her through the night—to tuck her in and help her say her prayers, you know.”
    Meri didn’t know. “What kind of job keeps you out all night?”
    “That’s none of your business. I make enough money to take care of myself and Elina. I don’t have to justify how I make a living to you or anyone else.” Tuula now had