Read A Heart Most Worthy for Free Online Page A

from seasons past. They aren’t really of the mode at the moment, but I suppose they’ll do well enough for you.”
    Julietta looked over at Luciana, envy sparking her eyes. Gowns – a whole pile of them – all for the new girl! When she herself was used to wearing nothing grander than blouses and skirts. She frowned. Snuck another peek at them. Not of the mode? Nothing an adjustment here and a tuck there couldn’t fix. She could think of a dozen ways in which the gown Mrs. Leavenworth had deemed unsuitable and the gown Mrs. Morgan had refused to pay for could be redeemed.
    “Of course, you would have to make them suitable for day wear. But the colors are dark and the lines simple. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”
    Luciana put a hand atop the stack to claim them. “Grazie.” It cost her a piece of her pride to say it, to admit that the daughter of the Count of Roma had been relegated to accepting discards from a dressmaker. But she realized that airs and attitudes would not clothe her. And that there was nothing so important as remaining in Madame’s good graces.
    Madame turned to leave. But then she paused in her step. “Please take what you need – needles, thread, shears – to alter them.”
    Luciana nodded, knowing that needles and shears could not inform the hands of a girl who could not use them. She had never made a gown, never altered anything in her life, never stitched two pieces of material together. Why should she have had to? She had ordered everything she’d wanted from a couturier in Paris. What she had done, the beading she had learned, had simply been a parlor trick. A society-sanctioned way to pass her hours when she had tired of books or music or painting. The donation of gowns was very nice, but she had no way to put them to use. She pressed her lips together in apprehension as she wondered how long she had until Madame would expect to see her wearing them.

6
    Annamaria had left work in a hurry that evening, riding the electric car back to North Station and then walking to St. Leonard’s Church. She was going to confession so she could be absolved of all her sins.
    But what had she ever done? Besides dodge old Giuseppe and walk on by the Sardos’ store? She wished she could do something that really needed confessing.
    Annamaria clapped a hand over her mouth as soon as she deciphered the thought. Had she just – had she really . . . ? Where had that come from? She made the sign of the cross, and then clutched at the medal that dangled from her neck.
    But as she stood in line at the church behind signora Tubello and signora Rimaldi, feet shuffling against the stone of the floor, she pondered the thought. Most people did things that needed confessing. Her sister Theresa did, nearly every time she opened her mouth or set foot outside the apartment. Mama did. So did Papa. So why shouldn’t she? Why shouldn’t she be allowed the same right to sin as everyone else?
    Because it was wicked, that’s why.
    But still. Why was so much expected of her when nothing was expected of anyone else?
    Did that mean she wanted to be . . . bad? She didn’t think so. At least that wasn’t what she meant to think. But what did it mean? Where had those thoughts come from? And how could she get rid of them?
    When her turn came, she stepped into the closet-like space, closing the door behind her. Inside, it was dark, the air close, smelling faintly of the rosemary that tainted signora Tubello’s breath and quite strongly of the peculiar odor of signora Rimaldi’s sweat. I might have fanned my hand in front of my nose, you might have pinched yours shut entirely, but Annamaria found the scents rather comforting.
    Annamaria searched for the comforting sight of Father Antonio’s shadow on the other side of the screen that separated them. Having seen it, she closed her eyes. Clasped her hands. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been seven days since my last confession.” She paused. Normally, she