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through Lizzie’s. As a result, she always carried two keys in her pocket; a key to Lizzie’s perennially locked door, and a key to her own. It was a nuisance, and she had the smaller room now, but at least her bedroom shared a wall with Abby Borden’s dressing room and not the parents’ bedroom. Lizzie now had that honor.
    She carefully unlocked Lizzie’s bedroom door, hoping not to wake her parents, not minding if Lizzie wanted to sit up and talk for a while.
    She saw Lizzie lying on her bed, fully dressed, half covered with her quilt. Lizzie opened her eyes.
    “Did I wake you?” Emma asked.
    “I guess so,” Lizzie said, rubbing her face. “I didn’t intend to sleep.”
    “My goodness, child, you’re fully dressed.”
    “I just lay down for a moment this afternoon after the fitting, and then again after dinner. I imagine I needed the rest. What time is it?”
    “About nine, I should think.”
    “The house is quiet.”
    Emma nodded, then sat in the rocking chair at Lizzie’s bedside.
    Lizzie plumped up her pillow and set it next to the wall, then hiked herself up the bed to a sitting position. Something crinkled in her bed.
    “What’s this?” She reached under the quilt, and fumbled with her skirts. Then she pulled out a piece of string and a brown-paper wrapped parcel. “Oh. The book. I forgot all about it.”
    “What book is that?”
    “It’s a book that Beatrice sent to me.”
    “Well, open it. Let’s have a look.”
    “Maybe later.”
    “Why later? Aren’t you curious? You rip open every letter you get from her the very moment the post man puts it in the box.”
    “I know, but. . .”
    “Oh. It’s personal .” Emma couldn’t help her sarcasm.
    “Yes, in fact.”
    “Well. I never knew we had secrets.”
    “We don’t have secrets, Emma, I just want to have a chance to look it over first, that’s all.”
    “Hmmm. Your relationship with that woman is odd and I daresay a little dangerous, perhaps sick, Lizzie. I should be very careful, if I were you.”
    Lizzie looked at her with wide open eyes. “You know nothing about her. You have no idea. . . You have no idea. . . .”
    “Yes. Well. Nor am I interested. Mark my words, though, child.” Emma rose. “Shall I light your lantern?”
    “No. I’ll do it.”
    “Suit yourself,” she said, and unlocked her own bedroom door. Sometimes Lizzie could be so defensive. So confounding. Emma worried that she was so gullible. What on earth could this woman want from Lizzie, this woman from England? Something no good, that was for sure.
    Emma undressed quickly, hanging up all her clothes, then donned her winter nightgown, leggings and cap, and knelt on the hard floor to say her evening prayer. She even included her father.
    Duties done, she slipped between the cold sheets and blew out the candle, seeing the shaft of muted light under her door as it escaped from Lizzie’s room.
    The girl could do so much with her life, Emma thought. If only she’d try. She has so much potential. She has so many gifts. Her youth, her looks, her closeness to Father, her friends at church. . . It’s all so wasted on her. Emma clenched her fists. Why her ? What has she done to be the lucky one, while I wither, growing old in the house of my childhood, with a traitorous father and his. . . his. . .
    A moan escaped her lips, and she clapped both hands over her mouth before she made more noise. Her face flushed hot and her hands trembled.
    It was the same every night. Every night she went to bed and ranted and railed at the devastating blows life had given her, while her beautiful, clever younger sister got all the attention.
    “I try to be selfless, Lord,” she whispered, then knuckled her lower lip hard until she got herself under control.
    Then she turned on her side, away from the long slice of light that said that Lizzie even had friends in England, and she curled her knees to her bony chest and eventually fell asleep.
    ~~~
    In the morning, Emma woke to the