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fibbed about her age easily enough, what was another fabrication of the truth? And she wanted Mrs. Crofton to have no reason to regret hiring her. “He’s dead.”
    “Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
    “I don’t even remember him. It happened a long time ago. I taught myself to sketch, Mrs. Crofton. I checked books out of the library and I practiced on any blank piece of paper I could find. And then we moved here and I saw the dresses in your shop and I knew I wanted to design my own wedding gowns. This is what I want to do with my life.”
    Mrs. Crofton paused for a moment before continuing. “I’m afraid I can’t help you make any of the patterns you’ll need. That’s a different skill. You’re going to need a dressmaker to help you with that.”
    Emmy didn’t know any dressmakers and told the woman so.
    “I know one. My cousin Graham. He might be persuaded to take you under his wing. He does that with young designers if he thinks they have potential. I can ask him, if you’re interested.”
    It had been so long since someone other than Julia had taken an interest in anything important to Emmy that tears sprang to her eyes, stinging and sweet. Words failed her.
    Mrs. Crofton smiled as if she knew Emmy was not used to favors. “Look. I know what it’s like to have other people stand around staring at you when they could just as easily help you, Emmeline. Who knows how long any of us will be around to think about bigger endeavors than just our own insignificant lives? Don’t thank me yet. I can teach you to use my sewing machine. And I will contact my cousin to see if he is interested in taking you on as an apprentice. But in the end, only time will tell if a future in bridal gowns awaits you.”
    “I don’t know how to thank you.”
    “You can help someone else down the road, when the time comes.”
    Emmy fingered away wetness at her eyes. She knew she would remember that moment for the rest of her life, that moment when someone who barely knew her fulfilled every childhood wish she’d ever had to feel she mattered.
    “I’m so sorry about your window.” Emmy’s voice sounded young in her ears.
    The swift change in the focus of the conversation seemed to surprise Mrs. Crofton. “Oh! Well, glass can be replaced. Will be replaced. It could have been worse. It can always be worse.”
    Emmy thanked her again and Mrs. Crofton walked her to the door to let her out. The sky had turned purple and ash, and Emmy would be rushing to get back to the flat before the sun set completely. Mrs. Crofton’s many kindnesses to her in the span it took for twilight to fall suddenly weighed on her like bricks.
    “I’m not nearly sixteen, Mrs. Crofton,” Emmy blurtedas Mrs. Crofton lifted the latch. “I just turned fifteen in April. I’ve eleven months until my next birthday. And I don’t know who my father is. I don’t even know if he’s dead or alive.”
    The woman said nothing. For a second Emmy was sure her late honesty had done her no favors. Then Mrs. Crofton swung the door open. “Good thing I’m not hiring him, then. I’ll see you on Tuesday, Emmeline.”
    Emmy returned home floating on air, barely aware that the inky shroud of London at night was enveloping her. She ran the last block in darkness.
    When she opened the door to the flat, Emmy saw that Julia had fallen asleep at the kitchen table. Colored pencils lay strewn about. She peered over her little sister to see how Julia had occupied the hour Emmy had been gone.
    Instead of bouquets, the brides Emmy had left in Julia’s care now held enormous red polka-dot umbrellas.

Five

    AFTER securing the blackout curtains and then gently shaking Julia awake, Emmy made toast for them and shared her news. Julia seemed happy, but was clearly unsure what Emmy’s new job meant for her: Emmy saw the uncertainty in her eyes. Emmy had always known that the age spread between them meant that she would be out on her own long before Julia would. It likely hadn’t