I shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold wind. I could see her—a little girl of ten with big black eyes that nearly swallowed her face—standing in an opulent manor designed by her mother and built for Mr. Taylor. Her parents, the people who were supposed to protect her, had left her and given her to Mr. Taylor. And she’d stayed there, in his grip. No matter where she went, he wouldn’t release her.
What did one say to such a story? To such a life? “Things will be different, Sophie. If our collection is successful, we won’t be reliant on people like Mr. Taylor or Madame Jolène. It’ll just be us. Friends, designing.”
At the wordfriends, Sophie turned to face me, hair falling back from her face. She reached up to tuck it away, her movements thoughtful and calm. A slow smile spread across her mouth.
“I suppose we really are friends, aren’t we?” There was a note of marvel in her voice. I laughed in spite of myself.
“Of course we are. What else would we be?”
“Oh...” She hesitated. “I don’t know. Partners?”
“Wearepartners. But definitely friends too.”
“That—” She stopped and started. Then she finally finished. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
Chapter Twenty
THE NEXT MORNING,we woke long before dawn and packed up our collection. We had just enough money for one-way tickets from Shy and a room in the Republic District. The debut would be the day after our arrival, and there was much we still needed to accomplish, including fitting the models. Tristan had sent word that he’d recruited them and told them when to come for the fittings. This added yet another complication—we didn’t know their exact sizes, so we’d have to adjust each garment depending on their figures.
As we packed, my mother hovered in the doorway for a few minutes, watching us. I sat back on my heels. I wanted to say something to her. Something to encapsulate the fact that I understood her better now, and that I thought she was brave for always moving forward, even when life tried to hold her back. But before I could speak, she made a sharptsksound under her breath and left, her heavy footsteps tromping down the stairs to the kitchen.
“Give her time.” Sophie carefully folded a black leather skirt. “She only wants the best for you, even if you have different interpretations of what that is.”
“I know...” But even so, I went after her. I found her at the sink, but she wasn’t cleaning vegetables or washing dishes. “Mother?”
“You don’t have much time if you want to catch the early train.”
“I know.” I walked up behind her and put my arms around her waist. She leaned her head back against my shoulder. Then she gently pulled free of me.
“I’ll miss you.” She briefly touched my cheek before turning away. “You should get going.”
I wanted to say so much more, even though it wouldn’t change anything. She wouldn’t give me her blessing. The same pride that got her through the difficulties of life now held us apart.
“Emmy?” Johnny Wells stood in the kitchen door, his hat in his hands.
“I need to check the taps,” my mother said. She left for the dining room, leaving me and Johnny together in the kitchen.
“You’re heading back to the city?”
“Yes.” I found myself drawn to his easy drawl. There was something so straightforward about him. So open and familiar. We came from the same place. Shy was woven through us, inextricable from us. And maybe that tied us to each other, in a way. He didn’t have the complicated life of someone who lived in the city. He didn’t have a past with anyone else. Not like Tristan.
“Will you come back?”
“I don’t know. It depends on whether our fashion house succeeds.”
“If you do come back... I-I’m always here.” He shuffled andcrushed his hat in his hands. “So just remember that. And while you’re gone, I’ll look in on your mother.”
“Thank you, Johnny.”
“I don’t fully understand you, Emmy.” He stared down at his hat. “But I’ve always been taken by you, ever since you started wearing those crazy dresses to church.”
I laughed, remembering the reactions. “The church ladies weren’t fans. They said I was a distraction.”
“Yes, they did talk. But I liked the way you looked, even if I never told you as much. I put up a sign for you in the woodshop. Course, it’s off the main road, so hardly anyone sees it. But it’s there.”
I stared at Johnny. I’d always seen him as the quiet boy sitting across from me at our kitchen table, nervously drinking tea, watching me but never saying much. I’d hated how the people in the city didn’t understand me. Hated how they’d cast me as a simple country girl. Hated how they didn’t bother to see that I was more.
But maybe I did the same to Johnny.
