Mama had taught Hanna to sew when she was barely more than a toddler. First with a big, blunt tapestry needle that she pushed in and out of a piece of wire mesh. Then a slimmer needle on burlap, which had a coarse weave that helped her keep her stitches in a straight line, and finally on linen. Over the years, Hanna had learned far more than the mechanics of stitching. Fabric choice, color, design, and especially how to suit the garment to the customer . . . Spending nearly every waking moment in the shop, she had absorbed all those lessons. She aimed to honor Mama’s legacy by becoming the Edmunds Dress Goods designer and seamstress, whose garments were so fine and well made that every woman in town would want one.

She would sew her way into the hearts of the women of LaForge.

Hanna spent the next two weeks alternating between studying feverishly and ordering dress goods for the shop. Papa brought her several wholesale catalogues for fabric; she paged through them much more eagerly than she did her history book.

She discussed her choices with Papa. Several types of muslin, for bed sheets, undergarments, nightclothes. A wide selection of calicos for everyday. Poplins, challises, and printed lawns for summertime visiting and church dresses. Only a handful of woolens; they would order more of those toward the end of the summer. A wine-colored watered silk, a black cashmere, a midnight blue velvet.

Papa objected to the last three.

“Never sell them out here,” he said. “Those are for city folks.”

“You might be right, Papa,” she said. “But remember in Los Angeles—how Mama always had a bolt or two of silk on hand, in case a gentleman wanted a silk shirt? She once told me that it was important to have nice things in a shop. Even if they’re not going to sell. Because they bring in customers, just to look, and then you end up making a sale.”

What Mama had actually said was, “Sometimes beautiful things aren’t for buying. They’re for dreaming.” Hanna did not repeat that to Papa; he would have dismissed it as codswallop.

“Pick two, then,” he said. “I’m not buying three whole bolts that might not sell.”

She chose the silk and the cashmere, feeling victorious.

But he would not yield an inch on the question of the mirror.

The shop in Los Angeles had been fitted with a huge wall mirror, three feet wide and six feet tall. No other shop in Chinatown had such a magnificent mirror; it might well have been one of the biggest in the city.