“You’re not to tell me what to do,” he retorted, but the abrasive edge in his voice was gone. “The truth is, I likely won’t have time to bother with it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.” He left through the door into the storeroom.

Not a total victory.

But not a defeat, either.

The next few days were frantically busy. Papa organized the goods in the shop, Hanna took charge of the storeroom. On Wednesday, she baked dozens of cookies. Two kinds, molasses clove and sugar vanilla—the one brown and spicy, the other light and crisp. She stored them in tins to await Tuesday’s opening. She also made two strings of bells to hang on the double doors; they would jingle cheerfully to announce the arrival of customers.

The following day, as Papa handed Hanna his plate after dinner, he said, “Had some visitors today—well, not exactly visitors. They just stopped by to chat.”

“Oh?” She stacked his plate on hers and rose to put them in the basin.

“Didn’t stay long. Let’s see, it was Miss Walters, Mrs. Tanner, and Mrs. Grantham.”

Mrs. Tanner was married to the town’s doctor. Mrs. Grantham owned the furniture shop with her husband.

Hanna turned in surprise. “Miss Walters was here?”

“Yes. Like I said, they didn’t linger.” Pause. “Miss Walters asked if we were going to be making dresses as well as selling dress goods, and the other ladies wanted to know the same.”

She tried to speak nonchalantly. “What did you say to them?”

“Well, what was I supposed to say?” he demanded, but there was no real heat in his voice. “They sort of ambushed me. If they had asked me one at a time, I could have said something different. But they came to me in a group, and . . .” He spread out his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

She waited, holding her breath.

“I told them I was looking into it,” he said. “So that’s what I’m going to do.”

Her brows drew together in puzzlement. “How?”

“I’m thinking about hiring a seamstress.”

I mustn’t shout at him—it will only make him angry.

But this was an important moment: If she wanted him to think of her as old enough to be the Edmunds Dress Goods seamstress, she would have to act that way.

“Papa,” she said, keeping her voice as quiet and controlled as she could. “I know you don’t want me to sew for the shop, but I don’t know why.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m your father. You do as I say, and I don’t have to explain myself to you.”