Hanna slumped back in her chair. The conversation had lasted only a minute or two, but it had exhausted her, and she hadn’t budged Papa one inch.

As if tainted by that difficult conversation, everything seemed to go wrong with the next day’s sewing work.

Hanna had decided at the outset to make the dress in her own size. If no orders came in, at least she would have a new dress to wear. She had been meticulous about measuring herself and adjusting the pattern accordingly. Bess finished basting the bodice, and Hanna tried it on.

It was far too tight.

“Rotten eggs!” Hanna cursed, half under her breath. “Rotten, smelly, putrid, stinking eggs!”

Bess looked startled. “Pardon?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. It’s something my mama used to say. Her favorite curse—in English it means ‘rotten egg.’ I—well, I add more words sometimes.”

Bess’s eyes took on a bit of a sparkle. “So you can curse without people knowing you’re cursing,” she said. “I’m going to try that at home.”

Hanna had to laugh, but then she sobered and shook her head. “There isn’t enough seam allowance to fix this,” she said. She would have to cut two new pieces of lawn for the front bodice and sew them again. “What did I do wrong?” she groaned.

Once she had taken the bodice apart, she and Bess discovered the mistake: Hanna had forgotten to account for eliminating the shirring of the original pattern. The shirred trim was much wider than the piping she was using in its place. It was a stupid mistake, a beginner’s mistake, and she was no beginner, which only made her angrier at herself.

“No use crying over spilled milk,” Bess said. “That’s what my ma says, anyway. I’m going to start hemming the skirt. You go ahead and take care of the bodice and don’t worry about anything else. It’ll go faster this time because you’ve already done it once.”

Hanna cast her a quick, grateful look.

23

BESS WAS RIGHT; by mid-afternoon, Hanna had replaced the front bodice, which now fit perfectly. Bess went out back to use the privy; when she returned, she said, “My, those roses are lovely. I didn’t know you could grow them like that.”

“Goodness!” Hanna jumped to her feet. “I forgot about them. Mrs. Blake at the hotel said I could have some lard cans. I’d better go and fetch them now.” Besides the fact that the prairie rose bushes had to be transplanted for the opening, it was a Saturday, bath night; the washtub would need to be emptied and cleaned.

“Shall I come—will you need help?”

“No, no, I’d much rather you stay here and keep hemming. I won’t be long at all.”