“I know it must be difficult, but I’m certain things will turn out for the best.”

“Thank you, miss.”

Hanna said her goodbyes. On the walk back home, she wondered what it would be like to feel certain that things would turn out for the best.

Hanna broke the Sabbath by working on the green dress. She would complete it regardless of what had happened, because Mama would have disapproved of leaving it unfinished. Odd—normally the prospect of a new dress would have been exciting. This one would forever be a reminder of failure. Even so, working was better than sitting still; being busy helped push the memory of the assault into a darkened corner of her mind.

On Monday morning, the day before the opening, Hanna answered the door to Bess’s knock. But Bess did not step inside.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice low and tremulous. “I’m not coming to work today.” She looked at Hanna, her eyes full of regret. “It’s not me, I swear. It’s Ma. She—she says I can’t work for you anymore. She didn’t even want to let me come here to tell you, but Pa said I could.”

Hanna stood very still—first in shock, then with growing anger. The Harrises had obviously heard about what happened. Mrs. Harris’s reaction was entirely predictable. Mr. Harris had allowed Bess to come to the shop to deliver her message, but not to continue working. He, like Miss Walters, was sympathetic, but only to a point. They were in favor of fairness and justice as long as it wasn’t too inconvenient or uncomfortable.

Mama, why aren’t you here? I can do the sewing, but I can’t fix anything else. It’s too hard to do alone.

She sensed Mama’s silent answer.

“Alone?”

Hanna waited, her head down, staring at her shoes.

Was that all?

Mama, please say something more . . .

“Hanna, please say something.”

Startled, she looked up. Bess was still standing before her.

You’re right, Mama. I’m not alone.

Mama had known the importance of helping other people—and of accepting help from them. The missionaries. Miss Lorna. Papa, their customers, her friends. Maybe that was part of what it meant to be independent: learning when to be strong on your own, and when to be strong with the help of others.

“Bess, can I talk to you for a moment?”

25

BESS CAME INTO THE KITCHEN but politely refused to sit down. Hanna stood facing her.

“It’s pretty clear that folks have heard about what happened Saturday. But they haven’t heard the truth. They think that I misbehaved. Badly. So badly that they’re not going to come to the opening. Or buy from our shop. It’s just not right that my family’s whole livelihood is about to be ruined. Because of lies.”

“I’m sorry,” Bess whispered for a second time.

“How sorry?”