Bess blinked.

“You say you’re sorry that this is happening to us. Are you sorry enough to help?”

“But what could I do?”

A faint hope rippled through Hanna.

“I need the women in town to know the truth—that those men attacked me, and I wasn’t misbehaving in any way. But I don’t want the law involved, because then my father would have to be told.”

She stared into Bess’s wide blue eyes. “If I tried to convince the ladies, they wouldn’t believe me. No, it’s worse than that—they wouldn’t even let me in the door to speak to them. But you could do it. They’d invite you right in. They’d listen to you, even the ones who would never give me the time of day.”

“I’m not good at talking to strangers,” Bess said.

“I didn’t say it would be easy.”

Silence.

“I want to help—really I do,” Bess said, her eyes filling with tears. “I just don’t think I can. What would I say to Ma?”

The ripple of hope was dissipating. It’s a hard thing, what I’m asking her to do. But somehow I have to get her to see that it’s not nearly as hard as being ignored and spited and attacked and hated, and losing your business and your home . . . and the only real friend you’ve had in years.

For if the shop proved unsuccessful, Papa would have to sell up and they would move on yet again.

She wondered what she would remember about their time in LaForge—the good things, she hoped. Those weeks at school, when it had been just her and Bess and Sadie studying with Miss Walters . . .

“Miss Walters.” Hanna’s own voice surprised her. “She could go with you.”

Bess raised her head. “Do you think she would?”

“I don’t know. I went to see her yesterday. She told me not to do anything—‘least said, soonest mended.’ But it took her a while to say that . . . Anyway, you could start by talking to her.”

Bess seemed to stand up a little taller. “That much I can do.”

All morning Hanna hoped that Bess would return during the noon hour to tell her how things had gone. Dinner came and went with no visit from Bess, and then the afternoon seemed to lengthen without end.

Hanna spent most of the day working on the dress: the last stretch of hemming, the piping on the sleeves, and twelve vexatious buttonholes. The only good thing about Bess’s absence was that Hanna had more than enough to keep her busy. And, while she wasn’t proud of it, she couldn’t help the petty, spiteful thought that Bess had left her to do all the buttonholes herself.