Papa was still in the shop, sweeping, dusting, polishing, by the light of a lantern. He had already cleaned the whole place but was doing it again, as if buffing the woodwork until it gleamed would bring in the customers. She sensed that he, too, needed to keep moving.

He looked up and nodded at her, but did not stop working. “Good night, Hanna.”

Hanna got into bed and turned on her side. She thought she might cry, but her eyes remained dry. She lay awake for a long time, bone-weary and heartsore. Eventually she heard Papa’s tread on the stairs and the creak of the floorboards as he went to bed.

In the darkest part of the night, she thought of something she had forgotten to do. She rose, lit the lantern, and tiptoed downstairs. She found what she needed in the workroom, then fetched the dress from the window display.

Hanna unbuttoned the dress’s collar. On the underside of the collar near the right shoulder seam, she embroidered a tiny five-petaled lotus in pale pink thread. Then she rebuttoned the collar and smoothed it down.

There, Mama. Now it’s finished.

She hung the dress in the window again and crept back upstairs. The night sky had lightened to gray by the time she finally fell asleep.

“Hanna! What’s the matter—are you poorly again?”

Yanked from sleep by Papa’s voice calling from downstairs, Hanna sat up so quickly that for a moment the room reeled around her.

“I’m fine, Papa,” she called back. “What—”

“Then hurry yourself and get down here.”

Mystified, Hanna dressed hastily. She rushed into Papa’s room to look at the clock; it was a few minutes before nine. She couldn’t remember ever sleeping this late before.

Then she heard an unfamiliar sound from outside. The window in Papa’s room was at the front of the building, above the shop. She looked out the window and choked back a cry of astonishment.

On the sidewalk, there was a long line of people—a line that crossed the alley and went halfway up the next block. Mostly women and girls, a few men. They were chatting cheerily, and those standing by the window were gazing at the display, pointing, nodding, smiling. Which meant that Papa must have taken down the brown paper and turned everything in the window well to face the street.

“Hey, Edmunds!” one of the men called out. “It’s nine by my watch! You opening today or not?”

“That’s right—it’s nine o’clock!” someone else said.

As Hanna watched, Papa opened the door and went outside. “Yes, we’re open,” he said. “Come on in, everyone, and welcome.”

Hanna drew back from the window, dizzy with disbelief.

Bess had done it. Somehow, she had gotten what looked like half the town to come to the opening.

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