Mama had never said those words. Hanna had thought of them herself that very moment. It’s what I would say to her, if she were here now.

Hanna spent the rest of the week measuring customers for their dresses, helping them choose patterns and fabrics, drawing sketches of changes to the patterns. Then she and Bess began pinning, basting, cutting, stitching. She went to bed early almost every night, exhilarated but also worn-out from the long hours in the workroom. Often she fell asleep when there was still light in the western sky.

Staying busy during the day helped ward off memories of the assault; being exhausted at bedtime kept away the nightmares. On the Saturday after the grand opening, she was in the workroom pinning a pattern piece when a thought struck her so hard that she jammed a pin into her finger without even feeling it.

What would she do when she saw Mr. Swenson again?

It was bound to happen. Maybe not for days or even weeks, but sooner or later, she would be walking down Main Street, and he would be there.

Should she avoid him—cross the street, change her route? But what if he saw her first? Perhaps she could make her face blank. Or better still, ignore him altogether.

She tried to imagine walking past him, her head high, utterly unaffected by his presence. But the possibilities for disaster seemed endless. Her knees might buckle. She might faint or get sick or start to cry. She could already feel her stomach churning.

Breathe, she told herself sternly.

She filled her lungs deeply, once and then again. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed the fabric against the pinprick of blood on her left middle finger. As she bent again over her work, she still didn’t know what to do.

At least she had asked the question, which had not occurred to her earlier because she hadn’t been ready. It was the first step. Before there could be answers, there had to be questions.

She decided to make every effort not to run errands alone, at least for a while. It would be easier to ignore the man if someone else was with her. She also thought about warning other girls and young women to steer clear of Swenson. Bess would surely be willing to help with that. And Miss Walters might have other suggestions.

Hanna already knew that she would never be able to forget what Swenson had done to her. She had to learn not to let him do it again and again in her head and in her dreams. For that, she would need to draw strength from other people—the people in her life who cared about her. Bess. Miss Walters.

Maybe even Papa, one day, someday.

On an evening a week after the opening, she was in bed dozing off when Papa’s voice woke her.