“Hanna? Come give me a hand—I need your help.”

What could he want at this hour? she wondered. Thickheaded and rusty of voice, she called down to him. “Do I have to get dressed?”

“No. Just put on a wrapper.”

She grabbed Mama’s old plaid shawl to drape around her shoulders and went down the stairs in her bare feet, still trying to rub the grogginess from her eyes. The sun had set, leaving behind a blue-gray twilight.

Papa met her in the kitchen. “Close your eyes,” he said.

She obeyed, of course, but couldn’t help saying, “Papa?”

“Would you do as I say this once?” His words were curt, but in his voice she heard more amusement than exasperation.

He took her by the hand and walked her to the far end of the workroom.

“There,” he said. “Now, a little to your left . . .” He guided her another step or two. “All right. Open your eyes.”

Hanna blinked. In the dim light, her vision was clouded at first.

Then she gasped at the shadowy image in front of her.

A ghost? A mirage?

But she looks so real—even her shawl . . .

She moved her lips soundlessly. Mama?

“Well? What do you think?” Papa’s voice rang sudden and loud in her ear.

He stepped forward, and at last, she realized what she was seeing.

Her own reflection in a full-length mirror, with Papa behind her.

The mirror was a long oval of glass with a smooth beveled edge, mounted on a hinged oak stand. While not as big as Mama’s wall mirror, it was in one way even more useful: The glass could be tilted to alter the viewing angle, to focus more on the lower or upper half of the body.

She turned to give Papa a hug. He dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head. “Who ever heard of a dressmaker’s shop with no mirror?” he said, smiling.

“You’ll have to repaint the sign,” she said. “It’s not Edmunds Dress Goods any longer. It’s Edmunds Dress Shop.”

“Yes, boss,” he said, heaving a mock sigh.

They laughed together. Then she faced the mirror again.

Hanna had viewed her reflection many times, in shop windows and puddles of water, and in the small looking glass. But it had been years since she had seen her whole self with such clarity.

Nor had she known how much she had come to resemble Mama. Beautiful Mama.

“So you like it?” Papa asked.

Her reflection nodded at them both.

“Yes, Papa,” she said. “It’s exactly what I need.”

Author’s Note

I WROTE HANNA’s STORY as an attempt at a painful reconciliation.