A soft knock at the door caused Calla and me to silence our conversation, as if we’d just been discovered telling secrets, which I guessed we were. Calla and I had become that close. We were comfortable sharing our excitement, our fears, our worries about the ball and afterward. We’d reached the point in our relationship where we trusted each other implicitly. We told secrets only true sisters would share. The knock at the door was an intrusion on our intimacy.

The visitor knocked again. “Is Penny there?” asked a quiet voice.

Calla rose to answer the door, but I motioned her back down. “Finish touching up your makeup,” I said unnecessarily. She’d spent the better part of the hour doing just that. Calla smiled in thanks before turning her attention to her image in the mirror.

When I opened the door, I was surprised to see the young girl from our alteration appointment. I understood why she was there when I saw my emerald gown draped over her arm.

“Thank you for bringing this,” I said, taking it from her.

The girl nodded, but then pressed something into my hand. I recognized the note I’d attached to the gown when I dropped it off for repair. I wrinkled it up, ready to toss it into the wastebasket, when the girl softly gripped my arm. Before I could speak, she pointed to Calla and then to my note.

“Thanks,” I said, puzzled. She nodded again, then closed the door behind her.

Calla was working to secure a stray strand of her hair back into her clip. She gave up, letting out a sigh as she removed the clip and started all over again. I sat on my bed. Using my gown to cover my hands, I unfolded and read my note.

Would you please fix the hook? — Leath.

Oh, no.

I’d accidentally used my real name. The girl was on to me. Yet, for some reason, she had tried to warn me. Silently thanking her for her discretion, I hoped she was the only one who had read my note. I balled up the paper, then flung my gown onto my bed in an exaggerated motion that helped disguise my opening my chest just wide enough to tuck the note inside.

“They did a great job fixing the eyehook,” I said when Calla turned around to see what I was doing. “You can’t even tell it was torn.”

“That’s a relief,” Calla said. “Now, everything will be perfect.”

I looked at Calla, then burst out laughing. Apparently, her frustration had gotten the better of her. Her hair clip sat on the top of her head like a cheap crown. Shaking my head, I stood behind her at her dressing table. “Let me,” I said, gently removing the clip from her head. A few minutes later, Calla’s hair was gracefully swept into the clip.