Since Leah was accustomed to one church dress, one school dress, and one work dress, five beautiful outfits felt decadent indeed, especially since she could mix components.

She studied herself in the full-length mirror. Never had she owned such a pretty dress, a buttery yellow shirtwaist sprigged with tiny white flowers and leaves the same sage green as her suit, with a scalloped white collar and cuffs, like someone would wear to a summer lawn party in a novel.

It fit so well it made her squirm. She hardly recognized herself with a waistline and calves, much less with lipstick and her hair cut fashionably below her chin.

“Are you finished?” Darlene called.

“Yes.” Leah stepped into her beige pumps and grabbed the matching shoulder bag. Maybe someday she’d learn to walk in heels. Most girls her age already knew how, but Leah didn’t know what to do with an extra three inches.

Darlene poked around in a basket on top of a circular rack of blouses. “Aren’t these cute? Just what you need.”

A kaleidoscope of color radiated from the basket—dozens of jeweled pins shaped like flowers and animals and American flags. “They’re beautiful.”

“Which one do you like?”

The bouquet, and Leah cupped the beauty in her hand. Glass blossoms in every hue adorned golden stems tied with a curling golden ribbon. “Maybe next month. I need to watch my budget.”

Her roommate heaved a sigh as if Leah had denied Darlene the pin, and she flounced to the register. “You have a job, sugar. Live a little.”

“First I need to live. I have to pay room and board, bus fare, and cafeteria lunches.”

The saleslady rang up the purchase with cheery cha-chings from the cash register, and she folded each item in a snowy tissue paper cocoon.

It was all Leah’s. What a blessing.

Darlene batted mascaraed eyelashes. “Promise me you’ll buy the pin next month.”

“We’ll see.” She still needed an umbrella and a wallet and a pen.

The saleslady smiled at Leah. “That’ll be $17.47.”

Two and a half dollars under her budget, and Leah reached to open her shoulder bag.

“Shall I ring that up for you too?” The saleslady nodded to Leah’s hands.

She uncurled her fingers. The bouquet pin? She’d carried it to the counter? What if she’d dropped it into her bag?

Her heart stopped.

“Oh yes,” Darlene said. “The camel-colored suit is divine, but that pin would set it off.”

Leah forced her lungs to pump out words, and she handed the pin to the saleslady. “No, thank you. Not today.” She fumbled for the bills inside her purse.

What had she almost done? She’d never taken anything from a store before, but then she’d rarely been inside stores. The shopkeepers in Des Moines shooed out the orphans.

This was why.

The saleslady punched keys on the cash register, her lips in a thin red line.