A few minutes later, Sadie stepped out of the bathroom, scrubbed clean and wearing the dress I had given her. It was too big and she looked a bit uncomfortable, as though she was wearing some sort of a costume. “You look beautiful,” I said. She really did. Cleaned of dirt, her pale skin was luminescent. Her brown eyes were bright with happiness.

She smiled, rubbing her hands against the fabric. “I feel wonderful. Thank you.”

I led her back up to my room. “Let me brush your hair,” I offered, and she sat down in the chair willingly. She sat perfectly still as I styled her dark hair into a high knot and then patted her nose with powder. “There, ready for a night at the opera.” We both chuckled. “You look like a different person.” The words came out not at all as I intended. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

She smiled brightly. “I understand. It just feels so good to be clean. Of course, it won’t last, once I go back.”

“Don’t worry about getting the dress dirty,” I said. “Keep it. It’s yours.”

“Thank you, but I’m not just talking about the dress. All of this tonight, it’s like a dream. A dream that has to end.” Her time here was just a momentary reprieve from the sadness and suffering. She reached out for my hand and squeezed it.

“I’m happy to do it. It’s really nice, having you here.” It really was, even if in a short while she would be gone. “You still need shoes.” The boots she had been wearing were nearly disintegrated from the constant wetness.

“I’ve been wearing them since we left the ghetto. They’re too small,” she acknowledged. “But I can make do.”

I reached into my armoire once more, suddenly mindful of the dozens of shoes I’d cast in there over the years without a second thought. I pulled out a pair of black, patent leather shoes. “They might be too big,” I fretted.

“They’re perfect,” Sadie said after putting them on, and whether that was true or she was just saying it to be polite, I could not tell. They were warm and dry, though, and Sadie looked at them as if she had never felt anything finer. “Thank you,” she said again.

Just then, there was a commotion from below, the sound of a door opening. My heart stopped. “What is it?” Sadie asked, seeing my expression.

I shook my head, barely able to speak over the lump that had formed in my throat. “Ana Lucia is home.”

14

Ella

“My stepmother,” I explained in an urgent whisper. “She’s back.” Her plans must have changed. And she wasn’t alone, I judged, hearing a second heavier set of footsteps as they started up the stairs. I didn’t mention that part, not wanting to panic Sadie.

But it was no use; Sadie’s face paled with terror. “You said no one was home, that she was out for the night.”