Secrets of a Charmed Life Read Online Free PDF Page B

thrust her hand under the bed skirt. She withdrew the wooden box and brought it back.
    “Can you take all the threads out for me? Just dump them on my bed.”
    While Julia obeyed, Emmy reached for the satchel that she used for school, and then walked over to the bed and sat down next to her sister. In between them lay the pile of skeins, a tumble of color. From the satchel Emmy withdrew a folder marked
Geometry
, opened it, and pulled out a sheaf of sketches.
    “What are you doing with your brides?” Julia asked.
    “I might need to show them to the lady at the bridal shop.”
    “Why?”
    “When I tell this lady that I’ve never worked in a dress shop, she might not want to hire me, but if I show her the brides, maybe she will.”
    Emmy reached for the empty box in Julia’s lap. Its hinges and clasp, at one time golden-hued, had aged to a mossy brown. Etchings of flowering vines scrolled the front and sides, as did scuffs and scratches from its earlier uses. Emmy thumbed through the sketches, pulled out her earliest attempts, and then tossed these on the bed. She opened the lid and placed the best ones—a dozen of them—inside the box.
    “There. That’s better than a geometry folder.”
    “What if she says no?”
    “Then I will be no worse off than if I hadn’t shown them to her, right?”
    “What if she takes the brides from you?”
    “She won’t.”
    “But how do you know?”
    “I don’t think she’s that kind of person. Besides, I won’t let her. I won’t let anyone take my drawings from me, okay?”
    Julia nodded but a trace of doubt lingered on her face. It was as if she already knew good things had a way of being taken from someone—especially in a time of war.
    “What about those?” Julia pointed to the rejects on the bed.
    “How about while I am gone, you give those brides some bouquets to carry? You can use my colored pencils and put flowers in their hair and bouquets in their hands. Yes?”
    Julia seemed pleased with this assignment. “What ifI want to give them something else to carry? Does it have to be flowers?”
    Emmy kissed the top of her sister’s fair head. “It can be whatever you want. Give them kangaroos to hold if that suits you.”
    Julia laughed and Emmy pushed herself off the bed. “Do I look all right?”
    “You look like Mum.”
    Emmy nodded. Good enough. “I’ll be right back. Keep the door locked. Don’t answer the bell. Just work on those brides.”
    She tucked the box under her arm and headed for the front door, her feet lifting slightly out of Mum’s too-big shoes with every step.

Four

    THE broken glass had been swept away and several long sections of wood had been nailed to the window frame at Primrose Bridal. Emmy stepped inside the shop and the tinkling of two silver bells attached to the handle announced her arrival. Mrs. Crofton looked up from a white French provincial writing desk situated along the left wall. Two Queen Anne chairs upholstered in cobalt blue velvet sat opposite her. Emmy imagined one was for the bride, and the other for the bride’s mother or sister or maid of honor. Mrs. Crofton had probably consulted with a thousand brides from behind the desk.
    “Flip the Closed sign, will you?” she said. “And set the latch.”
    Emmy turned back to the door and did what Mrs. Crofton asked, using the few seconds to still the niggling nervousness that had suddenly bloomed inside her chest.
    “Please have a seat, Miss—I’m sorry I’ve forgotten your name,” Mrs. Crofton said as Emmy completed the task. “Too maddening of a day.”
    “Emmeline. Emmeline Downtree.” Emmy closed the distance between them and sat down on one of the chairs.
    Mrs. Crofton finished making notations in a leather-covered ledger and closed it gently with a bandaged hand. “Eloise Crofton. If it’s not a drunkard crashing his car into my window, it’s daft suppliers who think just because there is a war, women aren’t getting married.”
    Emmy had said as much