Thia is my one pleasure. She’s such a delight, so hungry for attention and for love. She receives neither from her father. He isn’t intentionally cruel; that would require more energy than he’s willing to spend. He simply doesn’t see her, which is a cruelty all its own. Perhaps that’s why she’s made me her special friend—her sister-to-be, as she calls me. I confess, it’s a title I like very much.
She finds me each day when she arrives home from school, eager for her lessons. She has asked me to teach her French so she’ll be fluent when she moves to Paris and becomes a famous painter. But today, she has come to my room with one of her sketchbooks under her arm. She drops down on the bed and waits for me to join her, then opens the book and slides it into my lap.
My throat catches as I look down and see Anson’s face captured in three-quarter profile. “This is wonderful,” I whisper, tracing the outline of his face with my finger.
“I miss him.”
“Me too.”
She tips her face up, trying to smile. “He’s brave, isn’t he?”
“Oui, chérie. He’s very brave. The bravest man I know.”
She blinks several times, her lashes spiked with tears. “I hope he comes home soon. Then you can get married and I can come live with you.”
My heart cracks as her words sink in. At her age, I desperately wanted to leave Maman and live with Tante Lilou, to escape my cage as Lilou had and follow my own dreams. But this feels different, not the restlessness of a spirit who longs to spread her wings but the deep sadness of a child who knows she isn’t loved.
I press a kiss to the top of her pale head and try to change the subject. “I used to draw when I was your age. Pages and pages of beautiful dresses I was going to make one day.”
Her eyes go wide. “You did?”
“I was going to be famous once. Not for my drawings but for the dresses I would make. Dresses with my name on the labels.”
“What happened to the drawings?”
“I had to leave them in Paris. They weren’t as good as yours, but they didn’t need to be. They were only ideas.”
“Did you ever make the dresses?”
I smile wistfully. “I made one. But then the war started, and no one was buying dresses like mine anymore.”
She sighs dreamily. “I wish I could have seen it. The dress, I mean. I’ll bet it was beautiful.”
I touch a finger to my lips, then go to the closet, pull out the box, and carry it back to the bed. Thia’s eyes turn to saucers as I lift the lid.
“It’s a fairy-tale dress!”
“Yes,” I say softly. “It is . . . sort of. It’s my happy ending dress.”
She cocks an eye at me. “Your what?”
“It’s something my mother and I used to say.”
“Did you really make it?”
“I did.”
“All the way from scratch?”
I smile at the turn of phrase. “All the way from scratch.”
“It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” She sighs, fingering the beads almost tenderly. “Did you make it to wear when you marry Anson?”
I think about how to answer as I fold the dress back into its box. The truth is, I started the dress long before I knew Anson, when all I cared about was proving myself to Maman. But even then, there had been the dream of someone like Anson. A prince of my own, kind and brave and handsome. Like Lilou’s Brit.
“Yes,” I say finally, softly. “I made it to marry Anson.”
She looks up at me, eyes shining. “I can’t wait till he sees you in it. You’ll be the most beautiful bride ever.”
I swallow past the tightness in my throat, surprised by the deep attachment I’ve come to feel for her. “And you’ll be a beautiful bridesmaid. What color would you like for your dress?”
“Blue,” she answers at once. “Mummy liked me in blue. She said it brought out my eyes. I had a blue dress a few years ago, with pretty puffed sleeves, but it doesn’t fit anymore. None of my good dresses fit now. But Daddy says it’s wrong to want new clothes while our boys are going without. We have to do our part.”
I suppress a scowl as I return the dress box to the closet. I’ve heard Owen’s mantra often enough now, and I recognize it for what it is—a way to keep his daughter in line. But an idea begins to form as I eye Thia’s shapeless jumper and too-tight skirt, a way to help her without depriving American GIs, but I won’t say anything until I speak to her father.