Her head comes up slowly. “What?”
She’s trying to look petulant, but I feel her curiosity. “It’s a surprise,” I half whisper.
“For me?”
For an instant, she looks so much like Anson it takes my breath away. “Oui, ma fille. For you.”
“Oh! Yes, please!”
And just like that, we’re friends again.
She follows me up the stairs and along the gallery. I make her close her eyes before I open the door and steer her to the bed.
“Voilà!” I say with a flourish. “You can look now.”
She gasps when she sees the dresses laid out on my bed like life-size paper dolls. “Are they . . . for me?”
“Of course they’re for you, silly girl. They certainly won’t fit me.”
She takes a tentative step forward, eyeing the dresses with wonder. There’s a soft pink floral with a smocked top and puffed sleeves, a white eyelet A-line with a yellow silk sash at the waist, and my favorite, a navy-blue sailor’s suit with a pleated skirt and crisp white collar. She reaches out but pulls her hand back at the last minute, as if touching them might make them disappear.
“Where did you get them?”
“They belonged to your mother,” I tell her gently. “Your father said it would be all right if I made them over for you. I used one of the dresses from your closet for the patterns, so they might need a few tucks here and there, but I wanted to surprise you.”
“That’s why we haven’t been having lessons?”
“Oui, chérie, that’s why.”
Before I can brace myself, she’s hurtling herself against me. “Thank you! Thank you! I love them.”
The feel of her arms around me sets off an unexpected longing, and for a moment I imagine what it would be like to have a daughter of my own, one with Anson’s blond hair and blue-green eyes. “Which one will you wear first?”
Thia steps back to the bed, eyeing the sailor dress longingly, but in the end points to the pink floral. “That one.”
“Really? I was sure you’d choose the navy.”
“I wanted to, but I’m going to save that one for when Anson comes home. Would that be okay?”
I smile past a throatful of tears. “I think that would be lovely. We’ll hang it—”
“Daddy!” Thia’s head swivels toward the door. “Look!”
Owen stands with a shoulder braced against the doorjamb, a glass in his hand, staring at me with a blend of surprise and annoyance, as if he’d forgotten I live under his roof. I try to smile, but his sudden appearance has unnerved me. “I was just showing Cynthia her new dresses.”
“I assumed you would show them to me first.”
His words are thick and slushy, his eyes slow to blink. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d want to be bothered about them. I know how busy you are.”
“Come look, Daddy!” Thia is pointing excitedly. “They’re so beautiful.”
Owen drags himself out of the doorway and pushes past me, coming to stand beside his daughter. Thia runs a hand over the pleated navy skirt, then cocks an eye up at her father. “This one’s my favorite. Soline says it belonged to Mummy. Do you remember it?”
His face goes slack, and for a moment I think he won’t answer. Finally, he nods. “Yes, I remember.” But it’s the white eyelet that has captured his attention. His throat bobs as he brushes a knuckle over the neckline. The touch is so intimate I nearly look away. Thia senses it, too, and reaches for his hand.
“I know you miss her, Daddy.”
Owen looks up, as if just remembering his daughter is there. He pulls his hand free and looks at me. “These will do,” he mumbles before tipping back his glass and draining the contents. “Thank you, Miss Roussel.”
Thia catches his hand again as he turns to go. “Daddy, are there any dresses in Mummy’s closet for Soline? She doesn’t have anything nice, unless you count what’s in the box, and she can’t wear that until Anson’s home.”
He shakes free of her hand. “What box?”
“The one she brought with her from France.” She turns to me with a toothy grin. “It’s where she keeps all her secrets.”
Owen pivots awkwardly. “A box of secrets?”
I smile past him at Thia. “It’s a little joke we share. A secret between us girls.”
“We’re sisters-to-be, Daddy.”
Owen stiffens. “It’s past eight, Cynthia. Time for bed.”