“Their dresses. She has drawn a whole bunch. She gave me some. I have them inside my book. You want to see?”
“Well, perhaps when I am not driving.” Charlotte glanced at Emmy, hoping for a fuller explanation.
“I like to sketch bridal designs,” Emmy said. “I am hoping, I mean, I am planning to become a designer. I had a job at a bridal shop. Until today.”
“Oh. I see. I’m so sorry you had to leave it, Emmeline.”
Her empathy was genuine and full, almost too much for Emmy to handle.
“Her dresses are really pretty,” Julia continued, and Emmy was happy for the interruption. “She has them in the brides box. I like to look at them and Emmy lets me whenever I want as long as she is there with me. I’m not supposed to get them out when she’s not home.”
“I would love to see them sometime,” Charlotte said. “If you don’t mind showing them to me, that is.”
“Um. Sure,” Emmy said. Charlotte’s interest, almost maternal in nature, was strangely welcome.
“If you like, I can show you my wedding dress sometime,” Charlotte said, her smile broad. “Oh my goodness, Emmeline. Just wait until you see what was in style back when I got married. Would you like to?”
Emmy nodded, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She found she could not speak.
Charlotte seemed to pick up on this. It was as if she knew Emmy needed the topic of discussion to shift to something not so desperately personal.
“So, we are almost to Thistle House,” Charlotte said. “I need to tell you girls that my sister, Rose, is a dear soul, but she’s a bit forgetful and simpleminded. She’s only a year younger than I am, but you would do me a great favor by thinking of her—if you don’t mind—as if she were five.”
“Why does she think she’s five?” Julia asked, genuinely concerned.
“She doesn’t think she’s five. She just has a difficult time thinking like an adult would think. Rose was in an accident a long time ago. It was very bad and we thought she might die. She finally came back to us, but she came back different. When she woke up from her injuries, it was as if she were a little girl again and she just stayed that way.”
“How old was she when that happened?” Emmy’s sympathies had been aroused as only a fellow sister’s would.
“She was thirteen. A very long time ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Emmy didn’t know what else to say.
“It’s all right. My parents and I just learned to love the new Rose. It actually wasn’t that hard to do.” Charlotte laughed nervously, as though the accident was still fresh in her mind. “Once we let go of the old Rose. Here we are.”
They turned down a narrow gravel path wide enough for only one car, which, after a slight curve, led to a house constructed of Cotswold stone, with wood trim painted forest green. Climbing roses rioted across the front gate and ivy crawled up the sidewalls. Gabled windows on the second story boasted window boxes of white and pink geraniums. A brass oval nailed to the stone framing the doorway read THISTLE HOUSE. It was such a charming, storybook place that Emmy instinctively reached into her skirt pocket to touch the ticket stub from Paddington station and the key to Primrose nestled behind it. She needed to remind herself that she really had awakened that morning in London. Julia was similarly awestruck. There was no house like this in their little corner of the world, and that corner was all her sister knew. Julia held her fairy tale book close to her chest, her eyes wide with wonder and doubt.
They got out of the car.
Charlotte, carrying Julia’s suitcase, walked up the stone pathway to the front door and opened it wide. “Welcome to Thistle House, Emmeline and Julia. My home is yours.”
The short, narrow entryway led to a sitting room and a staircase straight ahead, a kitchen and pantry and the privy on the left, and a dining room and living area on the right. In Charlotte’s absence, Rose had been looked after by a neighbor who lived nearby. Mrs. Tinley bid them all welcome and then left by the garden door to return to her home.
Rose looked a lot like Charlotte; she had the same nose and chin, the same eyes, even the same long silvery braid. Their voices had the same tone and timbre. Their sameness seemed to accentuate Julia’s and Emmy’s differences. Julia’s fair skin, green eyes, and blond hair were all Neville. Emmy’s brown hair was darker than Mum’s, and so were her eyes.
Charlotte led the girls to the table where Rose sat surrounded by a pile of magazines. “Rose, these are the children from London I was telling you about. This is Emmeline and this is Julia.”
Rose languidly blinked at the girls. “Are they staying in my room?” she finally said, frowning.
“No, they’re in the guest room. Remember?”
Rose studied the sisters for another long moment. “The green towels are mine. But I’ll share them.” Then she bent over her magazine.
“How about I show you to your room and then we’ll have a nice tea out in the garden?”
They made their way back to the main entry and to the staircase that led to the three bedrooms upstairs. The guest room was decorated in shades of yellow with dormer windows graced with eyelet valances and the familiar blackout curtains. So they did know about the war here, Emmy thought. Two four-poster beds were side-by-side, both covered with daisy-patterned quilts and ruffled bed skirts. Each one was paired with a bedside table. Directly across from the beds and on the other side of the door was a tall wardrobe, painted white and decorated with sunflowers. A tall bureau painted white with yellow glass knobs filled one slanted wall, and a desk with a little gooseneck table lamp sat along another. A waist-high, lace-covered table stood next to the desk. It was the prettiest bedroom Emmy had ever seen.
“I’ve emptied all but the bottom bureau drawer for you,” Charlotte said. “And more than half the wardrobe. And I’ve put some writing paper in the desk for you so you can write home to your mum or your friends as often as you wish. I wrote down my address on a little card there so that you can let people know where you are.”
“Thank you,” Emmy murmured, the most she could say at that moment.
A long pause followed as Emmy and Julia stared at the room that was to be theirs.
“Would you like to settle in and unpack first? Or would you like to do that later and come outside to the garden for a little tea?” Charlotte said.
Julia finally found her voice. “May we see the chickens?”
Charlotte laughed. “Of course! Right this way.”
She turned to leave and Julia was right on her heels, grabbing Charlotte’s hand as she stepped out of the room.
Watching Julia so easily reach for Charlotte’s hand took Emmy aback for only a moment.
Half a moment, really.
That was how long it took her to realize this situation was perfect—for Julia.
She would write a letter that very night and give Mrs. Crofton her new address. When the day came that Mrs. Crofton informed Emmy that Mr. Dabney had returned to London, she could sneak away, and leave Julia here with no reservations whatsoever. Julia would be happy here. And Emmy would be happy to be returning to London and getting on with her life. Everyone would be happy.
Emmy followed her sister.