Secrets of a Charmed Life (13 page)

THE
plan began to form in Emmy’s head as she lay in bed that night.

She had to be at the Knightsbridge station by four o’clock in the afternoon. From their travels to get to Stow, she knew that meant she had to be on a train out of Moreton no later than noon. It was an hour to Oxford, where she would have to change trains, and then an hour and a half to Paddington station in London, and then another twenty minutes from Paddington to Knightsbridge, plus the transfer times in between. If she left any later than twelve o’clock, she would be at risk of missing the appointment.

Emmy was sure there was at least one train bound for Oxford that left Moreton before noon. That detail didn’t cause her concern. Getting to Moreton on Saturday morning without being seen was going to be the most difficult leg of the journey.

There was only way to accomplish it that she could see—she would have to sneak away in the middle of the night and walk the five miles to Moreton in the dark. If she left at three in the morning, she wouldn’t be seen by anyone; not even the milkman was out and about that early. She would take only what could fit inside her satchel. Emmy estimated she would need no less than two hours to walk in the dark to Moreton, which would put her at the train station a bit before sunrise. She would have to lie low for an hour or two and then when the station opened, buy a ticket to London on the first train out. If everything went as planned, she would be at Knightsbridge before one o’clock, a good three hours before she was to meet with Mrs. Crofton and her cousin.

All she had to do between now and then was write the two letters—one to Charlotte, and one to Julia—and think of a way to convince Mr. Dabney that he didn’t need to involve Mum, and manage to pretend for the next three days that nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Writing the letters was more difficult than Emmy initially thought it would be. With so little privacy at Thistle House, she’d have to write the letters by candlelight in her room or find a quiet spot during her Friday visit to town. Since she didn’t know where Charlotte kept her candles and couldn’t think of an excuse for why she wanted one, she opted to write the letters in the little triangle-shaped bit of parkland in Stow, just across the street from Charlotte’s church. Friday afternoon she left for the village right after lunch, barely saying a word to anyone lest Julia or Rose ask to come with her. After stopping for Charlotte’s newspaper, Emmy settled herself on the lone bench in the little park. She was still in view of anyone walking past, but surely she appeared as only a
young woman writing an ordinary letter to a relative or friend. Once she was settled with pen and stationery in hand, the difficulty became not finding the privacy to write the letters but the words to put inside them. Julia’s had to be worded simply and so that she would not panic, and that proved to be the stiffest challenge.

My dear Julia,

I have been called away because someone very kind wants to help me make my brides box dresses real. Just think! They won’t be just drawings anymore but real dresses! I wish I could take you with me; truly I do. But Mum would worry about you too much and she would be very cross with me. I want you to stay here with Aunt Charlotte while I am gone. She will take good care of you. Before you know it, all the children will be going back home to London and I will come see you at the flat and show you the dresses. Won’t that be lovely?

Be a good girl and mind Aunt Charlotte. The time will pass quickly, I promise.

Love,

Emmy

As Emmy read the letter back to herself, an ache swelled in her chest at the thought of leaving Julia, perhaps for the duration of the war. Would it be months before Emmy saw her again? Years? Would Julia forgive her for leaving her in the middle of the night? As she folded the letter and put it inside the envelope she had brought, she prayed that Julia would one day understand why it had to be this way. She printed Julia’s name on the front of the envelope and then blew the letters dry. Emmy touched the
J to make sure it would not smear in her pocket, and her index finger lingered on the swirl of the letter’s tail. It looked very much like the handle of an umbrella. The ache in her chest threatened to morph into something more like dread at the thought of leaving Julia behind. Emmy quickly slipped the letter into the pocket of her skirt so that she would not have to look at it anymore. Then she took the second piece of stationery and began to write.

Dear Charlotte:

I am so very sorry that I must return to London in a way that I am sure will disappoint you. You have been nothing but kind and generous to my sister and me, and I will always be in your debt. I have been given an opportunity to work alongside someone who can help me turn my bridal sketches into real gowns. It is an opportunity I cannot pass up. I mean no disrespect to you, and I ask that whatever feelings you have toward me for what I have done, please spare them from my sister. Please hold nothing against her because of my actions; just watch over her and keep her safe.

Thank you for everything you have done for me and will continue to do for Julia.

I hope you can forgive me.

You can rest assured that I am in safe company.

Yours,

Emmeline Downtree

Emmy read the letter over a few times to make sure there was nothing else she could add that would lessen Charlotte’s distress. She could already feel the weight of Charlotte’s displeasure as she folded the letter, placed it
in its envelope, and wrote Charlotte’s name across the front. When the ink was dry, Emmy placed the second letter in her skirt pocket along with the first.

When she got back to Thistle House, a surprising sense of melancholy swept over her as she realized that in less than twenty-four hours she would be gone, perhaps never to return. Ever. The war would end eventually, Julia would be sent home, and Emmy would have no need—and perhaps no invitation—to return to Thistle House. She took the stairs slowly as she went to her room to hide the letters in the brides box for the time being.

The rest of the day passed too slowly. Emmy found herself unable to concentrate on simple tasks or finish anything she started. Though she tried to project an unburdened state of mind, Charlotte asked her late in the afternoon if she was feeling all right. Flustered, Emmy answered that it was just her time of the month, and Charlotte promptly made a tea of soothing herbs that she said she used to brew for herself “back in the day.”

Emmy thanked her and took the tea to her room to further the ruse that she wasn’t feeling well. When she opened the door, Julia was sitting on Emmy’s bed with the brides box in her lap. The letter addressed to Charlotte lay open and tented near her knee, likely unread because of the cursive handwriting. The letter addressed to her, however, she held in her hand. Though Julia startled when Emmy walked into the room, guilt at being caught with the brides box without permission evaporated quickly into accusatory shock. Emmy could tell by her expression that Julia had read the letter. Emmy had printed the words carefully so that she would be able to do just that.

“What are you doing?” Emmy exclaimed, though it
was plain as day what Julia had been doing. And what her little sister now knew.

Emmy strode toward the bed, spilling hot tea over her wrist and onto the floor. She put the sloshing cup on the bedside table and grabbed the letter out of Julia’s hand.

“What have I told you about getting out the brides box when I’m not around?” Emmy scolded, reaching now for Charlotte’s letter and the two envelopes, and scooping up the brides box in her other hand. “You’re not supposed to get it out unless you ask me first!”

Emmy’s heart was pounding and her hands shook though she desperately willed them to stop. She stuffed the letters inside the box and snapped it shut.

“Where are you going?” Julia’s voice was whisper thin.

“You’re supposed to ask me first,” Emmy said again, ignoring Julia’s question.

“Where are you going? What’s that letter for? What are you doing?”

With each question, Julia’s voice got louder.

“Keep your voice down! There is nothing you need to know right now.”

“Are you running away? Is that what you’re doing?”

“Julia—”

“You were going to take the brides box and leave me here, weren’t you? That’s what you were going to do!”

“Julia, please!” Emmy begged, all anger gone. Fear filled the empty space it left behind. She sat down on the bed next to her sister, the brides box clasped close to her chest. “Please keep your voice down. Please?”

“You can’t just leave me here! How could you leave me here?”

Emmy laid the box down between them and gently took hold of one of Julia’s hands. “Julia, listen to me.
You have to trust me. Sometimes grown-ups have to do things that don’t seem to make sense and—”

“You’re not a grown-up!” Julia snatched her hand away.

“Yes, I am. I’ll be sixteen on my next birthday. I’m not a little child anymore. I have to think of my future and what I am supposed to do with my life.”

“You’re supposed to be with me.” Julia turned from Emmy, frowning.

“Julia, look at me.” Emmy waited until Julia had turned her head back to face her. “You know how much I love my brides dresses. You of all people know how important they are to me. I have a chance for them to become real. Some chances in life you only get once. Just the one time. I have to go.”

Julia stared at the brides box that lay between her and Emmy. Her expression was part loathing and part desire. At that moment Emmy could see that Julia hated the brides inside that box as much as she loved them.

“Take me with you,” Julia said.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can!”

“Julia, think for a moment. You are happy here. You have a lovely room. And Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Rose. You have the tea set to play with and Guinevere and Henrietta and all their beautiful clothes. Next week school starts, and you’ll get to play with all the little girls you have seen at church and in the village. You have the chickens to take care of. And the pond and the turtles. You love it here. I know you do.”

A tear had formed in the corner of each of Julia’s eyes. “Don’t you love it here, too?”

Emmy moved closer and put an arm around her.
“This is a lovely place. And Charlotte and Rose are wonderful people. I am not leaving because I don’t like it here. That’s not it at all. If I didn’t have this chance to make my dresses real, I would stay. But I have to go. Someday when you’re my age, you will understand why.”

“I want you here with me.”

“And I would stay if I could. But I can’t. And you will be fine here without me.” Emmy tightened her arm around her sister.

For a moment Emmy thought she had Julia convinced, but then she felt her stiffen in her half embrace.

“No.”

“Julia.”

“Take me with you or I’m telling Aunt Charlotte.”

Emmy’s breath caught in her throat. She put both hands on Julia’s shoulders to turn her sister toward her. “Julia, I can’t take you.”

Julia wriggled out of Emmy’s grasp, climbed off the bed, and stood in front of her. “Take me with you or I’m telling Aunt Charlotte right now.” Julia’s gaze on Emmy was like steel.

“Don’t do this, Julia. Please?”

“Don’t go, then. Stay here.”

“I have to go!”

“Then take me with you. Or I’m telling Aunt Charlotte.”

Emmy wanted to scream at her. Throw something. Pound the wall. She could do none of those things.

She could only agree to take Julia and then hope that when she got ready to leave in the middle of the night, Julia would not hear her and she could steal away unnoticed.

“All right,” Emmy said. “I’ll take you.”

Julia stared at her for a moment, wondering, it seemed, whether she had heard Emmy right. She had expected Emmy to tell her she would stay; that was clear.

“When?” Julia asked.

“Very early tomorrow morning, before the milkman comes. But you can’t pack anything, Julia. You can’t bring your suitcase or your fairy tale book. They’re too heavy. Do you understand? You have to leave those things here and you might not see them again. I’m leaving all my things here. I’m only taking the brides box. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Julia nodded, a pensive look on her face.

“And you can’t be looking at me strangely tonight at supper or asking me questions or anything. You have to act like everything is normal. All right?”

Julia seemed deep in thought. She didn’t answer.

“All right?” Emmy said again.

“I know how to be normal,” Julia said, crinkling an eyebrow.

From downstairs the girls heard Charlotte calling Julia’s name. It was her turn to set the table.

Julia stepped to the door and opened it. “I’m coming!” she yelled.

“Not a word, Julia,” Emmy murmured.

“I know how to be normal,” Julia said again, and was gone.

For the rest of the afternoon and evening Julia kept her word. She gave no indication at all that she expected to run away with Emmy that night, not even the slightest of nervous behaviors. They listened to the BBC for a little while after dinner. But there was nothing except news of air battles raging over the English Channel. Charlotte switched it off and the four of them worked
on a puzzle. Finally, a little after nine, Julia was sent up to bed and Emmy joined her. Thinking Emmy was still having menstrual cramps, Charlotte thought nothing of it. She sent her to bed with another cup of herbal tea.