Page 79 of A Dress for the Wicked
“Where on earth is the station?”
“This is it.” I motioned to the simple wooden platform and small ticket booth. A handwritten sign was propped in the booth’s window:Back in twenty minutes.“This is the station.”
The familiar song of the country greeted me. The wind rattling in tall trees. The last of the summer beetles buzzing in the weeds. The far-off baaing of sheep. Gone was the ceaseless clatter of hacks on the streets, the shouts and calls of people, thesounds of business being done in quick order.
“Everyone says things are small outside of Avon-upon-Kynt. But my word, I didn’t realize they’d be this small. Now, where are the hacks?”
Sophie looked this way and that, as though expecting to see Avon-upon-Kynt’s black hacks gliding up and down the dirt street.
“There aren’t any. We have to walk.”
“Walk?” She gaped, as though I’d suggested we fly. “What do you mean?”
“Think of it as promenading.” With a confidence I didn’t possess, I lifted my carpetbag and one of the pillowcases and gestured to the dirt road leading from the platform. “We’ll be there before you know it. Shy is only two miles south.”
I led the way. I knew exactly where to go. It was a strange sensation, an old one. In the city, I was lost—in every sense of the word. But here, even though I didn’t want to acknowledge it, I belonged.
We trudged along in silence, pausing here and there to rest. We hadn’t changed clothes since the day before, and our heels were rickety in the dirt. Each step seemed harder and heavier than the one before it, especially when we reached the outskirts of Shy. What would my mother say when she saw me? When she heard what had happened and what our plans were? We’d always been inseparable. Yet just one argument followed by a month and a half of silence seemed to have changed all that. I’d never known our bond could be so easily broken.
“Emmy? Is that you?” A person emerged from around thebend in the road that would lead us into Shy.
I squinted at the broad-shouldered figure. “Johnny?”
Johnny Wells came to a stop in front of us. His tall form blocked out the descending fall sun and threw a long shadow over us. I stared up at him, surprised by how comforting it was to see his familiar face.
“Are you... all right?” He looked from me to Sophie to the satin pillowcases in our hands. “Weren’t you in that fancy competition in the city?”
“Yes. But I’m back now. Just for a short time.”
“Ah.” He nodded slowly. “Your mother said you weren’t ever coming back.”
“She did, did she?” My grip on the pillowcase and my carpetbag loosened, and they dropped to the ground, black tulle and gray chiffon spilling out of the pillowcase’s mouth. “Is she...”Furious with me?But I couldn’t ask that. I didn’t finish the sentence.
“Well, I’m glad you’re back. You look so...” Now he trailed off. I thought he might be surprised by my gown. It was a Fashion House dress, after all, and nothing like the simple dresses worn in Shy, but he didn’t look at it. His eyes were fixed on my face, as though the peculiarities of my appearance—my dirt-stained designer gown, my pillowcases, my undone hair—didn’t matter to him. “You look nice.”
Nice.He wasn’t the most eloquent of speakers, but the simple compliment warmed my heart. No one in the city ever offered compliments so freely.
“Thank you.” Next to me, Sophie gave an impatient sigh.“Oh, this is Sophie Sterling.”
“Nice to meet you, miss.” Johnny pulled off his cap, revealing his sun-lightened brown hair. He didn’t quite meet her gaze. Sophie gave a brisk nod. “Are you heading to the pub?” he asked, addressing me once more.
“We are.”
“Here, let me help you.” He took our pillowcases and easily swung them over his shoulders and picked up my carpetbag.
“Thank you.” I didn’t realize just how heavy they were until I wasn’t holding them any longer. I rubbed my aching shoulders and neck. With long strides, Johnny started off down the road. We followed him, passing by flocks of sheep and the wooden boxes where the cuttleworms spun their silk. Soon, though, Shy’s small buildings emerged from the land to line the main street. There weren’t any signs for the Fashion House contestants. I wasn’t surprised. Such flash and focus on fashion went against Shy’s simple ways—even if one of their own was competing.
At the very end, toward the bluffs, was the pub. It was backlit by the setting sun, and warm light spilled out of the windows. Everything about it was cozy and inviting, but I was a bundle of nerves. Inside was my mother. Inside, I’d have to face everything—her anger, the reality that I’d been kicked out of the Fashion House Interview, the fact that I’d returned to the place I’d tried so hard to leave behind.
We walked through the main dining room to the kitchen. Johnny moved easily through the pub. He stepped around thefew tables and nodded to the men sitting at the bar. I walked awkwardly, breaking out in a sweat, even though I wasn’t lugging the pillowcases any longer.
I knew every corner of the pub so well. The curtains did their gentle dance in the windows and the floorboards creaked their familiar welcome. Nothing had changed. The pub, with its well-worn yet hospitable feeling, wrapped around me with the friendliness of a barn cat weaving around one’s legs. Yet I couldn’t relax into it. It beckoned me with its easy familiarity, but I remained rigid, refusing to surrender to it.
We stepped into the kitchen, Johnny leading the way. My mother’s back was to us as she chopped carrots at our dining room table. Usually, that was my job, and I would sit while I did it. She stood. At the sound of our entrance, she turned around. Our eyes met.
“Emmy,” she breathed. “You’re back.”
My mother took a few steps toward me but stopped before she reached me. Her gaze, which had been on my face, moved to the pillowcases in Johnny’s arms, and then to Sophie.
