“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 framingthe doorway readTHISTLE 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.
Eleven
WITHteacups in hand, Charlotte and Emmy settled onto padded metal chairs in the shade of a towering poplar tree while Julia scampered about the garden. Rose trailed after Julia with casual but undeniable interest. Paved in Cotswold stone, the little terrace where they sat sipping tea was surrounded on three sides by more trees, flower beds, a sizable vegetable garden, orchard trees, a chicken coop, and, beyond the perimeter of Charlotte’s property, a murky pond that ended in reeds and a horizon of pearl-blue sky.
“I don’t need to worry about Julia getting too close to the pond, do I?” Emmy said as Julia skipped after a pair of wood ducks waddling toward the water.
“It’s quite shallow at the edge. Unless you think she will run headlong into it,” Charlotte replied. “I’m sure she will be fine. And Rose will get after her if she goes too close.”
