Page 9

Now, walking into St. Anne’s, Izzie was even more grateful for the irascible woman by her side. Izzie was painfully aware of how people turned to stare and then quickly look away. She knew what the modest collection of neighbors, suppliers, and customers must be thinking: Poor little Izzie. The girl who never left is now all alone.

She kept her eyes ahead of her until they reached the front pew. It was empty, just as she’d expected it would be. Mum had lost touch with her family, the O’Sullivans, years ago, and Izzie hadn’t even known how to tell them about the funeral. And her father’s side—the Sheltons—never would have deigned to attend even if Izzie had wanted to tell them about it.

Sylvia, she noticed, was nowhere to be seen.

“Will you be all right here, Miss Shelton?” asked Miss Reid.

Izzie wanted to pull her coat a little closer around her neck, but she forced herself to loosen her grasp on her lapels and lower her gloved hands. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”

“Good. Then I’ll just go find a seat.”

“Wait!” Izzie’s hand shot out to stop her. “Sit with me.”

Miss Reid looked horrified. “But the front pew is for family.”

“You worked for Mum for nearly two decades. She would want you to be seated in the front,” she said.

Izzie was shocked to see Miss Reid’s eyes start to shine. “Are you certain, miss?”

She touched the older woman’s forearm. “Please.”

With a sniff and a nod, the seamstress sank down into the seat next to Izzie. She could sense Miss Reid twisting to peer around, but Izzie kept her eyes forward, willing the day to be over.

“It looks as though it’s about to begin,” said Miss Reid. “The priest has come to the door.”

Izzie squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not yet.

Miss Reid leaned over. “Do you expect Mrs. Pearsall to attend?”

“No,” said Izzie quietly. “I told her what had happened, but I’m certain she won’t come.”

“Well, a woman who looks awfully like her just walked in and took a seat in the last row,” whispered Miss Reid.

Izzie whipped around just in time to catch a glimpse of her sister, dressed all in black with a small smart hat complete with a net veil that hid her eyes, sit in the last pew.

The church doors opened once again and the priest led in the pallbearers—all neighbors—who carried Mum’s coffin balanced on their shoulders. However, try as she might, Izzie couldn’t stop staring at her sister.

Sylvia had come.

Why?

Izzie squinted to try to read Sylvia’s face, but the distance and the veil hid her sister’s expression, leaving only the thin line of Sylvia’s carmine lips.

It wasn’t until the priest began the prayer that Izzie tore her gaze from her sister and faced forward again.

Sylvia grasped a bit of dirt and threw it onto her mother’s coffin. She winced as the earth landed with a hollow thud.

She edged back, her eyes fixed on the dirt-scattered coffin until the grassy edge swallowed it whole. Then she turned, tilting her umbrella a little to better shield her from the rain.

It was all surreal. Maggie Shelton was only fifty-two—far too young to die. That disastrous Boxing Day, her mother hadn’t exactly looked hale and hearty, but Sylvia recalled thinking that at least her mother hadn’t appeared as bone-tired as she had in those first years of Mrs. Shelton’s Fashions when the newly widowed Maggie Shelton had taken on the world with an angry determination.

Mourners were beginning to disperse, but Sylvia stopped at the end of the row of plots. She watched her sister touch a handkerchief to her eyes, Miss Reid placing a comforting hand on Izzie’s back. Then the seamstress turned. Sylvia didn’t miss the way that Miss Reid’s eyes cut to her, nor the lift of Miss Reid’s chin as she approached.

“Mrs. Pearsall,” said Miss Reid with a curt nod.

“Good morning, Miss Reid,” she said, grasping her umbrella a little tighter.

“Well, I can’t say that I’m happy to see you given the circumstances, but I thought the priest gave a very good sermon. Speaking of Mrs. Shelton’s service to others and her selflessness. It was all very fitting.”