“Who are you to tell me what to do? You are not my father, Daniel March!”

Hannah spun around on her heels with such force that the momentum of her full skirts nearly toppled her over. She recovered quickly and stomped down the snow-dusted village street toward home. She wouldn’t let on how much Daniel’s comments had stung. She wouldn’t let him know how close to the mark he’d been when he’d invoked the memory of her recently deceased father and how Pa might not approve of her choice.

She was alone in the world, but she was a grown woman. At twenty-three years of age, she could legally govern her own affairs even if she didn’t have the right to vote. Someday soon that would come, Hannah sincerely believed, taking solace from literature shared with her by a fellow former abolitionist.

“Hannah, wait up!” Daniel shouted. “Listen to reason!”

She felt like screaming but grit her teeth into a smile instead. The day when women could do as they saw fit without some meddling male intervening on their behalf couldn’t come soon enough.

Hannah’s brisk pace carried her to the front door of her small whitewashed cottage. It stood beside the one-room schoolhouse where she had taken up the reins as schoolmistress upon her father’s death. Hannah slipped inside her home, careful not to catch her cape’s hem on the nail, standing proud along the door jamb. She’d get the hammer and fix that tomorrow morning. Tonight, she just wanted to stay indoors and pet her orange tabby, Mittens, and try not to dwell on Daniel’s insensitive comments.

A knock at the door thirty minutes later jilted Hannah from her reverie by the fire. Mittens jumped off her lap to go curl up in his favorite wooden box in the corner behind the Franklin stove.

“Hello, it’s Carrie,” a welcomed voice called out through the lock. “You have to see this heavenly fabric that came in on the three-oh-five today.”

Hannah sprang from the settee and opened the door. “Come in, come in before you catch your death of cold.”

Carrie had to stoop to enter the cottage. She was tall and thin, dark and exotically beautiful—everything Hannah knew she was not. Carrie had found her way north when she was only ten years old and had been taken in by the Cummings family when Hannah had just turned five. They had been raised as sisters, and Carrie had cried every much as Hannah had when a fever took their mother from them several years ago.

“Here, let me take your cloak and bonnet.” After Carrie disrobed, Hannah threw her arms around her best friend and confidant and squeezed her tightly.” Oh, it’s so good to see you. Ever since you and Aaron bought the mill, I hardly see you and the boys except on Sundays. Come, sit with me by the fire.”

Carrie settled herself on the settee and laughed as Mittens perked up his ears at a familiar voice and raced over for a stroke or two.

“Sorry to wake you from your nap, Mr. Mittens. I hope you’ve been keeping my Hannah good company.” Carrie lowered her voice and brought her head closer to Hannah’s. “Are you sure you don’t want to move in with Aaron and me and the boys? I hate thinking about you living here all by yourself.”

Hannah sighed. “I knew this day would come, Carrie. I was prepared for it. Pa had been feeling poorly ever since early spring. Besides, you have those unruly dogs, always barking and chasing the boys and the chickens. Mittens wouldn’t be happy living with all that commotion. He’s a city cat. And where would I put my pianoforte in your home?”

“Hmm, that piece of furniture is almost the size of my pantry.” Carrie shook her head. “If you hadn’t taken all those fancy singing lessons that Ma insisted you take, you could chop that thing up and use it for firewood. But I know how important it is to you, my precious songbird. God gave me the hands and eyes to sew and make things out of cloth and thread. He blessed you with the gift of song.”

Hannah blushed. “You flatter me. It’s you who creates true lasting beauty, dear sister. Is that what brings you to town so late in the day?

“Yes, I had to fetch some more notions to finish a fancy frock for Miss Spielman for their big Thanksgiving soiree. She wants it done by tomorrow, so I’ll be sewing by lamplight tonight.”

“Tomorrow? Why it’s a week until the party I’ve—” Hannah bit her lip at the slip. “Uh, what’s this cloth you were talking about?”

Carrie reached into her carpetbag and retrieved the fabric bolt. She opened it and spread a yard across her lap. “Bluer than the bluest blue jay in the brightest summer-blue sky.”

Hannah caught her breath as she fingered the rich satin fabric. “I’ve never seen a more vivid color and the way the firelight reflects off its sheen... Ooh, Miss Spielman will look magnificent in this.”

“No, she’s wearing what I made her—a deep green frock that shows entirely too much shoulder for a lady of good standing, in my opinion. She just wants fancier buttons than I had on hand and a different kind of lace on the cuffs. But when I saw this bolt being offloaded at the Mercantile, I knew I had to have it.”

“You’re going to make yourself a new frock in vivid blue?” Hannah smiled. “You deserve a new outfit.”