She could not have been more aware of them if she had held Emily Grace, tilting and crying out, “Mama!” She didn’t know how to tell Grandma about the fabric. There was no way to explain the letter. “Here you are!” Grandma said. “Did you and Grandpa enjoy your ice cream?” Lexie felt her heart beating against her chest like a trapped bird. Sometimes the only way out was straight ahead. She plunged into the truth. “Grandpa took me to see the dressmaker, Miss Maxine. I mean, Mam’selle.” “Oh?” Grandma’s smile said she was amused by the dressmaker’s pretense at being French, but her eyes held hard questions. “Is she going to make the new dress for you?” “No!” Lexie clutched the fabric bundle closer. “She let me dig through her scrap bin for material. And she showed me pictures in her book.” “Hmm.” Grandma slipped her shawl from her shoulders and hung it on the coat tree beside the front door. “I told her I had to make it myself,” Lexie added. Grandma nodded.
