“They held us in a camp near the border for three years after the ceasefire,” Daniel said, his words coming in short, uneven bursts as he stared at the rug. “No letters out. No names on any lists the Red Cross had.”
“We thought you were gone,” I said, my Southern drawl sounding heavy and slow against his quick northern speech. “Clara told me the government sent a formal letter to the house saying there was no hope.”
Daniel looked down at his silver watch, his thumb rotating the casing again, the metal worn smooth from years of the same motion.
“I looked for you the minute the transport landed in California,” he said. “I went to the old address in Augusta, but the house was gone.”
I stood up, my knees trembling slightly, and walked to the hallway closet where I had hidden the garment bag after Clara left.
I brought it back into the living room and laid the ivory gown across the back of the armchair, the soft satin catching the light from the window.
“I told you I would save it for you, and I did,” I said, my fingers smoothing the satin skirt of the gown.
