Chapter 1
She walked along the dusty cobblestone street as she had so many times before, but this time, the playful skip downhill that she usually did after leaving school, was absent. Even the summer, which was slowly slipping away, wasn’t like the ones before. The occupation of the town had lasted for several months, and fear had crept into people, making them more cautious in everything they did. As she did every summer, Tara spent her days by the river with her sister Nera, dreaming about what they would do in the years to come. Walking down the street, she recalled what they had done this summer and compared it to previous ones, when they were freer and happier. Now, they had only managed to steal a few moments of joy, briefly forgetting the reality that surrounded them.
The main street was entirely paved with cobblestones, lined on both sides with shop windows and storefronts. At the very end of the street stood a shop that stood out from the rest, its display filled with colorful dresses that shone brightly against the grayness of the other stores. Amid the shortages, even the few colors they had faded away, but this shop hadn’t lost its vibrancy.
Klara Beretini, a renowned designer, thanks to her clients, managed to continue acquiring the fabrics she needed. Business wasn’t what it used to be—people had little interest in fashion—but she succeeded in keeping the shop alive, ensuring that the four employees alongside her could earn a living. Tara was one of them, coming regularly after school each day. As an assistant, she earned more than enough for her pocket money, giving the rest to her mother to help support the family. For her, this wasn’t just a job; she had decided that after finishing school, she would become a designer. Each time she arrived, she would pause for a moment in front of the atelier, marveling anew at each of Mrs. Klara’s creations and gazing at the vibrant, colorful fabrics.
“Where did you come from so early?” Mrs. Klara asked Tara as soon as she noticed her entering.
“They let us out early today; classes were interrupted again. I thought I’d come early and finish what I left from yesterday.''
-“The way things are going, it’s anyone’s guess if anyone will finish school this year. I’m lucky my Ema is done with school, or I’d be constantly worrying about what’s next.''
Tara sat at her spot, pulled out a pile of fabrics, selected a few, and began preparing them for sewing.
“Is someone talking about me?” a voice called out, and a girl of about twenty, with curly dark hair, emerged from the next room.
Mrs. Klara laughed and responded, “I was saying I’m done worrying about your schooling. They canceled classes again today.”
“Well, maybe not,” the girl replied. “Once these days are over, I might decide to train as a teacher.”
“Just let these days pass, my dear, and the rest will come easily. Come on, let’s get to work so we can finish early,” Mrs. Klara added, heading to the tailor’s workshop at the back of the atelier.
In the front part of the atelier, alongside the displayed creations, stood a large shelf with fabrics. Customers would choose materials for their clothing. Due to the war, the shelf was no longer full, holding only a few fabrics to choose from. Wealthier clients, who could procure their own materials, brought them to the atelier and ordered what should be made from them. At the service counter stood Ema, sorting through receipts and orders. Tara sat a bit farther away, separating fabrics for the day’s work. Her tasks involved minor repairs—sewing on buttons and beads. Sometimes, customers brought creations for additional alterations. As a senior in high school, Tara could hardly wait to hold her diploma and start chasing her dreams. But then, during the summer, the town was occupied by the Germans, and all the colors slowly faded into a grayness that stood out even more starkly this autumn.
Toward the end of the day, Tara began preparing to head home when Mrs. Klara approached her carrying a package. Inside were some groceries that had to be bought. “Take this to your mother. She sent me eggs and tomatoes last week. Let me return the favor—here, take it.”
Tara gave a slight smile and took the package. “Thank you, you never forget to send something.”
“Thank you, actually,” Mrs. Klara replied.
Tara lived with her mother and sister on the outskirts of town. They had a small garden, so they could grow some fruit and vegetables. Even before the war, they occasionally exchanged small gifts, but as the occupation dragged on and shortages grew, the two families supported each other even more.
She walked through the narrow alleys leading to her part of town. Darkness was falling, and curfew was approaching. She quickened her pace upon seeing a few German soldiers coming toward her from the other end of the street. Before they reached her, the sound of their boots echoed through the street. She felt uneasy and gripped the box she was carrying more tightly. As they drew closer, the sound of the boots grew louder. Tara felt her heart beating faster. She tried not to look at the soldiers, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead. As they came very close, one soldier glanced sharply at her. She sensed his stare, clutched the box tighter, and quickened her pace. She heard them moving away, the sound of their boots fading. She let out a sigh and paused for a moment to calm herself. Still a long way from her neighborhood, she continued walking briskly.
Arriving at her street, Tara rushed into the courtyard. Her mother was gathering laundry and noticed Tara seemed shaken. “Did something happen?” she asked with concern.
“No, I was just running and got out of breath. Here, this is from Mrs. Klara for last week. I’ll take it inside and help you.”
“No need, I’m already done. Go eat; Nera made a potato pie.”
The house was filled with the smell of peppers. A girl a few years older than Tara was roasting something on the stove. Seeing her younger sister, she said, “We need to prepare for winter. There’s not much, but we’ll preserve what we have.”
Tara smiled and set the box on the table. “Mom said you made a pie. I’m starving like a wolf. They let us out of school early today, so I went to Mrs. Klara’s. She sends her thanks to Mom for last week,” she said, glancing at the box on the table.
“Go eat. I just warmed it up; I knew you’d be coming. Let me finish roasting this, and I’ll pack that up.”
After eating, Tara started helping Nera. On the table were flour, sugar, oil, and some coffee. And a piece of fabric.
“What’s this for?” Nera asked.
“It’s for me. She knows I collect fabric scraps to make something,” Tara said cheerfully, taking the fabric. She already had various colorful pieces in her room, small scraps meant to be thrown away. But she would combine them, vibrant as they were, and bring her designs to life, at least in that way. She dreamed of Paris, the same Paris where Mrs. Klara had spent years learning before returning to open her shop in the town where her father, a respected merchant, was from. Left a young widow with her daughter Ema, Klara did everything to make her business succeed. Tara’s mother was also a widow, and in that, Klara saw herself, always ensuring Tara was fairly paid for her work. But she also supported her dreams, promising to help her develop her talent and, with the connections she had, to guide her on that path.
“Look at everything she sent us, and we just sent her a few eggs and some tomatoes,” said Tara as she helped Nera.
“Klara has always appreciated what we send from our garden—especially now, when there’s hardly anything left,” Nera replied as she arranged the groceries.
A little later, Tara slipped out of sight.
Their mother asked Nera, “Where’s the little one?”
-“She just ate; she’s probably gone to sew.”
Tara looked over her sketches, searching for what she would bring to life next. Last week she had finished a skirt—brightly colored and mismatched, but she didn’t mind.
What mattered was holding her own creation in her hands.
Nera entered the room and burst out laughing.
“Who’s ever going to wear that, my little designer?”
Tara answered with a smile, “No one will wear this one. But one day everyone will wear my designs.”
Nera sat on the bed and hugged her sister.
“God willing, I believe it. Don’t mind me for joking. You’re like a lost button—you know, when you sew on a button that doesn’t really match but somehow fits. That’s you. Your place is still waiting for you. But sometimes it seems to me that for you everything is just a single moment.”
Tara found what she was looking for and replied:
“And what is life if not a single moment?”
The sisters talked late into the night about their dreams.
They didn’t want dawn to come quickly, because they knew what awaited them in the morning.
While Tara spoke of Paris and her creations, Nera eagerly awaited the day of her wedding. She was engaged to Damian, a young man from a nearby village. They were supposed to marry that autumn, but because of the war they decided to wait. They supported each other. Nera offered Tara ideas for naming her atelier, while Tara suggested what kind of wedding dress she could make for her. Laughter filled their room. As the night wore on, fatigue overtook them and they both fell asleep.
