Twilight was descending by the time Emma returned to the Sagorskys' humble abode. She had spent the remainder of her afternoon covering every inch of the boardwalk, her eyes peeled for a glimpse of the tin mask or his newsboy cap or even the familiar bashful smile, which she hoped he hadn't lost by now. She thought she saw him in the busy flea circus, but it must have been a figment of her imagination because when she'd blinked, he was gone.

The house was a welcome sight after the strange events of the day. Nucky Thompson had made her nervous, his tortured eyes betraying a cold, calculated danger that she had last seen in Richard's on the night before his disappearance. Gillian's haggard appearance made the mystery of the Artemis Club all the more disconcerting; Emma had no idea what had left her in that weakened state, so at odds with the vision she'd held in her head of the strong, imposing woman that the letter's tone had suggested, but it couldn't have been good. If this was her brother's Atlantic City, then she was glad to leave it to him and spend as much time in the midst of Julia's kindness as she possibly could before the needs of the farm called her home.

Dinner was already on the table when she came in. "I'm sorry," Julia said, wiping her hands on her apron. "I wanted to wait for you, but-"

"Don't apologise," Emma smiled. "This looks wonderful." She took her seat, eager to tuck into the feast before her.

"So," Paul said around a mouthful of peas, "find what you were looking for today?"

"Not exactly."

"Dad, it's none of our business," Julia admonished. "Tommy, eat your vegetables."

"I don't like vegitles."

She leaned in and whispered something in his ear, and he began to spoon peas into his mouth. Emma was touched by the sight of the two of them; Julia may not have been Tommy's mother, but they had a noticeable intimacy that was at once endearing and somehow profoundly sad. Emma wanted to throw her arms around them both and thank them for being a beacon of happy home life for a woman left alone for far too long already, but instead she merely took another bite and tried not to think about the pit of loneliness that Richard had left inside of her all those years ago.

When the plates were cleared, Paul turned to Tommy. "How'd you like to go to the pictures, sport?"

Tommy's face lit up and he nodded excitedly.

"Dad, I can't take him out right now."

"But I wanna go!" Tommy whined.

"I thought I'd take him."

Julia cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?"

"What? I thought you could use a night off." He turned to Tommy, "What do you say, old man? Go get your coat."

Tommy jumped up from his seat and rushed out of the room. Julia was still staring at her father, clearly at a loss for how to respond. He gave her a weary smile and rose to leave.

When it was just the two of them left at the table, Julia looked at her slyly. "What?" Emma said, unable to decipher the smile on her friend's face.

Julia brought a finger to her lips until the front door slammed shut and they knew they were alone. "Now that Dad's gone," she said, rising and opening the china cabinet. She reached far into the back and pulled out a paper-wrapped cylinder, which she placed definitively on the table before letting the wrapping drop by the wayside to reveal a fancy bottle of red wine.

"Have you ever been in love?" Julia couldn't believe her own boldness, and blamed the half-empty bottle of wine.

Emma looked thoughtful. "Not the way you mean."

Julia was skeptical. "I have a hard time believing that. Look at you."

"What about me?" she blushed.

"I would kill to be so tall, for one thing."

"Hah! There aren't a lot of eligible bachelors in Plover to begin with."

Plover; where had Julia heard that name before? "But you must have known someone."

"Really, only my brother. I love him more than anything, but I suppose that doesn't count."

"No," Julia laughed, "I suppose it doesn't." She sipped her wine. "Can you tell me about him?"

Emma reached back and began unpinning her long, dark hair, fanning it with her fingers to let chestnut waves cascade upon her shoulders as she spoke. "He was a quiet boy; I was the outgoing one. He used to draw pictures, of me and the farm. They were really very good, especially as he got older. He tried to teach me once but I didn't have the patience for it."

Julia smiled, imagining a double of Emma sitting at a makeshift easel, sketching her as she fidgeted in a chair before him.

"I was a better shot than him. Better cook too, but he was better with the animals. He couldn't bring himself to kill a chicken for the longest time, which Pa gave him hell for. But the one thing we could both do was dance."

"I didn't know you were a dancer!"

"Well, I'm not about to go join the Folies, but we knew our way around a dance floor. We used to go to every town social, and we'd dance and dance until they kicked us out. Our cousin said nobody wanted to cut in because we didn't even realize they were there; I suppose he had a point."

"Do you still dance?"

Her face drooped. "Not a step since he left." She drained her glass and reached for the bottle to replenish it. "So what about you? Tell me your great love story."

Julia knew what she would have said a week ago: she would have talked about her first love, the one who made her choose between her father's happiness and her own. But she knew now that that, whatever that was, it was far from love. Richard had shown her that, with his strong hands and world-wearied stare that melted her from within every time it focused on her. She sighed, leaning back in her chair as she chose her words carefully. "Where do I begin? I met him when he helped my dad after one of his stupid boxing matches at the Legion Hall."

"He was a veteran, as well?"

Julia nodded. "I think he said he was a sharpshooter. He has an..." How could she describe his affliction without sounding grotesque? "...injury, from the war. I think it makes it hard for him to make friends. And you might have noticed that I have enough trouble on that front, so it was only natural that we started spending time together, I suppose."

"What sort of things did you do?" Emma had an impish grin on her face, clearly enjoying her story.

"We'd go to the boardwalk, sometimes with Tommy, sometimes on our own. He'd come over here and we'd talk for hours-well, I'd talk, he'd mostly listen. He's very shy."

"Any dancing?" Emma joked.

She couldn't help but smile. "Once. At the Legion Hall. He was a wonderful dancer, himself, but I'm useless." She thought of their first kiss, and felt her cheeks flush.

"I'm sure he's very handsome."

Julia thought about this. He was handsome, disarmingly so, at times; it was a shame that most people could not manage to see past the mask. "He is very handsome, yes." she said, thinking about his eyes and how easily she had lost herself in them. "But that wasn't what drew me to him. I'd never met anyone like him; so honest and sweet. He was the first person in years to make me feel like I was worth something more than just being Dad's wet nurse."

She could tell in Emma's face that she understood. Her friend sipped her wine and asked, "Did you love him?"

"I think I did-I do. I don't know." She stared into the burgundy depths of her glass, thinking of the night on the beach, of the way his touch had sent chills down her spine. "It broke my heart when he left."

"That's understandable."

Julia shook her head, trying to articulate the complex feelings Richard had left in his wake. "It wasn't that he left, although that did hurt a lot. It's that just that...he didn't tell me why."

"How long has it been?"

"A little over a week. I must sound crazy, pining over him like this, but I promise it feels like a lot longer. I tried to look for him, but Dad put a stop to that."

"Why would he do that?"

She shrugged. "He said...he didn't want to be found."

Emma looked at her knowingly. "Sounds familiar."

"I take it you've been through this before."

"My brother left as soon as he was well enough, and I haven't heard from him since."

"And have you tried looking for him?"

Her guest looked up wearily. "What do you think I'm doing here?"

Julia reached out and grasped Emma's hand reassuringly, willing her friend's heartache away. Suddenly, Emma snapped her gaze towards the window, her eyes narrowed intensely.

"What is it?" Julia followed her gaze, suddenly fearful.

Emma kept her focus on the window, but shook her head slowly. "Nothing," she said, her brow still furrowed. "I thought I saw something, but...it's nothing."

The next morning, with the previous night's imbibing sending waves of pain through her skull, Emma wondered if what she thought she had seen in the window had been little more than a hallucination. But, for a moment, she could have sworn she'd caught the glint of a tin mask in the shadows. She pushed the image from her mind, blaming the drink and conversation for causing her to imagine something so impossible as Richard being so nearby.

After breakfast and walking Tommy to school, Emma returned to St. Theresa's to pay Gillian another visit. She wasn't sure what she had expected to glean from the bitter, careworn woman, but she had no other options ahead of her.

She was fast asleep when Emma arrived, heavy lids closed over bloodshot eyes. In the peacefulness of her slumber, she only trembled a little. Trying not to wake her, Emma took Gillian's hand gently in her own.

The patient stirred, her eyes fluttering open. "Melinda," she said in a soft, girlish voice. "You have to tell Nucky that the man...he did a bad thing to me."

"I'm not Melinda," Emma said as tenderly as possible. "I'm Emma. Emma Harrow."

"Emma," Gillian said dreamily. "Pretty name for a pretty girl."

Emma blushed. "Please, Ms. Darmody. I'm still looking for my brother."

"Your brother..."

"Yes."

"He smelled of the sea."

"I'm sorry?"

"He did. He smelled of the see. I remember because...I went to the sea before...before..."

"Before what, Gillian?"

The broken madame began to cry, tiny, childlike whimpers. Emma squeezed her hand, uncomfortable as ever when faced with such a brazen display of emotion. "Don't cry," she said, as soothingly as possible.

"He did a bad thing," Gillian sobbed.

"Who did, Gillian? Who did a bad thing?"

"He took him...away from me."

"Your son?"

Gillian's eyes fluttered open, lashes flecked with tears. "Jimmy?" she said meakly. "My Jimmy..."

"Ms. Darmody, I'm sorry, but I just don't understand."

A spasm of pain ripped through Gillian's thin frame, and the hand in Emma's clamped hard around her fingers; she couldn't have pulled away if she tried.

"Please, Gillian," Emma pleaded. "Just tell me where to find your son and I'll bring him back to you."

"He was in love. He wouldn't tell me so, but I could see."

"What does that have to do with-"

"He took him to her." Her eyelids lowered again, defeated.

"Who?"

Gillian whispered something indecipherable. Emma leaned in closer.

"What did you say?"

When she said it again, it was unmistakable.

"Julia."