The Last Honest Seamstress

by Gina Robinson

  Olive mewed contentedly before scooting past Fayth across the kitchen. Fayth closed the door and spun around to chase her. No doubt the tiny traitor was headed for the Captain's room.

  Con stood in the kitchen doorway, admiring Fayth, smiling at her rebuking the cat. Suddenly, Fayth spun around to face him. Her loose nightgown swirled around her, wrapping itself against her, revealing slender curves, and breasts pointed by cold. Wearing the thin, white cotton gown, she looked like a delicate moth floating in the dark. But even the dark did not hide the round circles of her nipples or the delicate curve of her hips. He clenched his fist, imagining the feel of that fine, sheer cotton in his hand as he slipped it away from her, revealing the full beauty of her form.

  She had spun with arms outstretched like a young girl in full skirts, smiling as if she enjoyed it. Olive ran past him to the bedroom. When Fayth spotted him, her mouth fell open. His gaze lingered a moment too long on her breasts. Her arms flew up, crisscrossing to cover them. Pity.

  "Fayth." He leaned against the doorframe as he felt himself grow hard, felt a tug at his crotch where he tented his pants in arousal. Maybe she wouldn't notice, or maybe she would. A man could hope. "I came to let the cat in."

  "She's in."

  "I see that."

  Did he intimidate her, or was she afraid of her own desire? Fayth remained rooted in the center of the kitchen. He had no intention of moving. If she wanted to get back to bed, preferably his, she'd have to brush past him.

  "Well." She took a tiny step. "We'd better get some sleep."

  "Uh-huh." Did he see desire in her eyes?

  She studied him. Her gaze traced his chest. She clenched herself tighter. "I'll just be going now."

  "Fine." He didn't move.

  Fayth straightened her shoulders and came toward him. He didn't give an inch. She'd have to squeeze past him. He'd at least get a feel. When she was directly in front of him, she cleared her throat. He motioned with his head to go on past. She looked like she was calculating her chance of successfully negotiating the tiny passage he'd left her. She turned sideways and tried to duck under the arm that held him in place. Nipples, firm and erect, brushed him. He turned, and trapped her. "Fayth."

  "Captain."

  Her eyes begged a kiss. Her mouth was open and moist. What was a man to do? He turned and pulled her into his arms, bringing his mouth down on hers. She smelled of rose water, and soap, soft cotton. Everything feminine and sweet. She opened her mouth and pressed against him as he bent at the knees to level their heights. His boy searched for home. When he pressed himself between her legs, he felt her tremble, heard a tiny sigh.

  He ran his hands along her body, exploring her hips, hiking up her gown. Man alive, he wanted to feel, to see. With one hand, he cupped her breast. Perfect, a perfect handful. Round and firm. His own pulse raced wildly. The other hand continued sliding the cotton gown up, pulling it over her hips. He was a visual man. He wanted to see. Naked in the kitchen would be fine, naked in his bed, better.

  When his left hand slid to bare skin and tugged to pull the chemise up over her arm, she suddenly pulled back. She wrenched her mouth free and braced her hand between them, against his chest. "No."

  "Fayth."

  "No, I can't."

  "What is it, darling? What's wrong? We're man and wife; this is what they do."

  "No, you promised. Just partners." Her voice was soft and raspy. She didn't sound insistent.

  "I lied. You're beautiful." He nuzzled her neck. She tried to pry his hands away. He paused to look at her. "Give me a good reason we shouldn't."

  "I . . . I don't love you."

  Her words slammed into him like a punch in the gut. Even his boy started to wilt. But he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't let her go. He could make her love him, if she gave him the chance. "So don't love me. Let me love you."

  She shook her head. "No."

  "Fayth, what's wrong with lust?"

  "Everything." Tears welled in her eyes.

  He let her go. She turned and ran down the hall to her room. What had he done?

  Fayth's heart pounded as she slid into bed. Pressed against the Captain, she could forget everything. But then the woman came back, the whore from the ship. Fear pulsed through her. She curled into a ball, pulling her knees tight against herself. As she closed her eyes, she pictured him again. Biceps bulged nicely without being flexed. Stomach flat and rippled. His freckles ended at his forearms leaving the bulk of him pale and unblemished. His face, so perfect and handsome.

  She squeezed her legs together, trying to push away the tingles, frustrated and without relief. Don't cry, oh, don't cry. Blast that whore, and blast him! What was his connection to Lou? Oh blast! She clenched herself tighter, trying to sleep.

  Fayth was up early the next morning, pounding away at her sewing machine. Pumping the treadle. In and out. She would finish this dress for Lou and be done with her. And if Lou so much as hinted at her sewing a dress for her new girl, Fayth would . . .

  Well, she felt like slapping Lou at the thought. What a horrendous night it had been.

  "Fayth." The Captain called her name from the door, a newspaper tucked under his arm. He looked contrite.

  She felt like guilt itself. What did she do now? What could she say?

  He walked over to her. She stopped pumping. The noisy clacking ceased.

  "Fayth, about last night—"

  "Let's not talk about it. It's forgotten."

  "Fayth, I'm sorry." Why did he have to apologize, sound contrite, look genuine?

  "It's all right." She smiled.

  "Peace offering." He handed her the paper folded open to an article. "Something to distract you from my sins." He possessed an uncanny knack for touching her with his thoughtfulness. No man had apologized to her before. Not Father, and certainly not Drew.

  Fayth scanned the article. "The city's doing what!" Fayth's heart pounded with both anger and fear.

  The Captain seated himself on the sofa. Olive jumped into his lap. "They're regrading Washington, Main, and Jackson. Raising them by anywhere from eight to twenty feet higher than their pre-fire levels, extending the impact of the ordinance passed in July to all streets south of Yesler." The Captain scratched Olive behind the ears.

  "My building is nearly complete. How can they do this to us?"

  "The Council is under Henry Yesler's thumb; you know that. They bowed to pressure by him not to raise the streets. People have been making a fuss at City Hall since July. They want the streets raised to fix the sewers. I guess our esteemed councilmen decided their political future was more important than Yesler's opinions. In retrospect, we should have waited until the fray was over before we started building."

  "Waited how long, an interminable amount of time? The decision could have gone the other way just as well." She rose and stood in front of the window, pausing to stare out over the Sound.

  "At least you see the folly of hindsight and regret," Con said. "We did what any good businessman does. We made a decision and proceeded according to the regulations of the minute.

  "Look at it this way, now you've got a basement. You build your top floor over again, and nothing's lost. We're more fortunate than many. Several businesses have already completed their ornate first floor entrances. We've been warned in time to make ours simple and save the more elaborate decoration for the new street level entrance. The Council claims they'll maintain a series of underground walks to service businesses that have already built up. And they're promising openings and ladders at the new sidewalk level for access."

  She tapped her foot, angry with the Council. The Captain's diversion proved effective. She now felt too distracted to suffer any embarrassment over last night, and too frightened. Everything shook the security of her business. Why was life so difficult?

  "I'll be out hundreds of dollars! This means the addition of another complete story. I can't even guess at an estimate."

  "You don't have to. I heard rumors a few days ago. I've al
ready got my man working one up."

  "And if I can't afford it?"

  "We either afford it, or find a way to."

  Why were men always so matter-of-fact? She wanted so much to trust him, to let him take care of her. But she didn't dare. "My business is my security."

  "Oh, darling, I'm sorry to hear that—I thought I was." His tone was light, but he studied her carefully. And though her heart pounded, she tried to give no emotion away.

  "Will you be serious a minute? The shop is the only thing I have any control over. Money is its lifeline and something I have none too much of since that blasted fire. I'm certain Mr. Finn won't lend me another cent." Why did this have to happen now? She was so tired of struggling.

  "I have sources. I'll get you the money."

  Could he really do that? She wanted to trust him. If only she hadn't seen him with that woman. "How does it affect the wharf?"

  "Doesn't. We'll be open for business in a little over a week. The warehouse will be roofed a few days after." He laughed in his warm, rich manner and stood up. She was forgiven. "The sun's out today. I'd say it's a fine day for a stroll."

  She shot him a look that told him what she thought—that he was crazy. "Yesterday's rains were near record. The streets will be muddy."

  "Yes, the rain!"

  "You're the only one that's happy about it. The rain came too late for the rest of us."

  "Me, too. But given the fire, it helped me out. I'm not up and running again yet, but some of my fine competitors are. Unfortunately for them, their warehouses weren't roofed yesterday when the rain hit. They're out a pile of money in lost goods, while I . . ."

  He shrugged good-humoredly, then set Olive down and stood.

  "I thought you were a humanitarian."

  "I am, but as they say, business is business."

  She followed him into the entry. "Do things always go your way, Captain?"

  He handed her the parasol he had bought for her. "Not always." His voice was soft and his look searching.

  He spoke of last night. She knew he did. She didn't know what to say.

  Then he smiled "Now let's go. There are sights you'll want to see." He held the door open and waved her out.

  Fayth walked along with quick strides, trying to stay abreast of the Captain with his long gait, trying not to perspire in the humid heat. Her irritation at the Council drained away as they walked along, replaced by other thoughts. She realized that had been his intent. She did appreciate him. He bore her ill-temper well. If only . . .

  "You're unflappable, you know that?" She stepped over a puddle. "I suppose that's why you're the captain."

  "I'm the captain because I own the boat."

  "Does anything get under your skin?"

  His pause was evident. "Not much."

  They rounded the corner. Fayth's new construction became visible down the block. She gently tugged her narrow skirt up so she could walk faster.

  "The rain slowed construction. They haven't accomplished as much as they did earlier in the week." She reached the easement in front of her property. Construction workers crawled over the property, sloshing through mud and puddles to accomplish their tasks. Similar workmen occupied properties all down the street. Until Seattle was rebuilt they would have little rest. Sunday meant nothing but another day for labor.

  Fayth scanned her property, taking in the tiny improvements made since her last visit. The sound of a carriage coming down the street, accompanied in its procession by lewd catcalls, diverted Fayth's attention.

  Lou Gramm's new carriage glinted in the sun as it made its way slowly down the street. Each of her girls sat regally, exhibiting the established manners of a finishing school. At first glance they might have been a family out for a ride.

  They waved politely at the men, but Fayth knew these men were not the kind of high-paying clientele Lou was out to catch today. She saw the woman, her nemesis. Oh, how she hated her! Stay calm. The brazen thing blew kisses to the Captain and waved familiarly. Fayth clenched her fists and watched him closely, but he gave no returning gesture, just frowned almost imperceptibly. He was the class of man the girls trolled for, and it angered her that they should encourage him with her standing right beside him. Their boldness revealed their true nature.

  "You did too good of a job on those, darling," the Captain said.

  Fayth felt all too aware of the physical distance between them. She stepped in closer to him, protecting her territory.

  "You ought to take a clue from the ladies and advertise. People should know that you made those delectable gowns. "

  Fayth frowned at him. "I’d be ruined if they did.”

  He laughed suddenly. "You need a sign. One with something like, fashionable dressmaker, printed in large letters."

  Fayth didn't understand the humor in his voice.

  "If the looks of the men up and down the street are any indication, Miss Gramm's establishment is going to be very busy tonight," he said.

  "Wonderful." Fayth turned back to look at her building. The sooner she removed herself from Lou's control, the better.

  "You need more money so soon, Con?" Lou Gramm sat regally straight, perched at the front of her chair in her office in her beautifully rebuilt parlor house, imitating a lady of quality. Her girls never saw her shoulders so much as brush a chair back. But then, they hadn't seen her in her own whoring days, when she'd seldom been off her back. These days she preferred the quiet role of madam. She'd always been an astute businesswoman, and now, in her early thirties, she was well past yearning for the wildness of youth. Exterior dignity suited her.

  She looked Con straight in the eye, guessing they were nearly the same age. He was tall. Successful. Appealing. His exquisite hazel eyes leapt with great passion, especially when he spoke of business. Pity that he didn't patronize her house. Though she lamented the loss of business, he had her grudging respect.

  Con sat back in his chair. "You know about the latest city ordinance requiring a regrade of the streets. We're no different from anyone else. It's costing us."

  In the background, glasses tinkled and men's conversations joined together to form the comforting noise of a busy establishment.

  "Oh, the boys! They allowed Mr. Yesler to block the regrading project for far too long. I'm glad they got up the balls to tell him to go to hell." Lou smiled sweetly.

  Many of the boys to whom she referred, city councilmen and men of power, occupied tables surrounding their own. The bar owners had raised such a fuss that the ban on liquor sales had recently been lifted. A begrudging city council finally admitted that the immediate danger to the city posed by alcohol-induced rowdiness was past.

  Lou had been smart enough to be one of the first to apply for the newly issued licenses. Now she served alcohol to many of the city's elite and powerful throughout the day, often free of charge. If they were tempted into sampling some of her girls' lucrative nighttime wares, that was not a bad thing either. Her establishment had become so popular, in just the last few days, that it had been nicknamed the second city hall. "Has Jacob sent you with another note of reference?"

  Con didn't waver under her inquiry. He took a sip of beer before answering. The man was a wonder with a poker face. "I didn't bother with it this time, but I can get one if it would ease your mind."

  "Oh, Con, how polite you are! I know I can trust you. What are you offering as collateral?"

  "A greater share of the Aurnia." He set his beer down.

  "No, I want a share of Fayth's little shop."

  "This doesn't concern her."

  "But this loan is for her business, isn't it? I can't in good conscience allow you to take the risk for her. The city ordinances don't affect the wharf. You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Con?"

  "Her business is not mine to offer. I'm willing to assume the risk."

  "You're her husband. Of course, it's yours. But Con, you're too fine a man to risk all you have for a woman. We aren't worth it in the long run." Lou paused in thought. "If
the payments on Fayth's part of the debt fall behind, I can get payment in dressmaking services. What use do I have for a boat?" She held out her hand. He realized he was beaten. She saw it in his face. Maybe he wasn't so good with a poker face, after all.

  He reached across the table and shook her hand. "Deal."

  As Con arrived home, a red-faced man scurried down the walk, nearly bowling Con over as he stopped to read the new, neatly painted sign freshly installed at the end of the walk to his house, Fashionable Dressmaking.

  "Shit," he mumbled to himself, "Fayth, what have you done?"

  His musings were interrupted by Fayth, who yelled after the man from the front door. A pair of scissors glinted dangerously over her head.

  "And don't ever come back!" Fayth screamed.

  Con jogged the length of the walk in several quick strides and disarmed his angry wife. "I hope you don't mean me?"

  "That man had the audacity to come to my home and solicit . . ." She blushed deep scarlet as her voice trailed off. "How dare he!"

  "What can you expect with a sign like that out front? Whatever possessed you?"

  She gave him a quizzical look. "You suggested it the other day."

  "I was joking, couldn't you tell?"

  "How should I guess? A sign is good advertising."

  "Yes, but not a sign with that wording. It's likely to get you arrested. Bigfoot Matt has posted signs with that wording in front of all her temporary brothels since she was burned out of the Tenderloin. The police continue chasing her from neighborhood to neighborhood. You know the prostitutes in this town call themselves seamstresses?"

  "Of course I know! But why should I suffer such indignity because of a lowlife woman named Bigfoot Matt? In the prostitutes' caste system, she's at the bottom of the pile! Is there no honor in being a legitimate seamstress in this town? What am I, the last honest seamstress in Seattle?"

  He shouldn't have smirked just then, but with ire firing her cheeks to deep pink and lighting her eyes with indignant passion she was too appealing.

  "Sailors! Leave it to them to know what every whore in the city is up to!" She turned on her heel.