by Deeanne Gist
People glanced at her. Mr. Tiffany kept his attention on Flossie while gently holding Nan back. He gave Flossie an encouraging nod.
“Yes, well, as I was saying . . .” Flossie held the glass back up to the light. “The texture is perfect, but the color of the glass doesn’t quite match the one on the cartoon. So at that point, the selector goes back and looks for another one.”
Mr. Tiffany directed Nan to the table of glass sheets. She quickly picked up a green piece, held it up to the light, then handed it to Flossie.
“This one is a much better color,” Flossie said. “But the ripples in the glass are spaced too far apart.”
Nan chose another.
“Miss Upton here is one of our best selectors, as you can see from this last piece she picked, but sometimes it can take hours or even weeks before the perfect tint and texture are found.”
The audience murmured. At the entryway the guard she’d spoken to earlier leaned against the archway, one foot crossed over his ankle.
“At this point, the selector—in this case, Miss Upton—hands the piece to the cutter, who in this case is me. Now, I know many of you think cutting glass is too mannish for a woman to do, but you want to know a secret?” She glanced to the right and left, then leaned toward them. “The weaker sex is not as weak as most assume.” She quickly released the cuff at her right wrist, pushed up her sleeve, and flexed her arm. An impressive muscle sprang to life.
Some women tittered and fanned themselves. Others clapped in appreciation. The couple she’d seen downstairs turned very red. The Columbian Guard lifted one corner of his mouth in the beginnings of a grin.
She buttoned her cuff. “I’ve been cutting glass for months now and I’ll admit it was difficult at first, but I’ve become quite proficient.” She began to demonstrate, then looked up. “If you’d like to gather round so you can see better, feel free to come forward.”
The audience rose and huddled around her as they watched. Nan continued to select glass and hand it to her, but it was Flossie the spectators interacted with. When the presentation was almost over, she sent everyone back to their seats with a promise of a wonderful surprise.
“Now, as you know, the genius behind all this glass is Mr. Louis Comfort Tiffany and you might not realize it, but he’s standing right over there.”
There were gasps as people craned to have a look at him.
“He won’t be taking any questions, but perhaps I could convince him to come and make a few selections for me to cut so you can see the real master at work.”
Without a word, he approached the table. Even Flossie became lost in watching him as he held up glass after glass before settling on a magnificent piece for a swath of sunset sky, all apricot and salmon pink and the palest lavender.
“We call this streaky glass,” she said. “And only Mr. Tiffany would be able to combine as many as five colors into one recipe and still make them all compatible.”
At the end of the demonstration, they received a standing ovation. Mr. Tiffany gave her a wink. She glanced at Nan, then waved her to the front. Instead of joining them, Nan stood to the side, her posture stiff and her neck corded. Flossie didn’t have time to consider what was wrong, for the crowd surrounded her, all talking at once
NEW YORK WORLD BUILDING 25
“Reeve’s editor took a puff on his pipe. ‘Why don’t you see if you can find some of those Tiffany Girls.’ ”
CHAPTER
42
Looks like the Lead Glaziers and Glass Cutters’ Union is about to come to an agreement with the manufacturers.” Reeve’s editor took a puff on his pipe. “Why don’t you see if you can find some of those Tiffany Girls and see what they think about that.”
“Tiffany Girls?” Reeve stared at his boss. “What is it exactly you’d want me to ask them?”
“Well, for starters, they finished Tiffany’s chapel. You can ask them about that, and I’m sure they’ll also have plenty to say about the men coming back because, after all, once they do, Tiffany won’t need the women anymore, right?”
Reeve had been wondering that same thing. Miss Jayne had returned from the fair last week, but he didn’t really want to ask her if she expected to lose her job. It somehow didn’t seem right.
Ulrich picked up a piece of paper and fed it into his typewriter. “By the way, your boardinghouse satire has brought in a great many new women readers, so you need to ramp up the romance between Marylee and the bibliomaniac.”
Reeve tightened his jaw. “Marylee and the bibliomaniac are not attracted to each other.”
“ ’Course they are, and it’s time to capitalize on it. Women love that kind of thing.” Hitting the carriage return lever, he slid the roller to the far left margin.
Reeve looked at the toes of his shoes. The house on Georgia Avenue was still for sale. The first thing he did every Sunday was check the paper to see if it was listed. He had a ways to go, though, before he had two hundred dollars. “What about that raise I was to get if the boardinghouse column was successful?”
“What about it?”
“I’d say it’s been successful, so how about it?”
Ulrich scratched his neck. “You’ll ramp up the romance?”
Reeve closed his eyes. “If I have to.”
“You have to.” Ulrich moved his pipe to the corner of his mouth. “The raise will be reflected next time you collect wages, but I’ll expect to see a new development in this week’s submission along with something on the Tiffany Girls by next week.”
Releasing a breath, Reeve answered in the affirmative and let himself out.
CHAPTER
43
You’re up early.” Flossie peeked into Mr. Wilder’s room. It was still as barren as ever, though Cat was curled up on his bed.
“I have a new assignment I’m working on.” He took a blank piece of paper and used it to cover up whatever he was writing.
She stepped into the room, crossed to his bed, and ran a hand down the cat. “I brought you something from the fair.”
Twisting around, he stood. “I’m sorry?”
She straightened. “I brought you something.” Extending her hand, she opened her palm to reveal a little ball of brown paper tied in twine.
He stood completely still, staring at her offering. “What is it?”
“Open it.”
“Right now? You want me to open it right now?”
“Right now.”
Swallowing, he took the ball and undid the bow. Inside nested a tiny metal figurine of a cat curled up much the way Cat was now, with its head on its paws and its tail wrapped around itself.
He gave a slow shake of his head. “Is this Cat?”
“It is.”
A flush rose up his neck and face, his gaze darting about the room. Fumbling, he pulled out his desk drawer and dropped the figurine inside, before quickly closing it.
She bit her lower lip. “It’s a decoration. You’re supposed to put it out.”
“Oh!” He jerked open the drawer, grabbed the figurine, then slapped it onto his desk.
Reaching around him, she moved it from the center of his desk to the right hand corner next to his clock. “There. Now it won’t be in your way when you work.”
“Right.” He backed up a step. “Thank you.”
She closed the drawer for him. “You’re welcome. I brought a little something back for everyone. I got your piece from a toy maker in the Manufacturer’s Building. I thought of you immediately when I saw it.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She ran her finger down the side of his desk looking at the writings he’d covered up. “Are you working on an article?”
“Sort of.” He stepped between her and the desk.
“Sort of?”
He rubbed his forehead. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”
She glanced at her watch pin. “Not yet, but I probably ought to head out, anyw
ay. I just wanted to give that to you. Everyone else already has theirs and I didn’t want you to feel left out.”
His fidgeting stopped. His gaze veered to the figurine. “Thank you. No one’s ever . . . I mean . . .”
Her heart squeezed. Every once in a while her father would go out of town, but he’d always returned with a little something in his bag for her. Had no one ever done that for Mr. Wilder?
He blew out a breath, then checked his pocket watch.
With a small smile, she stepped into the hall. “Well, I’d best be going.”
He followed her to the doorway. “Good day, then, and, um, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you this evening.” She walked down the hall and out the front door feeling his stare the entire time.
MOORISH DANCING WOMEN 26
“The Moorish women on the Midway Plaisance clicked the castanets when they danced.”
CHAPTER
44
Reeve flipped through the pages of notes he’d taken on Miss Jayne. Since she was the inspiration for Marylee, he’d taken to watching her every move during dinner.
We had corn on the cob with our meal. Miss Jayne ate hers like a typewriter—one row at a time. That’s the incorrect way, of course. You’re supposed to turn the cob like a wheel and eat it all the way around bit by bit.
He skimmed down further.
Someone else is putting questions beneath the plate across from Miss Jayne. I have no idea who. Tonight she was given the question, “If you could ask Noah one thing, what would it be?” She wanted to know how he could tell the two mosquitos were male and female. Mrs. Trostle was quite shocked by the subject matter.
He rubbed his forehead. Adam didn’t need to tell the difference. God sent the animals to him.
Miss Jayne organized a World’s Fair night in the parlor. Everyone was supposed to bring something that would have gone in one of the fair buildings. Ever since she’s returned, her stories at supper have been fascinating, so I made an exception and went to the parlor. Only to watch, of course, not to participate.
Miss Jayne brought a set of wooden castanets which she’d purchased while she was there. When it was her turn, she strapped them to her fingers and said that the Moorish women on the Midway Plaisance clicked the castanets when they danced and wore nothing but a finely embroidered bolero—no blouse or corset underneath, only skin and chemise. Their skirts then hung from their hips instead of their waist.
Oyster, rogue that he is, asked her to explain the dance, then pretended to misunderstand until, finally, he beseeched her to demonstrate. I’d fully expected her to refuse. Instead, she stood, lifted her arms, closed her eyes, and began to sway as if a snake charmer had hypnotized her with his haunting tune. First her head, then her shoulders, waist, and hips undulated—all in time to the castanets snapping at her fingertips. By the time she finished I could scarcely breathe.
He squeezed his knees. It was his last entry, and none of his notes showed him how to write a love story between Marylee and the bibliomaniac. He had no idea how to proceed. He only knew his notes were far too personal and specific.
If he hadn’t wanted the money so badly, he’d tell his chief to find someone else to write the column. But he did want the money, more than anything he’d ever wanted before. And desperate times required desperate measures. Gathering up his papers, he tucked them into the back of his drawer, then made his way to the parlor.
BOX COVER FOR THE BOARD GAME OF OLD MAID 27
“That had left Miss Jayne without a partner for The Board Game of Old Maid, and Reeve with no choice but to pair up with her.”
CHAPTER
45
Reeve flicked the spinner, sending its arrow into a whirl. Mr. Trostle had been called to Milwaukee on business, so Mrs. Trostle was packing his bags, and the Hollidays had retired early. That had left Miss Jayne without a partner for The Board Game of Old Maid, and Reeve with no choice but to pair up with her. They needed a two to advance to They Meet—the initial square all players had to reach with an exact spin. It slowed to a stop on the number five.
“Too bad,” Nettels said.
Swatting the air, Miss Jayne gave Reeve a reassuring smile. “It’s all right. Once we get through this first part, I’m sure we’ll sail through the rest of the board.”
He hoped so. This was the dumbest game he’d ever played. For the next three rotations, he spun everything except a two. Meanwhile, Oyster and Miss Love landed on Pleased With Each Other and advanced three spaces, then Ride A Bicycle Built For Two. Nettels and Mrs. Dinwiddie progressed to Go On A Picnic.
Reeve handed the spinner to Miss Jayne.
“No, no,” she said. “I’m a terrible spinner.”
“I insist.”
After a brief hesitation, she spun.
“Two!” Miss Love exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Good for you, Flossie.”
Miss Jayne kept her attention on the board, refusing to meet his eye. Reaching across, he scooted their piece to They Meet. Nettels landed on Misunderstanding. Go back to They Meet.
“Oh, no!” Miss Love gave Mr. Nettels a sympathetic look. “You’re going to be as far back as Mr. Wilder.”
Miss Jayne stiffened. Reeve leaned back in his chair. In the next spin, Oyster and Miss Love sailed over a penalty square and on to Little Brother Takes a Hand. Miss Jayne passed Reeve the spinner. He flicked the arrow. Six.
“Look at that, everyone!” Miss Jayne swept up their piece. “The highest number of spaces. One, two, three, f-four . . .” Biting her lip, she counted the last two spaces silently.
Nettels snorted again.
Uncongenial. Go Back 3 Spaces.
Without a word, Miss Jayne moved their token backward, again avoiding eye contact. Nettels and Dinwiddie landed on Rushes Matters—Go To Proposal, which allowed them to skip a good portion of the board, thank Caesar’s ghost. With any luck, they’d win and put him out of his misery.
But in the next three rounds Nettels kept landing on Papa Says No—Go Back To Proposal, keeping the game very much alive. Reeve and Miss Jayne Fall In Love At First Sight, Give Each Other Presents, and Go To The Opera while Oyster struggled to keep up and Nettels eventually got past Papa, only to become stuck at the end where the couple had to have another exact spin. Finally, they all caught up to Nettels, everyone’s pawns crowding onto one square.
What Shall the Answer Be? Exact Spin.
Reeve flicked the arrow. With a three, they’d land on Yes, and live happily ever after. A four, they’d land on No and Miss Jayne would become an old maid.
Round and round the spinner turned. Miss Jayne clasped her hands in her lap, her fingers pressed tightly together. The spinner slowed. Two . . . five . . . one . . . Slower. Threeeeeeeee . . .
He held his breath.
Four. The tip of the arrow crept into the green pie-shaped section marked with a four. After a slight hesitation, he reached into the center of the spiral path they’d just traversed, picked up their piece, and set it on a big red heart with N-O printed in its center.
He turned to Miss Jayne. “I’m sorry.”
Lifting her eyes, she started to reach for him, then withdrew. “Please don’t be. I very much enjoyed being your partner. It’s not how the game ends, but the pleasure of taking a journey together.”
He pushed his chair back, then what she said began to permeate. It wasn’t the destination, but the journey. His attention swiveled to the board.
They Meet. Exact Spin.
Uncongenial. Go Back 3 Spaces.
Pleased With Each Other. Advance 3 Spaces.
Misunderstanding. Go Back To They Meet.
He raised the corners of his mouth. There it was. The entire love story. Mapped out right before him. From the troubles they have meeting to getting the proposal past Papa to the questionable ending—and all the ups and downs in between.
Turning back to her, he gave her a nod. “I believe you’re right, Miss Jayne. I do believe you’re right.”
Her eyes brightened. Her shoulders lifted. “I’m glad, and I’m happy to be your partner anytime.”
He glanced around the table. “Am I excused?”
Mrs. Dinwiddie gave an affectionate shake of her head. “You are excused.”
With a nod and a good night, he retreated to his room to do his level best at constructing a romance between Marylee and the bibliomaniac.
CHAPTER
46
The last person Flossie expected to see in her bedroom doorway was Mr. Wilder. The rest of the family at 438 were frequent visitors, but Mr. Wilder had never so much as gone past his room.
She sat with her back to a yellow lamp, her feet propped in her bookshelf. Placing a marker in Pride and Prejudice, she set her feet down and placed the book her grandmother had given her onto the bookshelf next to the rest of her Jane Austen collection. “Hello.”
Dragging a hand through his hair, he looked about her room, reminding her of Mr. Darcy when he’d gone to profess his love to Elizabeth but was unable to spit out the words. Of course, Mr. Wilder had no such feelings for her, but his discomfort was palpable nonetheless.
Cracking his knuckles, he took a deep breath. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
A favor? “Certainly,” she said. “How can I help you?”
Slipping his hands into his pockets, he looked at the toes of his shoes. “Well, it’s just that I’ve been assigned a piece for the newspaper about the Tiffany Girls and their reactions to the upcoming culmination of the Glass Cutters’ strike. I was wondering if, perhaps, you could introduce me to some of the ladies you work with?”
“I see.” She folded her hands in her lap. “This is certainly a departure from the point of view you normally present, isn’t it?”
