by H D Coulter
Once Bea had chosen her two fabrics and designs, she approached the lady standing guard over the till.
“Good morning.” Bea tilted her head, copying the other more gentile ladies.
“Good morning,” the lady repeated with a slight nod to her head.
“I would like to order three dresses please.”
“Very good ma’am! Can you tell me the fabrics and the designs you would like? And then we will take your measurements.”
Bea pointed to a pale pink muslin fabric with tiny red roses scattered across it, the fabric she had dreamt of as a lass. “I would like this fabric made up in a summer gown - this design please.” Pointing to the design in the pattern pages, she smiled excitedly over at Sarah.
“Of course ma’am; and the second dress please?”
Bea pointed to a plum-coloured fabric with shades of red flowing through it, in a heavier, thicker sateen, but one that would match perfectly with her hair colour.
“I would like this fabric, in a ‘fall’ design please,” she said carefully, remembering the difference in vernacular. “In this design please,” pointing to another design in the pattern pages, with long sleeves, a higher neckline and a fuller skirt.
“And your third dress?”
Bea took a deep breath and braced herself for what she was about to do. “I would like to take the cornflour blue fabric.” She pointed to where Sarah was still standing with Grace, her fingers skimming the top of the fabric, unwilling to let it go.
“For yourself?” The shop woman remarked in a desperate, directorial squawk.
“No, for Sarah.” On hearing her voice, Sarah spun round.
“We... I... we do not sell those kinds of clothes here. Maybe she would be better to visit the coloured shops?”
“No, I would like to order that fabric. Sarah, have you thought about the design you would like it in?” An old trigger uncovered a side of Bea that she thought had disappeared. A strength grew in her tone and countenance. “Would that be a problem? Do we need to take our business elsewhere?” She stared straight at the opinionated woman, remembering who she was now, the wife of a gentleman, and in a position too. “It would be a shame if we did, given that... Mrs Goldstein recommended this shop. I wouldn’t like to tell her you refused to sell to me.” Holding her nerve, Bea stood proudly as Sarah stood next to her, head held low, embarrassed by the sudden fuss.
“Oh! No need for that, I’m sure - we can certainly make an exception, this once. Which design would you like...?” The shop keeper grumbled. Sarah pointed to a simple design with full sleeves, a slimmer skirt and a high neck. “Lovely... I will get those ordered up for you straight away, ma’am. Now if you step this way, we can have you both measured.”
Bea felt the tension in Sarah and being measured after what had just transpired would be a step too far. “Thank you, but I will send you over our measurements this afternoon.” Bea bowed her head, and in a single move, turned her back on the woman and took hold of the pram. “Good day.”
Sarah waited until they were far enough away not to be heard before she paused.
“Why did you do that? Make such a fool of me. What am I to do with a dress like that? Nor can never repay you.” Sarah muttered in a low voice, with a hint of disappointment.
Bea looked at Sarah and realised what she had done. “Forgive me, Sarah, I did not think.” Her pride had got the better of her and the unspoken rules of this new land were confusing. “I didn’t mean for you to look foolish, I meant... it’s just... a year ago, in early spring, I received the same look you had from that shameful proprietor, not because the colour of my skin, but the class I was in.” Bea stepped closer. “To that woman I was nothing but a dirty wretch who should know her place, who could never afford fabric like that, no matter how many pieces of lace I produced for her, or how perfect they were... I am sorry, I saw the way you were looking at the fabric. I knew that feeling so well, and now I can stop that happening to someone else. You have given me so much kindness and strength, it is I who can never repay you.” Bea coughed away, the emotions building inside of her as the pedestrians veered around them on the street. “I wanted to do this for you, and, to be honest, I wanted to remove the look on that woman’s face for both of us If someone had gifted me a dress like that with no terms attached... well, maybe I wouldn’t be standing here, but that’s different life, and not having Grace, well –.” Bea leaned in and gave a sleeping Grace a light kiss, speaking the last part more for herself than anyone else. “Maybe you can wear the dress to a dance? To church, at Christmas? I am sorry to have done this to you. I promise you I simply wasn’t thinking... an old ghost came back to haunt me for a moment.”
Sarah stared at Bea, and quickly her confusion and anger drifted away. She knew this unusual, mysterious young woman meant no ill towards her. She was so used to defending herself against pale-skinned women it was difficult to accept one of them might actually be on her side.
“Shall we move on to the next shop?” Sarah suggested, ending the conversation with a forgiving smile.
“Yes.”
Sarah cut in front, taking the pram from Bea and guiding their way back up Charles Street. Bea watched the passers-by, how they ignored Sarah but gave her a curt nod of approval. How much she still had to learn and understand about this expanded alternative world, yet she had already concluded, in under twelve months, there were parts she would never like. The further they walked up the road, the busier and louder the traffic became as carriages rushed by and men trotted on horseback to various destinations, not focusing on anything but their next meeting. She could have sworn for a moment she had seen Joshua. Yes, it was him. Her eyes followed him down the street, and a part of her wanted to shout out to him, to show the world that this man was hers. To show him she was trying, at least attempting, to fit in and make things work. Instead, she just watched him, elegant, strong, and handsome as he rode down the street. This world was where he belonged, a gentleman, a man of standing- and how close she had almost been to losing all this for him. But recently he seemed happier, they both had. He was holding, touching, kissing her again, and it felt right.
“Mistress?”
Bea watched Joshua disappear out of sight, unaware of his audience.
“Mistress Mason?” The voice was Sarah’s, but the name seemed strange to her.
“Sorry... I saw Joshua riding down the street.” Bea blushed as people awkwardly slipped past her statue form.
“Mistress, the next shop is this way.” Sarah gestured to a few shops down.
“Yes – yes, lead the way.” Bea smiled and shook her head, placing herself back in the present moment.
They stopped outside ‘Miss Julie’s Dress Shop’ watching the other gentile women inside laughing and admiring one another’s gloves.
“If you don’t mind, Mistress, may I take Grace with me whilst I fetch a few things in one of my own shops?” A few streets away was the coloured district, where the shops were owned by black people for the black community. Boston was a liberal town, but the people, black, white or otherwise, still knew their place. There were a rare few that could cross that line, born free and gain a position, but unfortunately Sarah wasn’t one of them. There was also a part of her wondered if Sarah was worried that she might order her another dress, if she stayed.
“Yes, of course. Shall we meet back here in thirty minutes?”
“That should be fine, Mistress.”
Sarah veered off down one of the side streets as Bea hovered in front of the shop a little longer, reminding herself once more that she belonged in such establishments now, and that her old ghosts had no place here.
The high bell rang out a sharp tinkle, making the four women turn round and examine Bea as she stepped over the threshold. This shop was much like the last, except that the fabrics draped seductively in a line, each one peeking out a little below the others and were more luxurious than before. Willing the customer to reach out and fall in love with the soft touch of silk,
the hard-crisp feel of chiffon or the incandescent shimmer of the bright, high-quality Satin, Bea didn’t know where to look or which fabric to choose. She knew that the elite of Beacon Hill was going to be at this gala. They would handsomely dress the men in their finest suits, whilst women would look like queens in their fashion-forward designs and tailored fabrics. Where would she fit in all this? She couldn’t let Joshua down; this was his moment. She wanted to support him, just as he had supported her. And yet, this was his world, it wasn’t hers. She would need to impress people, talk to strangers, make conversation, amuse her peers. What did these people talk about, anyway?
Bea must have been standing staring at the peacock-blue fabric with a worried look on her face, because the shop assistant made her excuses to the other three ladies and glided over to Bea.
“Madam, may I be of help?” the woman drawled, empathising each word. Bea turned her head and looked at the perfectly presented woman in front of her. In a topaz chiffon, the women glowed and rustled as she moved. “Madam, are you considering this fabric? Can I ask what occasion it is for?”
“... Possibly, I’m not sure... I am attending Mr Goldstein’s harbour-gala tomorrow with my husband and I am looking for something new to wear.” A surprised look came into on the shop-woman’s eyes, at the news that this young creature, so overwhelmed by the fabrics and the surrounding atmosphere, was going to be attending an honorary gala.
“Very good, Mrs -?”
“Mrs Mason, my husband Mr Joshua Mason is Mr Goldstein’s second-hand man at the harbour office.”
“Mrs Mason?” A voice came from behind her amongst the three women crowded together.
“Yes.” Bea turned her head toward the unfamiliar voice. A tall, elegant woman, perhaps twenty years her senior, dressed in mint green silk gown with bold embroidery outlining the bodice and the hem stepped forward.
“I am Mrs Goldstein. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. My husband sings high praises of Mr Mason, and the outstanding work he is doing for our company.” Bea blushed... “Did I hear correctly that you were picking something out for our gala?”
“I am sorry, but it’s not enough time, to make a dress for tomorrow, Madam,” the assistant butted in. “We usually take a week, at the very minimum.”
Ignoring her, Mrs Goldstein continued the conversation with a bright smile. “I hear congratulations is in order. My husband tells me you were blessed with a baby, just a few months back?”
“Yes, a girl - we named her Grace.”
“How wonderful, a girl. I have two of my own, and a little boy. How sweet they can be at that age. I remember the first few months, how time can slip past us mothers...” Bea wasn’t sure how sincere Mrs Goldstein was being, There was a tone to her voice that Bea had often heard from the more gentile class, which undercut the words. But today, she ignored it and smile, this woman was her better. “So”, she continued, “I am sure Miss Julie’s can make an exception, this once, on my behalf?”
“If we have the fabric ready cut, and the design is nothing too complicated, then we might have it ready for tomorrow night. Madam will have to send someone over at six, before we close, to collect it.”
“Thank you very much.” Bea nodded to both women.
“I will get you samples of the fabric that I already have in.” The assistant turned her back to her customers and strutted off through to a curtained off area.
“I will leave you to it, then, Mrs Mason. There is still a lot to be done before the gala.”
“Thank you for your help, Mrs Goldstein.”
“I was happy to step in; it was a pleasure to meet you, my dear, and I look forward to finally meeting your husband too, tomorrow at eight.”
Bea gave her a small bow as she gestured for the other women to follow her out into the street.
Bea waited patiently for Miss Julie to return as she scanned the fabrics, making her way to the pattern pages on a dark wooden desk. America, especially Boston, seemed to be ahead of England in the fashion stakes. The skirts here were bigger, fuller, with an unexpected hoop underneath. The more formal the dress, the more daring they became, with their lower necklines, exposing the first curve of the wearer’s breasts. The sleeves looked like they had magical puffs of air trapped inside, to carry Bea into the sky, with their balloon-like appearance, all in the cause of showing off more of the slim curve of the waist. Bea skimmed over the designs, each one slightly different from the last. They all seemed to be adorned with some sort of bows, fabric flowers, or a structured cascade of fabric draping out to the side. At least the size of the skirt would hide her now wider hips, she thought. Finally, she settled on a design that caught her eye immediately. It was simple and yet elegant; something that Joshua would be proud of but not so extravagant that Bea would feel like a peacock, strutting around for all the company to see. There were no bows or layers. It was a simple smooth skirt, allowing the fabric to flow naturally. Miss Julie returned with swatches of material in her hand, and a flustered look. She laid them on the desk, side by side, from light to dark like the tones of a rainbow. Bea looked at the creams and pearly-white samples. One shimmered under the light and seemed more sumptuous even than her wedding dress had. Cream was her fail-safe; it was simple and didn’t draw too much attention. She glanced over the other colours, and the gold also caught her eye, with flashes of the last and only ball she had attended replaying in her head.
No gold had drawn her into trouble. She wouldn’t be wearing gold again. The reds looked nice, but reminded her of Christmas holly berries. Maybe she could come back in November and buy herself a Christmas dress here. She forced her attention back to the task at hand. What colour would shine with the simple design she had selected, allowing her to stand out just enough for Joshua to be pleased? Then she saw it, the colour of trees, of nature, of the woods in summer that she had left so far behind. The emerald green shining cloth called out to her, willing her to touch it.
“A splendid choice; it would suit your hair too. Have you chosen a design?”
Without saying a word, Bea pointed to the simple design she had bookmarked, and saw the relief on the attendant’s face.
“It will be ready for tomorrow evening?”
“Yes, it will be ready by then. If you come this way, I will take your measurements.”
Bea did as she commanded, clutching tightly to the silk square in her hand.
BEA EXITED THE SHOP to find Sarah and Grace waiting patiently outside. “Hello little one.” She popped her head into the pram and found a curious facing staring back with her arms stretched out, wanting her Mama. Instead, Bea gifted Grace with the piece of fabric, and watched how the mid-day sun shone through it, casting her in a green shade. “All fine?”
“No trouble at all. How did you get on? Is that the colour?”
“What do you think?”
“Beautiful, Bea.”
“I thought so too... Sarah. I think I need a cup of tea and a sit down. Is there anywhere we can go that isn’t too far from here – but far enough from the judgemental glares?”
“We can just head back if you’re tired?”
“No, not yet - I’m enjoying being out, and I think Grace is too!” Bea glanced down at the wide-eyed baby in her pram, flapping her newfound treasure.
“Well, I know of a place; it is a bit of a step out from here, but I do think you’ll like it - and I wanted to drop by there and pick somethin’ up anyhow.”
“Lead the way.”
Sarah gestured to take the pram, but Bea kept a tight grip onto the handle. She had missed not seeing Grace, but if she was honest with herself, it was more for the fact that she needed something to lean on as they strode back up the hill. Her wound was aching now, crying out for rest, but the thought of being cooped up back in the house didn’t seem appealing.
Sarah marched back up the hill as Bea followed, struggling to keep pace as they passed the summit, and kept on for another twenty paces. Bea took a moment to catch her breath and stared dow
n at the scene below them, glimpsing sparks of blue sea between the buildings. She came up with a plan for Sunday at that moment: they would all hire a carriage and go up the coast for a day trip to the sea. She felt the water calling out to her, reaching its powerful, familiar arms out, and longing to hold her in its embrace.
