The Pattern Artist

by Moser, Nancy;

  “Aye,” said her mother. “Unfortunately, that’s the way of it. Every day it starts over again.” She pointed to Annie’s hands. “I have some salve. Jane can attest to its value on chapped skin.”

  So Jane’s task had been the washing? Somehow knowing she was easing the girl’s load made the work a little easier to endure.

  “I worked hard, too,” Iris said, with a look to Thomas.

  He glanced at her and nodded. “Didn’t say you didn’t.”

  Iris’s brow dipped.

  “I’m going to drive the wagon tomorrow,” Danny said.

  “With my help,” Gramps said. “Though ye do seem a natural at it. The horses liked ye well enough this afternoon and that’s important.”

  “Everyone likes me well enough,” Danny said.

  “That’s because you’re so humble,” Annie said, taking a bite of bread.

  Thomas passed the jam across the table. “Try this apple butter. It’s as sweet as you.”

  Annie felt her face grow hot and looked around the table. The flattery had been noted by all the adults.

  Everyone but Iris was smiling.

  From beading gowns to stitching straw mattresses.

  Annie tied off the thread, finishing the last of the six fifty-pound flour sacks they’d filled with straw, and took it into the storage room.

  Danny and Thomas set empty pallets on two sides of the room, while Iris placed the makeshift mattresses on the pallets, two to each.

  Jane arrived from upstairs with three quilts and one pillow. “Sorry there’s only the one.”

  Thomas took it from his sister and handed it to Annie. “You can have it. I want you to be comfortable.”

  Iris put her hands on her hips. “And what about me?”

  Danny lightened the moment by mimicking her. “And what about me?”

  Annie didn’t appreciate Thomas’s obvious favoritism—though she did like having the use of the pillow. “We’ll take turns.” She put the pillow on one of the beds. “Actually I’m so tired I think I could sleep directly on the floor.”

  “Sorry the work was so hard,” Thomas said.

  Although she’d enjoyed his extra attention, it began to grate. “I’ll be well enough.”

  “Me, too,” Iris said.

  “Me three,” Danny added, unlacing his shoes.

  The oldest of the younger children appeared in the doorway. “Iris, Mama wants help getting Joe to bed. She says he’s taken a liking to you and he never goes quietly for her.”

  Iris sighed dramatically. “‘Man may work from sun to sun, but woman’s work is never done.’” She brushed her shoulder against that of Thomas when she left the room.

  “My, my, that girl has a chip on her shoulder,” Thomas said.

  Danny was already stretched out on his mattress, punching and pushing the straw to find some comfort. “Chip or not, she’s working as hard as any of us.”

  Thomas looked as though he wanted to say more but, with a nod to Annie, left them.

  Annie released a breath she’d unwittingly saved.

  “He’s sweet on you,” Danny said.

  She sat on her mattress and removed her shoes. “You saw it, too?”

  “Everyone saw it.” He turned on his side to face her. “Trouble is, Iris likes him.”

  “She can have him.”

  “You’re not interested?”

  “Face the wall so I can get undressed.”

  Danny did as he was told. “You didn’t answer me.”

  Annie unbuttoned her blouse. “I could be interested. He’s a nice enough boy, and maybe a few days ago I would have been. But now I’m just not.”

  “He’s not good enough for you?”

  She stepped out of her skirt and hung it from a nail. “It’s not that.” She unhooked her corset, relished the freedom of full movement, and put it out of sight in her bag. She put her nightgown over her head. Then she lay down and arranged the blanket to cover herself. “You can turn around now.”

  Danny faced her. “Finish what you were saying about Thomas.”

  Putting it into words was like trying to catch the mist. “I have a feeling there’s something out there for me to do, to be. Something that’s beyond anything I can imagine.”

  “I believe it. You certainly have a fire in your belly that goes beyond washing pots and pans.”

  His belief in her gave her courage. “I have no idea what it is.”

  “Maybe you don’t need to. Maybe it will find you instead of you finding it.”

  She lay on her back and noticed water stains on the ceiling. “I do like the sound of that. It takes the pressure away, as if it’s fate, not just folly.” She looked at Danny. “Tomorrow I’ll do my work here, but I’m also going to find a job in a store.”

  “Macy’s?”

  She hadn’t thought of it, but yes, why not Macy’s?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  There was a detail Annie hadn’t thought about before going to sleep in the storeroom the night before: bakers have to get up early to make their breads. To make their breads, they need supplies in the storeroom.

  The door swung open, flooding the room with lamplight.

  Thomas did the honors. “Sorry to wake you, but we need flour.”

  “No sorry to it,” Mr. Tuttle said from behind his son. “People won’t wait for their bread. We could use yer help.”

  Iris squinted at them. “What time is it?”

  “Half past four.” Thomas set the lamp on a shelf.

  “That’s earlier than we got up at the Friesens’.”

  Thomas looked at his father. “The Friesens? The banking Friesens?”

  “I sees their name in the paper off and on,” Mr. Tuttle said. “Surely ye didn’t leave a position in a family as wealthy as them.”

  They couldn’t renege on the name, so Annie went back to their original lie. “They didn’t need us anymore, so they let us go.”

  “That’s not very kind of them,” Jane said from the kitchen. “Times are hard. What with all their money you’d think they could keep you on.”

  Annie wished they would leave so she could dress. They were having this discussion while she and Iris had their blankets pulled up to their chins. “Come in and get what you need and then we’ll dress and get to work.”

  Sacks of flour, sugar, and dried milk were obtained, and the door was closed. “You get up first, Danny,” Iris said.

  Iris and Annie averted their eyes, and Danny dressed and was gone. The girls dressed and went outside to the communal privy in the dark alley. The stench was horrific, and Annie longed for a flush toilet, a bath, and warm water.

  On their way back inside, she asked, “When you were upstairs with the children, did you see a bath or running water?”

  “Only water is downstairs in the kitchen. Mrs. Tuttle said Saturdays are bath day.”

  Annie hated to ask. “Where is this done?”

  “In the kitchen. A tub’s brought in. Water is heated.”

  The thought of it harkened back to her childhood, when her family shared a weekly tub at the fireside in the kitchen. Once she started work at the Kidds’, she was happy to find they’d had indoor plumbing added to the centuries-old mansion, which included designated bathrooms for both family and servants. The Friesen household in New York was even more modern with tile walls instead of wallpaper, fancy painted water closets, and sinks with brass faucets. To go from those comforts to the primitive facilities at the Tuttles’ was definitely a step back.

  Wait until you get a job. Then you can let a proper room, with a proper bath.

  The thought made her remember that today she needed to find another job. She’d work extra hard this morning to earn the chance to leave this afternoon. Surely they wouldn’t object.

  Upon reentering the bakery, Iris went upstairs to help with the children, and Danny left to see to the horses.

  Annie approached Mr. Tuttle, who was measuring ingredients into an enormous crockery bowl. “Sir? Mr. Tuttle?
”

  He gave her a glance. “We’ll have dishes to wash soon enough.”

  “It’s not that, I—”

  “Ye want breakfast ye’ll have to wait till the bread’s done. Unless ye want some day-old in the cupboard.”

  “I can wait.” He was making this difficult.

  Finally he stopped his work. “What is it then, girl?”

  “I need to be gone this afternoon to apply for a job in a shop.”

  His eyebrows rose. “This shop ain’t good enough for ye?”

  “I’m not implying that. But since my talents lie in sewing and fashion, I thought it would behoove me to get a job more suited to my abilities.”

  “Well now. Aren’t ye the fancy one?”

  “Fashion?” Jane asked. “You know about fashion?”

  Her father pointed a finger at her. “None of that wasted dreaming of fancy dresses, lass. Ye have no need for fashion other than some simple clothes on yer back.”

  Jane nodded once and slunk away. Annie wanted to defend Jane’s natural female desire for pretty things but knew now was not the time. Her new job had to come first or there’d be no fashion for anyone.

  “Where are you going to apply?” Thomas asked.

  “Macy’s.”

  “That’s a grand store.”

  “Yes, it is. A grand store that has many employees. I hope they have an opening.”

  “If they don’t you’ll still work for us, won’t you?” he asked.

  The need to get another job increased. “I’m not one to give up easily,” she said.

  “Neither am I.”

  Oh dear.

  With her chores at the Tuttles’ accomplished, Annie walked to Macy’s on Thirty-Fourth and Broadway. It was hard to believe that she and her friends had been in this very store a few days earlier. They’d been three servants out on a lark, seeing how the other half lived.

  She wasn’t a servant any longer.

  She was a scullery maid.

  She had to get a job here.

  Annie entered the store at one of the three entrances on Sixth Avenue and saw it with new eyes. It wasn’t just a palace of products she couldn’t afford, it was a place where she could prosper as a person. She was guessing a clerk didn’t make a lot of money, but the money was secondary. The goal she was pursuing had a larger name: purpose. The pit of her belly stirred, begging to discover what she’d truly been born to do. To be.

  Annie considered seeking out Mrs. Holmquist in the sewing machine department but balked because she knew nothing about the product. Yet there were other products she could sell….

  She walked among aisles of merchandise that screamed, “Buy me!” There was the untrimmed hat department, which led to the vast display of flowers and ribbons to adorn them. Hosiery, jewelry, lace and embroideries, handkerchiefs, ladies’ collars and cuffs—with similar products in a men’s section seen across the store. Gloves, linens, curtains, and a vast shoe department that could have easily—and stylishly—shod the entire village back home.

  Annie passed a display case of buttons and dress trimmings. I can sell these. She was drawn to the dress goods in every color and quality from silks, satins, and velvets, to cottons and worsteds. Signs announced the prices and the special sales: NOVELTY DRESS SILKS! 49 CENTS A YARD/VALUE $1.00 A YARD. Even she was drawn to the bargain though she had absolutely no use for silk—and no money to buy it.

  And then she saw it. A sign on a counter: SALES HELP WANTED.

  Her stomach pulled, then danced, causing her heart to pound. This was it. This was her opportunity. Her destiny.

  She stepped toward the counter and waited for a clerk to notice her.

  A middle-aged woman approached. “May I help you, miss?”

  Annie nodded toward the sign. “I would like to apply for a position. The sales position.”

  The woman’s gaze fell upon Annie’s clothes then met her eyes. “It’s a position that requires a knowledge of sewing, dressmaking, and … fashion.”

  The last word was said with a hint of disdain.

  Annie stood taller. “I have extensive experience with alterations of fine gowns and the use of proper accessories.”

  “Where did you gain this experience?”

  It was a challenge more than a question. “I worked for a viscountess and her daughter.” As a maid.

  The woman eyed her warily, and Annie could tell she took her words as a lie. “If you held such a position why would you leave it?”

  Please give me the words. With her next breath she was fueled by a sudden surge of confidence. “I left England and came to America to follow a dream.”

  “And that dream is …?”

  “I want to become all I can be. I have a talent for sewing and designing and altering fashion to make it suit its wearer.” She spread her hands and took a step back to showcase her own meager ensemble. “As a working girl I have no funds to apply what I know to my own clothing, but that will change once I find a job. I want to help women dress in ways that will make them feel on top of the world.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Please give me a chance. I shan’t let you down.”

  The woman glanced at Annie’s hands, which were clasped against her breast. “You don’t have the hands of a seamstress.”

  Annie looked at her hands—which were chapped and red. She put them at her sides, out of sight. “I’ve been helping a neighbor with some cleaning.”

  A customer approached, and the clerk gave Annie one last look. “You need to speak to Mr. Jones, the superintendent. He’ll get you set up.”

  “So I have the job?”

  “It’s not for me to say.” She suddenly craned her head then said, “He’s over there. By the thread.”

  Annie saw an older gentleman with a large gray mustache. Annie looked to the woman, who nodded.

  “Good luck,” the woman said with a smile. “And tell him that Mrs. MacDonald approves.”

  Annie bounced twice on her toes. “Thank you so much, Mrs. MacDonald.” But as Annie approached the man, she found herself focusing on something other than the need for good luck. God? Please help me get this job. Please open this door for me.

  Mr. Jones was jotting something in a small notebook. Annie stood nearby and waited until he was finished and looked up. “May I help you find something, miss?”

  “No. I mean …” A fresh breath brought courage. “My name is Annie Wood, and Mrs. MacDonald over there …” She paused to nod toward the notions counter, where Mrs. MacDonald offered a discreet wave. Annie turned her attention back to Mr. Jones. “I spoke with Mrs. MacDonald about the clerk position. I gave her my qualifications, and she said I need to finalize my employment with you.”

  That wasn’t exactly what was said, but Annie hoped the implied confidence would work to her favor.

  Mr. Jones eyed her clothes a bit more discreetly than had Mrs. MacDonald. “There is a certain standard required of a Macy’s clerk. A certain code of dress.”

  “I realize that, Mr. Jones. And if I could be advanced a small sum, I would be happy to buy an appropriate ensemble.”

  When he smiled his mouth disappeared beneath the swag of his mustache. “You’re already spending your wages?”

  “For the benefit of the position, sir.”

  His left eyebrow rose. “I admire your spunk, Miss Wood.”

  “Does that mean I have the job?”

  “As I am busy today, and the need is great … it does. Follow me to my office and I will take down your information. Then report to the floorwalker, Mrs. Gold, and she will explain how things work.”

  Annie nearly curtsied but remembered she was in America. Instead she held out her hand and Mr. Jones shook it firmly. “Work hard, Miss Wood. That is all we ask.” With a sweep of his arm he led them to the elevator and to his office.

  She was officially a shopgirl!

  Mrs. Gold read the note from Mr. Jones and then wadded it up in her palm. “Well then. I will have to assume you have been thoroughly vette
d, but honestly, I have my doubts.”

  “I assure you, Mrs. Gold, I will not be a disappointment.”

  “Hmm.” She strode toward the women’s wear section and waved toward some black shirtwaists and skirts. “Choose two of each. And two white lace collars from that department.”

  “That is generous.”

  “It is not generous. A bit will come out of your wages until it is paid off. But take note that the proper costume is imperative. As a sales clerk you are the primary point of contact between the store and the public. Macy’s reputation depends upon the manner and method in which you perform your work.”

  Mr. Jones had repeated the same lines—almost word for word. “I understand.”

  “Did Mr. Jones explain to you about wages?”

  “Six dollars a week to start, with the chance of bonuses if I sell my quota.”

  “Which is two hundred dollars a week. Sell above that and you will get an additional one percent.”

  “I will achieve that quota—and then some.”

  Mrs. Gold shook her head. “Don’t get cocky on me, girl. Collect your uniform then report to Mrs. MacDonald tomorrow by—”

  “Twenty past eight.”

  “By eight o’clock since it’s your first day.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Gold peered downward. “Let me see your shoes.”

  Annie lifted her skirt enough to reveal her well-worn but still functional boots.

  “They will do. Go on, then. Gather the essentials and get a good night’s rest. You will need it.”

  Annie was bursting with joy and longed to let out a whoop of rejoicing. Instead, she turned her gratitude inward. Thank You, God! I shan’t let You down!

  She hurried to the women’s department to shop for ready-made clothes. It was a first. Her maid uniforms at the Kidds’ were stitched on-site, though the shoes and undergarments were ordered from London. Annie had never shopped for herself other than to spend a few pennies on a stick of candy or a handkerchief at the Summerfield mercantile.

  “May I help you, miss?” a clerk asked.

  With full pride Annie was able to say, “I have just been hired as a clerk in the sewing department and I need to dress the part.”