The Pattern Artist

by Moser, Nancy;

  “This is far more than I’ve ever had,” Annie said. She strode through the parlor, past a table with four chairs and a small kitchen beyond. There was a hallway leading to the right.

  “Two bedrooms, indoor plumbing, and electricity. And plenty of windows for natural light—though with working the hours I do, I don’t get to see much of the sun.”

  “It has all the comforts of a loving home.”

  “All the comforts that Ernie and I needed to bring up our boy.”

  “You said your son was in Pittsburgh?”

  “Steven is an English teacher there. I’m very proud of him.”

  “As you should be.”

  Mrs. Holmquist stepped into the kitchen. “I have some leftover stew and bread. Care for a quick supper?”

  “That would be grand. I’m famished.” Remembering the reason she was so hungry, she added, “You must be, too, for you gave up your lunch break to help me.”

  “It adds to a person’s character to be hungry once in a while.” She pointed to one of two chairs next to a tiny table. “Have a seat.”

  “I’d be glad to help.”

  “Keep me company while I work.”

  Annie took a seat and watched as Mrs. Holmquist took a bowl of stew out of a small icebox. “You have an icebox?”

  “Wouldn’t do without one. Ernie liked to buy me the latest equipment.” She moved to an odd-looking stove. “But this is my pride and joy. It’s an oil cookstove.” She pointed to the three receptacles beneath the burners. “See here? I put the oil in, light it at the top, and voila! I can cook.” She lit the wick, and a blue flame appeared.

  “That’s marvelous. Back at the manor the cook still uses an enormous cast-iron stove.”

  “I had one of those while Steven was growing up. But it took up too much room, and since I don’t have reason to bake anymore …”

  She sounded wistful about it, and Annie could sense her loneliness.

  The smell of stew began to fill the room.

  “Would you like some coffee, too, Annie?”

  “That would be lovely. At least let me help with that.” Mrs. Holmquist gave her the coffee grinder then put a pot of water on to heat.

  She let Annie help with more than the coffee, showing her where the dishes were. Soon the meal was ready and they sat to eat in the dining room. “It smells delicious,” Annie said, taking up her spoon. “Thank you for all you’re doing for me, Mrs. Holmquist.”

  “You’re welcome. And the name is Edna.” She held out a hand and clearly expected Annie to take it. “And since you’ve thanked me, let us thank God.” She bowed her head and Annie did the same. “Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest, and let Thy gifts to us be blest.”

  “Amen,” Annie said.

  But Edna wasn’t through. “And thank You for the blessing of friendship. Amen.”

  “Amen again,” Annie said. “The dinner grace makes me think of the Tuttles. They are probably sitting to eat this very moment.”

  “That’s the family you live with?”

  “Stay with.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  Annie wished she hadn’t pressed the issue. “If I explain the difference I’ll sound ungrateful, and I’m very grateful to them, for they took the three of us off the street when we had nothing and nowhere to go, and—”

  “Three of you?”

  “Danny and Iris are brother and sister. The three of us sleep in the storeroom of the Tuttles’ bakery, amid the stores of flour and sugar. Before I was hired on at Macy’s, I scrubbed their pots and pans. Their daughter was relieved of the duty, but then she had to go back to it when I got my job, and their son acts like he’s interested in me, but I’m not interested in him—Iris is—and …” She sighed. “It’s complicated.”

  “Thank God you’ve moved up in the world.”

  “I have, and I do thank Him for it.”

  Edna passed a jar of apple butter, and Annie spread it on her bread.

  “How long have you known the two friends staying there with you? Iris and …?”

  “Danny. He’s her little brother. We’d only known each other a short time when we all ran away from service together.”

  “You mentioned being a housemaid? This sounds like a story I need to hear.”

  And so, Annie told it. All of it. From her life in England as a housemaid, to her dreams of becoming a lady’s maid for the Kidds, to the exciting trip to America, to the betrayal of the Misses, the tension with Grasston, escape, and being saved by the Tuttles.

  By the time she was finished, they were done eating—and then some. They were on their second cup of coffee. “Iris, Danny, and I are the Three Musketeers. We’re in this together.”

  “To begin with, perhaps. But you’ve moved on.”

  “But I am still their friend.”

  “Of course.” Edna stood. “As we are friends. And as your friend, I think it’s time I give you your first lesson on using a sewing pattern.”

  Their conversation had been so refreshing that Annie had nearly forgotten why she was there. She helped clear the table and was told not to mind washing the dishes. Edna moved the dining chairs away from the table, giving them full access. “Now show me the pattern and fabric you bought.”

  It was after ten when Annie stepped off the streetcar. The door to the bakery was understandably locked, but she rapped softly on the glass. Danny came and let her in.

  “ ’Bout time,” he said.

  “I know. Sorry.”

  He locked the door behind them. “They were worried.”

  “I called. I told them I’d be late.”

  They walked back to the storeroom where Iris was just getting into bed. “You’re late.”

  Annie held back her impatience and shooed Danny into the kitchen so she could get undressed. She kept the door open so they could still talk. “How was your day?” she asked.

  “As if you care,” Iris said.

  “Bug …,” Danny said from the other room. “Be nice.”

  Iris got under the covers. “We never see you anymore. You’ve moved on and are making new friends and having adventures without us.”

  So that was the problem. Annie hurriedly unhooked her corset and drew her nightgown over her head. Then she sat on the bed beside Iris. “I’m not sure adventures is the right word. I’m working—working very hard.”

  “But you have other friends.”

  “I have one friend, Mrs. Holmquist, and she’s old enough to be my mother.”

  The crease in Iris’s forehead eased. “Oh.”

  Annie took the ribbons out of her purse. “I bought something for the three women in the house, but you can have first choice.”

  Iris’s face softened, and she chose the ribbon of emerald green. “Thank you.”

  Annie took the girl’s hand. “You will always be my special friends. My first friends in America.”

  Danny knocked on the doorjamb. “You decent?”

  “I am.”

  He came in and stood nearby. “Remember, we each have to make the most of today. Even if it’s not doing the same thing in the same place as each other.”

  He was such a dear. “I agree,” she said. “Make the most of today.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Upon entering the sewing department, Annie spotted Mildred speaking with the security man, Mr. Horace. Mildred was shaking her head as he pointed his finger at her.

  “If Mildred disliked me before, she’ll hate me now,” Annie said under her breath.

  Mrs. MacDonald overheard. “You have made an enemy.”

  “Unless they sack her.”

  “I doubt that will happen. After all, she can give the defense that she was watching out for the best interests of Macy’s by trying to catch a thief.”

  “But I’m not a thief.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  Annie wasn’t sure Mrs. MacDonald’s care would be enough to save her from Mildred’s wrath.

  Luckily fo
r Annie, the day was a busy one. With a constant stream of customers there wasn’t any free time for her to interact with Mildred.

  And then, Annie’s day brightened. A handsome man with sandy hair and a winning smile entered the department. “May I help you, sir?”

  His eyebrows rose, and he gave her a mischievous smile. “I am the one to help you, Miss …?”

  “Wood,” she said.

  He set a large sample box on the counter. On the outside was stenciled BUTTERICK PATTERN COMPANY.

  “You’re the Butterick salesman?”

  “I am.” He held out his hand, “Sean Culver, at your service.” He leaned his forearms atop the case and grinned at her. “What next, Miss Wood?”

  She felt herself blush. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know the procedure.”

  “The procedure is that I win you over in such a grand fashion that you’ll go the extra mile to sell Butterick patterns above all others.” He leaned close and spoke behind his hand. “We show utter disdain for the McCall’s product.”

  “But isn’t competition the essence of American business?”

  “By your accent I can tell you’re not from around here. I bet you’re from … Brooklyn perhaps?”

  She had no idea where Brooklyn was but knew he was teasing. “I am from England. Kent, to be exact.”

  “You worked in a store there?”

  She chose her words carefully. “I worked for the Kidds at Crompton Hall. Lord and Lady Newley and their daughter and son.”

  He eyed her a long moment, and she feared he would guess her past lowly position. To distract him, she said, “Do you need to check our pattern stock, Mr. Culver?”

  “It seems you’ve caught on to the procedure quite well, though far too quickly, for I would have enjoyed chatting a bit longer.”

  In spite of his blatant flattery, she liked the twinkle in his eye. “We can chat while we check the stock, can’t we?”

  “I can think of nothing better.”

  He came behind the counter and pulled out drawer after drawer of numbered patterns that were kept in a large oak cabinet. “Care to hold the clipboard for me and mark the numbers?”

  “Isn’t that making me do your job?”

  “Part of it.”

  She looked across the department and spotted Mildred staring at them. Scowling. Since there were no customers to occupy Annie’s time, if she left Mr. Culver to himself, a confrontation with Mildred would surely be imminent. “I would be happy to help you.”

  Annie entered the employee cafeteria and chose a glass of milk, a turkey sandwich, and a bowl of vegetable soup. She paid her dime and took her tray toward a table. She spotted Mildred, nearly finished with her meal, and thought of joining her. The stress of waiting for Mildred’s wrath made her want to push for a confrontation so she could be done with it. Or—miracle of miracles—make peace.

  But as she approached Mildred’s table, the girl left.

  So be it.

  Mildred glared. Mildred stared.

  And though Annie tried not to, Annie cared.

  Her nerves got the best of her midafternoon, and she fumbled a box of buttons, scattering them over the floor. Mrs. MacDonald moved to help, but Annie waved her off. “I’m the fumble fingers. I’ll get them.”

  She was nearly through when a man knelt beside her and said, “You missed one.”

  “Thank—”

  “Hello, Annie.”

  Annie’s heart flipped. She stood and stepped away from him. “Grasston.”

  “I’m glad you remember me.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  He moved to the counter and fingered some lace. “I was just walking through, passing the time since I now have so much time. You see, I am no longer employed by the Friesens.”

  “What?”

  “It seems that losing three pairs of gloves tipped the scales against me. I was sacked.”

  Because of the gloves I took?

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, even though she wasn’t. “Are you looking for other employment?”

  “Actually, I’m looking for something more satisfying than employment.”

  She remembered his inappropriate behavior against herself and Iris. “Move along, Mr. Grasston. There will be none of that.”

  “You flatter yourself. I wasn’t talking about that, I was talking about something even better.”

  She didn’t want to ask.

  “I’m talking about revenge.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she decided to feign ignorance. “Revenge for what?”

  “For someone setting me up, for ruining my reputation.”

  He knew. For who else would have taken his gloves?

  “I’m sorry my joke caused you—”

  “Joke?” he said, taking a step closer.

  His voice had risen, and people looked toward them.

  “I meant no harm.” Not this much harm. “Now please … go away.”

  She saw Mrs. MacDonald speaking with Mr. Horace. Help was on the way.

  But Grasston saw it, too. With the parting words “We’re not done, you and me,” he quickly walked toward the exit.

  “Are you all right, Miss Wood?” Mr. Horace asked. “Was that man harassing you?”

  No. And yes.

  “I can go after him, if you’d like.”

  The last thing she wanted was for Grasston to hold more against her. “I’m all right. No harm done.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Just an acquaintance from my last employment.”

  “He seemed to take issue with you.”

  She smoothed the lace Grasston had touched then pulled her hand away, remembering that he’d touched it. “I believe Mr. Grasston takes issue with many more persons than me. It’s his nature.”

  “There are those sorts,” Mr. Horace said. “I’ll leave you to your work, but let me know if you see him again.”

  “I most certainly will, and thank you for your concern.”

  As soon as he left, Mrs. MacDonald came over, and Annie repeated her rendition of the event.

  It was a mixed blessing that Mildred stayed away. But instead of bothering Annie, Mildred kept looking in the direction Grasston had gone.

  The customer perused the Butterick catalog. “I don’t like the sleeve in this dress but I do like the neckline and the skirt.”

  Annie made note of it then said, “Excuse me a moment, but if we go back two pages …” She found the pattern illustration she was looking for. “Is this the sleeve you like?”

  “Yes, it is. But I don’t like that pattern’s bodice or skirt.”

  “Then combine the two patterns into one garment,” Annie said.

  The woman studied the pictures of both patterns, back and forth between the pages. “I can do that?”

  “Of course you can. See how the set-in of the sleeve is the same? This sleeve will fit into this other pattern and you will have exactly the fashion you want.”

  “Brilliant!” the woman said. “I’ll take both.”

  “Now let’s find you some fabric.”

  Annie perused her sales receipt book at the end of the day. She mentally added the numbers. It had been a good day. Her best ever. At this rate she’d get a bonus.

  “Don’t gloat.”

  Annie looked up to find Mildred standing in front of her. “Gloat?”

  “You’re stealing the best customers.”

  “I am doing no such thing. And how would either of us know who is a good customer versus a bad one until they start looking?”

  Mildred huffed this off. “You got me in trouble and I don’t appreciate it.”

  Annie had to back up her thinking. Was she talking about Mr. Horace? “You shouldn’t accuse me of stealing when you know very well I paid for the items.”

  “I didn’t know that. You hid the package like you were guilty.”

  “I put it under the counter, out of sight from the customers. If I wanted to steal, would I get M
rs. MacDonald to cut the fabric for me?” Annie was done, fully done with her. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Is there anything else you have against me? For if there is, let it out now. I want to know.”

  Mildred’s expression was a mask of confusion. Had no one ever called her out on her behavior?

  When she didn’t say anything, Annie said, “Then I would appreciate it if—”

  “Your flirting with Mr. Culver is disgusting.”

  This was unexpected. “If you must know, he flirted with me. And any banter between us is none of your business, and above all, is not disgusting or inappropriate or any other word you care to fling at me.”

  “Why does that button man hate you?”

  Button man? Then Annie realized Mildred was talking about Grasston, who had helped her pick up the buttons. She’d had enough. “If you would spend more time focused on your own clerking skills and less on me, we’d both be happier and more successful.”

  Mildred shuffled her shoulders. “I’m a fine clerk.”

  “Good for you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to get home.”

  The gall of some people.

  Annie first felt the presence as she waited for the streetcar, a distinct feeling that someone was watching her. She turned around, but the sidewalk was crowded and she saw no one out of the ordinary. The stop was populated by many Macy’s employees, many who smiled or nodded at her gaze.

  Then, she spotted a black-suited man slip around the corner of a building. Grasston had been wearing black.

  The streetcar arrived and she was forced to let her suspicions go. She was being silly. A lot of men wore black suits. Most did. All of the male clerks at Macy’s wore black.

  She got on the streetcar and found a seat—which was a blessing, for the car was overloaded and many had to stand. She made small talk with her seatmate and let her nerves subside.

  Until she was almost at the bakery door. Suddenly fear crawled up her spine. She spun around and scanned the street.

  And saw no one.

  But with all the alcoves and doorways, it would be easy for someone to slip out of sight.

  Gathering her senses, she hurried to the door, entered, and locked it.

  Iris ran to greet her. “You’re home for dinner! I’m so glad. I have much to tell you.”