The Pattern Artist

by Moser, Nancy;

  Maude was not fazed. “Behave yourselves, boys,” she called out above the noise. “She’s not your type.”

  “How ’bout you, Maudey? Is you me type?”

  “Nobody is your type, Calvin.”

  Another man yelled out, “You two are the jammiest bits of jam I’s seen.”

  Annie was flattered and had to admit that she and Maude were a pretty pair. Maude was petite, dark, and curvy, and she, tall, slim, with creamy skin.

  As soon as they were clear of the presses, Maude said, “Don’t let their fresh ways intimidate you. They’re good enough fellows. Actually, you won’t have much contact with them.”

  “But you do?”

  Maude grinned. “I have contact with everyone.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “Then maybe I should know them.”

  Maude stopped walking and faced her. “Keep to the design department, Annie. There’s only room enough for one know-it-all in this company, and that’s me.”

  Annie studied her face a moment, trying to determine whether Maude was threatening her or teasing.

  Maude flicked the tip of her nose. “Lighten up, chickie. Life’s too short.”

  Annie wasn’t sure what to make of the woman. She liked her, but she was also intimidated by her.

  Maude led the way to another floor that was populated by dozens of desks, and dozens of workers. Each desk was piled high with letters. “This is the correspondence center. We get thirty thousand letters a week from women asking questions about our patterns, sharing ideas, or needing help with their sewing.”

  Again the numbers overwhelmed. “You answer them all?”

  “Every one. A company doesn’t have the money to build a huge building by ignoring the customers. And to let you know the massiveness of our jobs, Butterick puts out between seven hundred and nine hundred patterns per year. Patterns we have to design and create.”

  “That many new ideas? How do we do it?”

  “You’ll get the hang of it. And remember it’s not just women’s day fashion, but evening wear, sleepwear, undergarments, children’s wear from layette to teen, and men’s, too.”

  “I know nothing about the construction of men’s clothing.” And little enough about women’s.

  “We stick to the nontailored clothes for men. Shirts, vests, nightshirts.”

  “That’s a relief. I can’t imagine tailoring a suit.”

  Maude raised a finger and a point. “Neither can the average home seamstress.”

  It was a good point to remember.

  “Don’t worry about any of it. Nobody starts out knowing what they’re doing—no matter what the job.” She gave Annie a mischievous glance. “Unless you’re … special.”

  It sounded like a challenge—one Annie was not willing to take. “I’m not special. Not at all.”

  “Noted, and filed for future reference.”

  They visited a floor where women were folding tissue patterns and stuffing them into printed envelopes. Maude shouted over the chatter of the workers. “Ladies! Meet Annie Wood, a new designer.”

  A chorus of “Hello, Annie” ricocheted off the tall ceilings.

  “You do know everyone.”

  “Of course.” She walked to a table and showed Annie a stack of pattern pieces. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the patterns.”

  “I am. My skirt is number 8358, but the blouse is a variation of 3758.”

  Maude touched the sleeve. “You changed it.”

  My, these people were observant. “Do you like it?”

  “It has possibilities.” Maude turned back to the workers. “A cardboard template is made of each pattern piece, and then layers and layers of tissue paper are cut at once. And perforations are added to indicate the darts, the matching points, and to create identifying letters for each piece.”

  “Those perforations are very handy,” Annie said.

  “There’s another department that takes what we’ve designed and what pattern pieces have been created and writes instruction sheets that go in the envelope.”

  “Another handy tool.”

  They took the elevator to the next floor where Maude announced, “This is the sales floor where—”

  Sean rushed toward them, his face beaming. “Annie! My protégé!” He kissed both her cheeks.

  Maude put her hands on her hips. “Ahem.”

  “Good morning, Maude.” He winked at her. “You’re looking especially lovely this morning, Miss Nascato.”

  She flipped his compliment away. “Too little too late, boyo.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t try.”

  “I’ll let Sean show you around his department.” To Sean she said, “Ticktock, Sean. Don’t take too long.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sean saluted her.

  Sean showed Annie around, explaining how mail orders came in for fifteen cents and how there were agents like himself who called on stores to replenish their stock.

  He was all business, so though she longed to take his arm, she dared not. Obviously he hadn’t shared the more personal side of their relationship with people at work. She accepted that arrangement. In a way it was freeing. Annie wasn’t certain she could handle dealing with a new job and a suitor on the job.

  Sean led her back to her starting point, where they found Maude chatting with another salesman. Sean finished up by saying, “We have actual Butterick storefronts in Paris, London, Berlin, and Vienna. I am the lucky chap who gets to call on them in person.”

  “You get to go to Europe? For business?”

  “I do. I’m going there in April. I’ll attend the Paris fashion shows, too, getting ideas for the company.” He grinned. “You want to come along?”

  He’d already teased her with this possibility. “You know I would.”

  Maude approached, her hands beckoning Annie to follow. “Yes, yes, enough of the sales department. We need to be moving along. Ta-ta, Sean.”

  “Ta-ta, Maude.” He gave Annie a special smile. “Miss Wood.”

  Maude led her to the stairs instead of the elevator. “The next bit takes some exertion. Are you up for it?”

  “Of course,” Annie said.

  As they climbed floor after floor, Annie became winded. “Aren’t we running out of building?”

  “Almost.”

  They reached a landing with an exit door. Maude opened it, and Annie found herself on the roof of the building. “You really are giving me the complete tour, aren’t you?” She noticed enormous glass skylights cut through the middle of the roof.

  “Natural light?”

  “Two stories high. Saves on electricity.” Maude pointed across the expanse. “No tour would be complete without seeing the famous Butterick sign in person.” She swept a hand toward the east end of the building. They viewed the back of the sign amid extensive bracing. It was enormous.

  “It’s the largest illuminated sign in the world. The B is sixty-eight feet high—about the height of a five-story building. The smaller letters are fifty feet high. And it lights up at night.” Maude led Annie to the side of the B where she could see hundreds of bulbs outlining the letter.

  “How many bulbs are there?”

  “Fourteen hundred—give or take. There’s a man here who spends most of his time changing ’em out. Dwight takes his job very seriously, not wanting some letters to go black, lest the sign say ‘butter’ or ‘ick” or worse yet, ‘butt.’”

  Maude was clearly gauging Annie’s reaction to the slightly crude comment. Annie was not going to bite. “Protecting the company’s reputation is a noble job.”

  “And here I thought I’d get an indignant rise out of you.”

  “I’m not so easily scandalized.”

  “Good for you.”

  Maude led the way to a clear view of the city. “To the west there is the Hudson River, and Dwight says when he’s up on the sign he can even see the Statue of Liberty, way down that way.” She pointed to the south.

  Suddenly
Annie felt a little dizzy and took a step away from the edge.

  “You all right?”

  “I just realized I’ve never been so high.”

  Maude laughed and led the way back to the door. “Being in my presence will do that to a person.”

  Annie couldn’t argue with her.

  They made their way down the stairwell all the way to the floor that held the design department. But Maude paused at the door. “Are you sweet on Sean?”

  Annie didn’t know what to say, so she turned it around on her. “Are you?”

  Maude flipped the notion aside with a hand. “Don’t worry about me. I have no interest in Sean Culver.”

  Annie was taken aback by her tone. “You make it sound like the notion is revolting.”

  “Nothing against Sean, mind you. I simply have no interest in the men who work here.”

  Annie caught the distinction. “So is there a man in your life? Who doesn’t work here?”

  Maude leveled her with a look. “You’re getting mighty personal for the first day, don’t you think?”

  “You started it. You asked me about my personal life.”

  Maude tilted her head. “So I did.” She opened the door and they were back at work.

  Annie couldn’t help but notice Maude hadn’t answered her question.

  “Enough of tour time,” Maude said. “Now it’s time to create some fashion.” She stood with Annie in front of the huge layout table in the workroom.

  It looked intimidating. There were rolls of paper, rulers, curves, pencils, scissors, and bolts and bolts of muslin. Annie had been assigned one of the tables that were set perpendicular to the wall of windows and had her own dress form.

  “You do know how to use patterns, yes?” Maude asked.

  Annie hesitated. “I have a basic knowledge.” She remembered her lessons with Edna. “I have altered a pattern to fit my taller frame, and as you noticed, I changed a sleeve.”

  Maude stared at her, offering a slow blink. “That’s the extent of it?”

  Annie looked around the room, seeing that many of the girls were listening. She lowered her voice, hoping to reach Maude alone. “I want to learn. Teach me. Please.”

  Maude studied her a moment. “All right, then. Let’s get to work.” She moved to a muslin dress on a form. “Every dress has the same design elements to work with: the neckline, neck edge, armhole, sleeve shape, cuff, waistline, hem length, and skirt silhouette.”

  “All that.”

  “All that.” She pulled a chart close. “These are the basic body measurements for our patterns. And over there are the basic patterns for our dresses, skirts, and blouses. We can start there and adapt the existing pieces to our ideas.” She cut off a length of tissue paper and placed it over a bodice pattern piece on the table. “Let’s say we want to have a scoop neck. We can draw it with the curve and trace over the basic piece.” With a sweep of a pencil along the curved edge, Maude showed how it was done.

  “You make it look easy.”

  “It can be—with practice.”

  Annie pointed to the finished dress. “How do we get from this to that?”

  “Trial and error. After we make the new pattern we carefully cut it out in muslin, sew it together, and fit it on the dress form—seam-side out. That’s where we make adjustments and alter the pattern until it’s right. Only then is it made up in real fabric so the art department can make sketches for the catalogs and the Delineator. Then it goes into production.”

  Annie took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  Maude laughed. “It will be fine. You will be fine.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  The rest of the day went by in a blur. Annie worked with Maude on a blouse pattern with an interesting wide collar. They had trouble getting the collar to lie just right. It was a tedious process but one that provided much satisfaction. Creating something from nothing was a new experience, one Annie embraced.

  The girls were nice enough: Suzanne, Wilma, Dora, Sofia—or was it Sophie? Annie tried to remember their names, but by the end of the day, with all the information thrown at her, she took the safe way out and said her good-byes without using their names.

  “You survived,” Mrs. Downs said when Annie clocked out.

  “I did. But there’s so much to learn.”

  “‘All I know is I know nothing.’”

  “What?”

  “Socrates.”

  Annie had no idea who that was but had the feeling she should know. “Thank you for the opportunity, Mrs. Downs.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You’ll need to prove yourself, prove the buildup is true to your talent.”

  “Buildup?”

  “Mr. Culver was beyond complimentary as to your potential.”

  “I hope he didn’t overstate.”

  “So do we, Miss Wood. See you tomorrow.”

  Sean waited for her in the lobby. “Would you like some company on your walk home?”

  “Of course.”

  They left the building amid the crowd, and only when they were a block away did he pull her hand around his arm. “So. Tell me everything.”

  She laughed. “I’m not sure I could detail the color of the sky at the moment. My mind is a-jumble with new things I need to learn.”

  “You’ll do it. I believe in you.”

  “Which brings up the point … I hope you didn’t oversell my talent. I have very little experience. I fear they expect a Rembrandt while I am but a crude sketcher.”

  “I’m betting Rembrandt was a crude sketcher at one time. As Butterick is giving you a chance to excel, you need to give yourself a chance to excel and grow.”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I don’t know what to do with you, Sean Culver.”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  Annie started up the steps of Edna’s building then noticed Sean wasn’t following her. “Won’t you come to dinner?”

  “Not tonight. I have some paperwork to do back at my place.”

  A new thought made her freeze in place. “I don’t even know where you live compared to here.”

  “It’s a ways away.”

  She descended the steps to face him on the sidewalk. “How selfish of me to never realize that you coming here, and walking me home, might be an inconvenience.”

  He touched her hand. “You’re worth it.”

  Annie didn’t feel worth it. She pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead. “I’m so angry at myself for not thinking of you, for only thinking of myself. I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re forgiven.” He kissed her cheek then turned to leave. “I’ll come by tomorrow morning to walk you to work.”

  “But you said it’s out of your way.”

  “And I said you’re worth it.”

  She stood on the sidewalk and watched him walk away, his hands in his coat pockets, a spring in his step. “What did I do to deserve you?”

  “Pardon?” said a man walking by.

  “ ’Evening.” She went into the building and up the flights to Edna’s—to her home.

  At the sight of Edna in the kitchen, making dinner, Annie was faced with another failing. “I can make dinner sometimes,” she said. Though I have little idea of how to cook.

  “I know you can,” Edna said, stirring a pot. “And once you’re settled in your new job I’ll take you up on it. Now, tell me about your day.”

  “What did I do to deserve you?” Annie said under her breath as she put her hat and jacket on the hall tree.

  “What?”

  “I’m noticing what good friends I have in you and Sean.”

  “We are a golden pair, aren’t we?”

  Annie wouldn’t let her flip the compliment away. She went to the stove and stopped Edna’s stirring with a hand. “I mean it. If it weren’t for you two, I might be heading back—” She stopped herself. Oh no. Could it be? “What is today’s date?”

  Edna hesitated a moment. “The thirteenth, I believ
e.”

  Annie took a step back, stunned by the fact.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Tomorrow is November 14.”

  “So?”

  Annie’s legs puddled beneath her, and with Edna’s help she found a chair. “The Kidds sail back to England on the fourteenth.”

  Edna took the pot off the stove and sat at the table. “Your ride home.”

  “My ride home.”

  Edna wiped a few crumbs from the tablecloth onto her hand, where she held them captive. “You could still go.”

  “Could I?”

  “I don’t believe ‘could’ is the right word. Would you go? Do you want to go?”

  Annie pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her frantic heartbeat. “I don’t know.”

  Edna’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

  Her question—and her surprise—was justified.

  “I wouldn’t think you could leave, Annie. Not with your new job, new friends—a special male friend.”

  Annie’s nod had no strength in it.

  “You’re not agreeing with me,” Edna said.

  Annie rose from the chair, needing her body to move along with her thoughts. “I love my new life here, and appreciate everything about it.”

  “But …?”

  Annie stopped pacing and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “Letting the Kidds go, and not being on that ship, is so final.”

  “A closed door.”

  “A locked door.”

  Edna shook her head. “Not locked. You can always return to England on your own.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “The larger question is what would you be returning to. Surely you don’t want to be a maid again.”

  “Of course not. Never.”

  “Do you wish to go home and live with your family?”

  “Of course not.” Never.

  “Do you have other job prospects there?”

  “In Summerfield? None. It’s a tiny village.”

  “How about in a city? London?”

  She was embarrassed by her lack of experience. “I’ve never been.” She returned to her chair. “I’ve never been anywhere but Summerfield and here.”

  “A village to New York City is an enormous jump.”