The Pattern Artist

by Moser, Nancy;

  “I was cut.”

  He hadn’t said that yesterday. “Badly?”

  “Hardly. Calm yourself. I am well.”

  Her thoughts strayed to yesterday’s wedding and Grasston’s death.

  He pressed a finger on the space between her eyes. “There will be none of that. Tonight is a night of joy, celebrating Christ’s birth and being together.”

  She loved how he could bring her back from darkness and into the light.

  “Here we are,” Edna said, carrying a tray with three mugs of spiced cider. When they each had one, she raised hers in a toast. “To us.”

  “To happiness,” Annie added.

  “To the God who brought us together.”

  They clinked their mugs and drank. The warm liquid was a balm.

  “My presents first,” Edna said as they took seats in the parlor. She handed a present to Annie, her face glowing with expectation.

  It was nearly flat, the size of her lap. Edna had wrapped it in a bit of calico and tied it with a ribbon. Annie pulled the bow free and gasped.

  Edna was quick to explain. “It’s a pad of drawing paper, new pencils, an eraser, a sharpener and … guess what’s in the skinny box.”

  The box had the words FABER-CASTELL in large letters. Then two more words … “Colored pencils?” She opened the end and couldn’t help but say, “Oooh. So pretty!”

  “Now you can colorize your designs.”

  Annie was truly moved and set the presents aside so she could give Edna a hug. “You are far too generous.”

  “Not at all.” Edna handed Sean a small box with a ribbon.

  Sean opened it. “A tie tack.”

  “The stone is a tiger’s eye.”

  He unfurled his tie and set it in place. “I’m quite the dandy.”

  “You’re quite the gentleman,” Edna corrected.

  He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “Me next,” Annie said. She gave a present to Edna and knew it needed some explanation. “It’s a tea cozy. I quilted it myself—on the machine. It should keep your teapot warm.”

  “Very nice, girlie. Thank you.”

  Annie’s heart beat a bit faster as she handed her wrapped bundle to Sean. “I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  The brown tweed vest was revealed. It had a satin lining and back.

  “I made it myself. It has a pocket for your watch.”

  Sean made note of that detail and immediately removed his suit coat and vest to try it on.

  Please let it fit!

  When he began buttoning it—and it was not too tight—Annie breathed freely. “I’m so relieved.”

  “A mirror?” he asked Edna.

  “In my room.”

  He went into the bedroom and admired it. “It’s very sharp, Annie. You do fine work.”

  “It matches the tie tack,” Edna added. “A coordinated effort.”

  He flashed a pose as if for an advertisement, his chin high, a hand on his hip.

  The women clapped and laughed. “Fit for the Delineator,“ Annie said. “For it is a Butterick pattern.”

  “Of course it is,” he said.

  They returned to the parlor, where Sean gave Edna the tin. Inside were assorted chocolates.

  “You’ll make me plumper than I already am.”

  “More of you to love,” he said. Then he handed Annie the small box he’d had in his pocket. “For you, my sweet Annie-girl.”

  Inside the paper box was a royal-blue velvet box, flattish, with a hinged edge. “I love the box.”

  “I hope you love what’s inside.”

  She cracked the hinge open and saw a gold cross necklace with intricate etching and a reddish stone in the middle.

  “The stone is a piece of coral,” he said.

  She removed the necklace from the box, fighting back tears. “I’ve never had any jewelry of my own.”

  “Ever?”

  She shook her head. “Would you clasp it for me?”

  Sean moved behind her and clasped the gold chain around her neck. “My turn for the mirror,” she said as she moved to Edna’s room. Seeing her reflection, she pressed the cross against her chest. The length of the chain was perfect, allowing it to be showcased within her neckline. “It’s lovely.”

  He stood behind her. “You’re lovely.”

  She turned toward him and encased him in her arms. “Thank you.”

  For so many things.

  God is here.

  There was no other explanation for the fullness in Annie’s heart as she sat between her two dearest friends for Christmas Eve services. The sanctuary was filled to capacity, with each person holding a lit candle. There was no other light. Yet the combined illumination created an undulating, heavenly glow. Surely God Himself was here among them.

  A choir up front sang carols for the Christ child. Annie pressed a hand to the golden cross at her neck and let the music wrap her in a warm embrace. Some songs were new to her, some familiar.

  But then the choir began a song she knew from her time at Crompton Hall—one the entire household sang together on this very evening.

  “Silent night, holy night …”

  The congregation began singing with the choir, standing one by one, and then in groups, their voices joined together as if they had to sing along. Sean held out his hand, and Annie stood with the rest. Then she let her voice join in, the music an offering of thanks to God for His beloved Son.

  Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Don’t be nervous.”

  “Nervous about walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, or nervous about meeting your family?”

  “Both.”

  Annie held his arm tighter. “We’re up so high over the river.”

  “The East River. And yes, we are.”

  “Until coming to New York I’d never been up high. Crompton Hall had three stories aboveground, and that was the extent of my experience.”

  “And now you work in a sixteen-story building, and even risked going on the roof.”

  She shook her head, in awe of her new experiences.

  He pointed to the south. “Look there. The Statue of Liberty.”

  They stopped, and Annie was glad to grip the sturdy rail. “We saw her when we sailed into the harbor.” The memory seemed distant and separate, as if it belonged to someone else. “It seems years ago when it was only a few months.”

  They began walking again. “A lot happened in 1911.” He patted her gloved hand. “A lot will happen in this New Year. Your life has just begun, Annie-girl.” He noticed her shiver and put an arm around her. “Are you cold?”

  “A little. At least the sun is out and it’s not snowing.”

  “The optimist.”

  “Hardly. The sun is out and it isn’t snowing.”

  “You see what’s there, don’t you?”

  She didn’t understand. “Of course I see what’s there.”

  “But you don’t see what isn’t there. You don’t see what could be there, the larger scope of things.”

  “And you do?”

  He stopped her, and they moved to the side to let other pedestrians pass. “Don’t you ever dream of something that is beyond what you see in the moment?”

  She was slightly offended. “Of course I do. I dreamt of being a lady’s maid when I was a maid. When that didn’t happen I dreamt of being a shopgirl.”

  “You got a job at Macy’s because you needed a job, not because of any dream. The same with Butterick. Your job there is not the fulfillment of any long-held dream.”

  “Why are you harassing me?”

  “I’m sorry. That was not my intent.”

  She looked at the ships cruising under the bridge. All going somewhere. Everyone on the bridge going somewhere.

  Where was she going? “What do you dream of, Sean?”

  “Fulfillment.”

  She shook her head. “That is far too vague. Everyon
e dreams of fulfillment.”

  “You’re right.” He set his arms on the chest-high railing, leaning against them. He peered out at the water, the ships, and the horizon.

  She thought of talking then decided this was a time for silence. She was interested in his answer.

  Finally he looked at her. “You put me on the spot.”

  “Tit for tat.”

  “But I do have an answer for you. I dream of knowing I made a difference. I dream of knowing there is a definite reason I was born, a reason I exist now—not a hundred years from now or a hundred years ago. I dream of knowing that a portion of God’s greater plan gets fulfilled through me.”

  Annie felt shivers that had nothing to do with the cold. She put a hand on his arm. “You shame me.”

  “That also was not my intent.” He pulled her hand around his arm, and she felt his warmth through her jacket. “I merely want you to see with a larger scope. Think beyond our jobs—which may or may not have much to do with our true purposes.” He turned them around and nodded to the other walkers. “What do our lives have to do with them?”

  “I … I don’t know them.”

  “But our lives can touch them. Somehow. Some way.”

  She watched a Jewish family walk by, the men with long curls and beards, the women with their heads covered. “What we do at Butterick touches people we don’t know.”

  “It does. And perhaps that is part of it. I don’t know all the right answers, or even the right questions. But I want to know. And I want you to want to know. For you, for me, for us.”

  “I’m not used to thinking this way. I relate to facts. One plus one equaling two, not some number I can’t fathom.”

  He touched her cheek. “God made us different, you and I. I fantasize and you organize.”

  “Perhaps together we make a whole?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Is that a proposal, Annie Wood?”

  She looked away.

  “I wish it were.”

  She risked a glance at him. “You know I’m not ready.”

  “But you will be. One day.”

  “You sound so certain.”

  “I can dream, can’t I?”

  Annie snuggled close to Sean in the cab he’d hired to drive them from the bridge to the Culver home. “One last chance to tell me what your parents are like.”

  “I’d prefer not.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll know who they are immediately.”

  “Their personalities are so obvious?” It didn’t sound very inviting.

  “Although my parents are as different as night is to day, they are fully committed to who they are.”

  “Are they … likable?”

  He cocked his head. “Each in their own way.” He pointed up ahead. “There. Just up there.”

  The cab stopped in front of a lovely three-story residence. “You live here?” Annie gazed at the beautiful tan-brick home with an iron gate, arched front door, and roofline edged with intricate molding.

  “My parents live here.”

  “I thought you were poor.”

  “We started out poor, but the family’s store is quite successful.” He opened the wrought-iron gate for her then accompanied her up the stone steps to the front door.

  Her heart began to pound. This was not a mansion near the size of the Sampsons’, but it was a far step up from the rather ragged brownstones where she and Sean lived now.

  “Ready?” he asked before he knocked.

  The fact he even asked the question set her nerves on end. “I suppose.”

  His knock was answered by a butler, who smiled warmly. “Master Sean, how nice to see you.”

  “You, too, Baines.”

  They had barely entered when his mother swooped in. “Sean!” She embraced him warmly then smiled at Annie. “You must be Annie.” She took Annie’s gloved hands in her own. “Ooh, so cold.”

  “We walked across the bridge.”

  “Shame on you, Sean. You must promise to take a cab back.”

  “I enjoyed the walk,” Annie said. “The view is incredible.”

  “That it is.” She swept a hand toward the parlor. “Take off your wraps and come in by the fire.”

  A man stood by the fireplace, lighting a cigar. “Son,” he said, with no emotion, as if simply declaring his existence. “Smoke?”

  “No thank you, Father.” He led Annie closer. “Father, I would like you to meet Annie Wood. Annie, my father.”

  Mr. Culver tossed the match away and gave her half a nod. “Miss Wood.”

  She’d heard it said that you only get to make a first impression once. So it was with meeting Sean’s parents. Within those few seconds her impressions were set. Mr. Culver was proper, controlling, and a bit cold, while Mrs. Culver was friendly, warm, and generous. As Sean had said, each personality was immediately evident.

  What do they immediately know about me? What do I want them to know?

  Choices rushed forward. Should she be sweet and flattering? Confident? Nervous and meek?

  The thoughts sped through her mind in seconds, yet three attributes stepped toward the front. Annie wanted the Culvers to know she was honest, grateful, and a bit unpredictable. “I’m very happy to meet the parents who raised such a remarkable son.”

  Mr. Culver stopped puffing on his cigar. “Really.”

  Mrs. Culver beamed and ran a hand across Sean’s shoulders. “I happily take credit.”

  Sean blushed. “Mother …”

  “Remarkable, you say?” Mr. Culver said amid a cloud of smoke.

  “Absolutely,” Annie said. “He discovered me.”

  Mrs. Culver raised her eyebrows. “Do have a seat and tell us all about this discovery.”

  Mr. Culver remained standing, but the other three sat upon maroon tufted chairs. “Now then,” Mrs. Culver said. “How exactly did Sean discover you?”

  Annie told them about working at Macy’s and Sean seeing her sketch at Edna’s. “I would not have the job at Butterick if not for him.”

  “What she isn’t telling you,” Sean said, “is that I had selfish motives.” His smile was utterly sincere. “With both of us working there, I see her every day.”

  Mrs. Culver’s eyes grew large. “So you are …?”

  “No,” Annie said. “We aren’t.”

  A shadow brushed over Sean’s countenance then moved on. Sean slapped his hands on his thighs. “Today is the New Year, a new beginning.”

  “I do like New Year’s,” Mrs. Culver said, “when everything begins again, fresh.” She looked to her husband.

  “Hmm,” was his only response.

  There was a moment of silence then Mrs. Culver said, “So what do you do at Butterick, Annie?”

  “I—”

  “She’s a pattern artist,” Sean said.

  “A designer?” his mother asked.

  “To some extent,” Annie said. “I work with others in taking an idea and turning it into a pattern for home sewers.”

  Mrs. Culver rose. “Well then, Annie, come with me. I have stacks and stacks of fashion magazines, and no female to share them with. You must give me your insight as to the new trends for 1912.”

  Annie was glad to leave the impenetrable wall that was Mr. Culver, but as she left the room, she saw a flash of panic on Sean’s face.

  “I’ll return soon,” she said.

  “Do.”

  It was a cry to be rescued.

  Annie followed Sean’s mother into a room bright with sunshine. “I don’t think we should be gone long,” Annie said.

  With a glance to the parlor Mrs. Culver said, “We won’t be, but it’s good to let them stew a bit in each other’s presence.”

  “Does anything good come of it?”

  “Not really. But I can only play the peacekeeper so long.”

  “Sean told me his father was angry that he wasn’t working at the store.”

  Mrs. Culver moved some fringed pillows off a padded window seat. “I think if Mr. Butt
erick hadn’t died on his own, Richard would have killed him.”

  “He blames Mr. Butterick—?”

  “For stealing him away. Yes. Absolutely. And he blames himself for sending Sean for that first delivery instead of our usual runner.”

  “But it opened a new world for Sean. He’s very good at what he does. He’s a wonderful salesman.”

  “Which would have been of good use in the store.”

  “Of course.”

  “Enough of them,” Mrs. Culver said, removing the long seat cushion. “Voila!” The window seat was hinged and, once opened, revealed stacks of magazines: La Mode, Femina, Collier’s, Young Ladies’ Journal, The Designer, Vogue, The Delineator, McCall’s …

  “I know,” Mrs. Culver said. “There are a lot of them. That’s why I keep them hidden. Richard would pitch a fit.”

  Annie laughed then put a hand on her mouth to stop it. “I’m sorry, but it just struck me as funny.”

  “It is funny in theory, but not so in reality.” Her face was drawn.

  “I’m sorry. I meant no offense.”

  Mrs. Culver negated the moment with a shake of her head. “None taken.” She put her hands on her hips and nodded toward the stash. “You like?”

  “Oh yes,” Annie said.

  “Then have a look. Enjoy.”

  Annie was surprised when Mrs. Culver sat on the floor and did the same. They pulled out magazine after magazine. When Annie chose a La Mode she said, “Lady Newley had this issue.”

  “Lady Newley?”

  Annie renewed her choice of attributes: honesty, gratefulness, and being unpredictable. “I was a maid at an estate in England under the Viscount and Viscountess Newley. A housemaid.”

  “My, my.”

  “But I used to work on her ladyship’s couture ensembles, making alterations.”

  Mrs. Culver clasped her hands beneath her chin. “You actually got to touch couture gowns?”

  Annie was a taken aback by the sound of wonder in her voice. “I did. For both Lady Newley and her daughter. You see, Miss Henrietta’s weight fluctuated, and it was my job to alter her dresses so they continued to fit.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the job of a housemaid.”

  “It wasn’t. But the two lady’s maids at Crompton Hall weren’t adept at alterations. They could repair an occasional seam or button, but ripping out and adjusting?” She shook her head. “They most certainly did not possess that talent.”