by Lynn Austin
For a long time she replayed all the memories of her visits here with Arthur, remembering how safe and contented she’d felt as she lay in the bed beside him, listening to the forest sounds outside. But the reality of her current predicament kept crowding out those memories, along with the conviction that God was finally punishing her for her sins. Punish me, then, she prayed, not my children.
“I want to go home, Mommy,” Eleanor wept as soon as she awoke. Fiona packed the car to return to New York. But foremost in her mind was the thought that only a few days remained until they would be evicted from their apartment.
She drove slowly through the town of Deer Falls, remembering how peaceful and quaint it had seemed when she’d visited here with Arthur. If only she and the children could settle in a place like this, a place where they could be anonymous, where her past would be forgotten. Halfway down Main Street, Fiona noticed a vacant shop with a For Rent sign hanging in the window. On impulse, she pulled the Cadillac to a halt beside the curb in front of it. The apartment on the second floor had a For Rent sign in it, as well.
“Why are we stopping here, Mommy?” Leonard asked. “Who lives here?”
“Nobody darling,” she said. “We’re just going to take a peek inside, all right?”
The children followed hesitantly as she got out of the car and pressed her forehead to the glass, peering into the store’s front window. An idea was already starting to form in Fiona’s mind. She could make this store into a hat shop using the money she had saved. Maybe she could sell thread and notions and dry goods, too.
She led the children around to the back of the building, and they climbed a set of wooden stairs to a small porch on the second floor. The apartment looked uninhabited, so Fiona peered inside those windows, too. She glimpsed a small kitchen and several other rooms beyond.
“How would you like to live here?” she asked, turning to Eleanor and Leonard.
“I want to live in our own apartment,” Eleanor said, pouting. “Can we go home now?”
“I have to go to school,” Leonard added. His eyes were as wide and sad as Arthur’s had been but a much lighter shade of brown.
“Listen, my darlings,” she began, crouching beside them. “We can’t stay in our apartment anymore. Your father is dead, and—” Grief choked off her words. It was a moment before she could finish. “And we have to find another place to live.” They gazed up at her, their eyes mirroring her own sorrow. She knew they didn’t mourn for their father—he’d been a stranger to them—but they instinctively felt her sadness, and perhaps some of her fear.
“I think this would be a really grand place for us to live,” she said. “Let’s just go and see how much it costs, okay? Maybe it’s all a pipe dream after all.”
The For Rent sign listed the name of a local real estate agency where she could get more information. Fiona loaded the kids into the car again and drove the few short blocks to the address. Inside, an older woman with graying hair sat behind a counter talking to a portly man with shiny, black hair and a dapper three-piece suit. He appeared to be younger than Arthur by at least ten years, olive-skinned, foreign-looking. Fiona had seen a lot of immigrants when she lived on the Lower East Side, and she guessed that he might be Italian. He looked up when Fiona entered, and she saw his eyes travel over her from head to toe as if undressing her in his mind. The smile he gave her when he reached her face again made her uneasy.
“May I help you?” the woman asked.
“I’m interested in the shop and apartment for lease on Main Street. Could you please tell me what the monthly rent might be?”
“I’d be glad to help you,” the man said. He stepped forward, extending his hand. “Lorenzo Messina. I happen to own the place.” He held on to Fiona’s hand a moment longer than necessary. Her uneasiness grew.
“My name is Fiona—” She started to say Quinn, then changed her mind. “Bartlett. Fiona Bartlett. These are my children, Leonard and Eleanor.”
“Just three of you will be renting?” He was a handsome man in spite of the extra weight he carried on his medium frame. She could tell by his swaggering self-confidence that he was probably used to having women swoon over his good looks.
“Yes, just the three of us. I’m a widow. My husband, Arthur, passed away recently.”
“Sorry to hear that, Mrs. Bartlett. Come on, I can show you around the place—you’ll probably want to have a look inside before you decide.” He rested his hand on her back to guide her out, and she shivered involuntarily, missing Arthur’s warm, loving touch.
“Well, perhaps you should tell me how much you’re asking first, so I don’t waste your time, Mr. Messina.”
“Don’t you worry about that just yet,” he said with a grin. “Let’s take a look-see, okay? I’m willing to negotiate.”
“All right… Thank you.” She tried to push aside her growing unease as she followed his car back to Main Street, telling herself it was just her own inexperience with men that made her uncomfortable, along with the rawness of her grief.
Mr. Messina unlocked the front door and took Fiona on a tour through the store. As soon as she saw the place, she immediately began planning how she could make it into a hat shop. There was an oak counter and glass-fronted cases where she could display her designs, and a small work area in the rear where she could view the front door while she cut and sewed her creations.
“What kind of a shop are you thinking of starting?” he asked as she looked around.
“A millinery shop—I make hats.” She saw a peculiar expression cross his face before he disguised it behind one of his dazzling smiles.
“Good for you. Deer Falls doesn’t have one of those. You’ll have a corner on the market.”
He was being polite and pleasant to her, but something about him seemed wrong. He acted too citified for a small town like Deer Falls, his clothing and air of sophistication out of place here. “Have you lived in Deer Falls all your life, Mr. Messina?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t live here year’round,” he said, laughing. “I have several business interests here, and a vacation place I come to. You were lucky to catch me in the office today. Most of my business enterprises are based in Philadelphia. Where are you from?”
“Manhattan… well, Ireland originally.”
“I thought so from your accent. You have a nice voice. Come on, I’ll show you upstairs.” He led her up a back staircase to the apartment. It was much smaller than Fiona’s apartment in New York—the children would have to share a bedroom—but it had electricity and modern plumbing and plenty of light streaming through the tall, second-story windows. Fiona was certain that she could make it cozy and pleasant for the three of them.
“How much?” she asked, dreading his answer. The price he named was so cheap that she wondered if there were strings attached.
“You look surprised,” he said when she didn’t respond.
“I guess I’m used to city prices, Mr. Messina.”
“Please, call me Lorenzo. Do we have a deal, Mrs. Bartlett… Fiona?”
She scrambled to think things through. She had enough money in her hatbox for almost a year’s rent—but they would have to live on that money, too, until the shop began to earn a profit. And she would have to buy equipment and supplies. But this opportunity offered her a brand-new start, a way to support her family and, hopefully, a chance to redeem her mistakes.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, extending her hand to shake his. “We have a deal.” Once again, he held it a moment longer than he needed to.
“Good,” he said with a broad grin. “Would you have dinner with me tonight?” She tried to disguise her surprise—and disgust. Lorenzo Messina wore a wedding ring on his stout, left-hand finger. And like Arthur, he’d managed to completely ignore her two children the entire time.
“I’m still in mourning, Mr. Messina. My husband died only a month ago.”
“I’m sorry. Another time, then. We’ll celebrate your grand opening.” He made it a sta
tement, not a question. “Come back to the office, okay? And you can sign the lease.”
Fiona made more plans as she drove back to New York that afternoon. She would move all of their furnishings to Deer Falls, hoping it would help the children adjust to their new life sooner if they were surrounded by familiar things from home. Besides, she knew before asking that she’d get next to nothing for Arthur’s furniture from a pawnbroker.
“The children and I have to move away, “ she told Charles. “Do you happen to know anyone with a truck who might be willing to transport my furnishings for a reasonable price?”
“I think I might, ma’am—though I’ll be sorry to see you and the kids leave. Let me talk to my friend and I’ll get back to you.”
Fiona drove Arthur’s huge car to the garment district where Madame Deveau’s hat shop had been. With so many businesses closing, she was able to buy a few of the things she would need to start her own business, such as a millinery steamer and a sewing machine and several balsa-wood head blocks. She also bought a dressmaker’s measuring tape, a millinery ruler and French curve, dressmaker’s chalk, pattern paper, and millinery ribbon.
Fiona moved into the apartment in Deer Falls without fanfare three days later, resigned to live in genteel poverty. She had cried along with Leonard and Eleanor when they left their Manhattan apartment, walking through the empty, echoing rooms one last time. How could she miss Arthur so desperately yet hate him so fiercely for deserting them? To take her mind off him, she immediately set to work sorting through the clutter of boxes and furniture in their new apartment, trying to make a home for all of them. The children moped and whined for days. Every time they climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor, they talked about the elevator “back home” and their friend Charles. They begged to go back. Exhausted and grieving, Fiona finally lost her temper.
“We can’t go back!” she shouted. “This is our home now, and the sooner you get used to it the better off you’ll be! I wish that nothing had ever changed, too, but we can’t always have what we want in life!”
Eleanor and Leonard stared up at her tearfully, stunned that she had yelled at them. Fiona immediately regretted her outburst. She saw glimpses of Arthur in their features and mannerisms, and the pain of losing him suddenly felt so immense she didn’t know how she would ever go on. She dropped to her knees and pulled her children into her arms, crying with them.
“It’s okay,” she assured them. “We’re going to be okay.” She wished she could believe it.
When Fiona finally dried her tears, she determined never to shed another one. The fastest way to move forward was never to look back. On Monday she enrolled Leonard in the local school. To anyone who asked, she was Mrs. Arthur Bartlett, recently widowed. Fiona worked night and day, harder than she’d worked when she and her father first arrived in America nine years ago. Downstairs in the hat shop, she functioned as the designer, laborer, and saleswoman all rolled into one. And when the workday ended and she went upstairs, she worked as cook, laundress, and housemaid, besides mothering her children. When the housework was finished and the children in bed, Fiona stayed up late every night making more hats. They couldn’t afford to buy a lot of clothes, but what they had would always be good quality. They would never be wealthy again, but Fiona wanted Eleanor and Leonard to be accepted as middle class, not as impoverished immigrants.
The store didn’t celebrate the grand opening that Lorenzo Messina had talked about. Fiona simply placed the finished hats in the display cases and store windows one December morning and turned the sign that hung on the door around to the Open side. She had fashioned boater-style hats made of straw braid and trimmed with veiling; berets made of red satin, plain linen, and silk; turbans made of velvet and crepe de Chine silk; brocade pillbox hats trimmed with pearls; and cloches made of brocades and tweeds. The townspeople paraded past the shop all week, gazing in the windows. A few came inside and studied the price tags. No one bought a hat. Fiona tried not to sink into despair.
Two days before Christmas, Fiona heard the bell on the door jangle and looked up to see Lorenzo Messina strut into the shop. She abandoned the hat she was steaming and hurried to the front of the shop to wait on him. “Good morning, Mr. Messina. May I help you with something?” He wore a broad smile on his handsome face as he gazed around.
“Well! This is quite a shop you have here, Mrs. Bartlett.”
“Thank you.” He took another moment to stroll around inspecting the hats then walked over to her, standing uncomfortably close. She could smell the aroma of cigars on his overcoat.
“How long have you been open now?”
“About two weeks.”
“Good, good. … And how’s business?”
Emotion suddenly choked Fiona’s throat, and it was a moment before she could reply. “I-I haven’t sold anything yet.”
His smile faded to a look of sympathy, and he draped his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t be discouraged, Fiona. It just so happens that I’m here to do a little Christmas shopping. I’d be honored to be your first customer.”
“Thank you. What can I show you, Mr. Messina?” She wriggled free and gestured to the display case.
“Now, stop right there,” he said, planting his hand on her shoulder again. “I told you to call me Lorenzo, remember?” She nodded and tried to return his smile, wishing there was a way to escape his grip. “I need to buy… let’s see… eight hats, altogether. I have a very big family—lots of aunts and sisters and cousins.” She noticed that he hadn’t mentioned his wife.
“Do you know their hat sizes?”
“No, I can’t say that I do,” he said, laughing. “How do you tell something like that?”
“Well… usually I would measure their heads—front to back, ear to ear, and around the top. I don’t suppose they could come in to be measured, could they?”
“That would spoil the Christmas surprise. Why don’t you just pick out eight of your best ones for me, okay? If they don’t fit, I’ll just have to come back and exchange them sometime.”
“Yes, of course.” She chose her best designs and carefully wrapped them in tissue paper for him—commercial hatboxes were too expensive for her to hand out. She battled ridiculous tears as Lorenzo paid the asking price and added a generous tip. He must have noticed.
“Don’t be discouraged, Fiona. Business in Deer Falls is always slow in the wintertime. Just you wait, though. This place will be swinging, come summertime. You won’t be able to keep up.”
But those were the only hats Fiona sold all winter. In the spring, one of Deer Falls’wealthiest matrons bought a new Easter bonnet from Fiona’s shop, and three more ladies quickly followed suit in an attempt to outdo her. After that brief spurt of sales, however, business was nonexistent. It was the same all over the country. The newspapers called it the worst economic slump in United States history, and they printed photographs of shantytowns and of out-of-work men waiting in long lines for a bowl of soup. Too late, Fiona realized that she never should have squandered her money on a hat shop. Hats were a luxury that most women abandoned in hard times. She needed to find another way to support her family—but with millions of men out of work, how could she ever expect to find a job?
Fiona had just added up her remaining money one morning in April, trying to calculate how much longer it would last, when Lorenzo Messina strode into her shop.
“Fiona!” he said with a broad grin. “How’s business?”
She drew a deep breath to steady herself. “Not so good. I-I think I may have to close—”
“Baloney! I’m here on a buying spree, as a matter of fact. Your hats were very popular with the ladies in my family. They’re asking for Easter bonnets now.”
“That’s great—you may take your pick,” she said, gesturing to the shelves. “But… but could we discuss the rent when you’re finished? I’m wondering if my children and I could continue renting the apartment without the shop—and what that rent would be.”
“Fiona…
Fiona,” he said, his expression sad. “It hurts me to see you so discouraged. Let me treat you to dinner tonight, and we can talk everything through, okay?”
“I’m a widow—” she began, but he cut her off.
“This isn’t a date! It’s a business meeting, okay? Now, wrap up eight more hats for me, and I’ll pick them up when I come for you at seventhirty.” He turned toward the door, not giving her a choice.
“Lorenzo, wait! I can’t leave my children—”
“I’ll send over my assistant from the real estate office to watch them. You know Isabel Watson, don’t you? And dress up, Fiona. I’m taking you to Sanderson’s for steaks. Ever been there?” She nodded. She and Arthur had often eaten there when they’d visited Deer Falls. “Good. See you at seven-thirty.”
Fiona tried to convince herself that Lorenzo was simply being kind, that he’d invited her out to discuss business, as he’d said. But a wiser part of her whispered the truth of what he really wanted. She didn’t know what to do. Her money would soon run out. She had no way to make a living, and she had two children to support. As Fiona tucked them into bed that night, leaving them with a sitter for the first time since Arthur had died, she vowed to do whatever she had to for their sakes.
Business was also very slow at Sanderson’s Steak House that night. She and Lorenzo were the only customers. Even so, the owner seated them at a cozy table for two in a secluded corner. Determined to discuss business, Fiona brought up the topic as soon as they’d placed their orders.
“I don’t know how much longer I can stay in business, Lorenzo. The newspapers say we’re in an economic depression. I’ve sold a grand total of four hats, not counting your orders, and I don’t think very many ladies will be buying them in the months to come.”
“How about if I went into partnership with you? The ladies in my family loved your hats. I’ll bet you could sell them by the dozens down in Philadelphia.”
