by Nancy Moser
“In the home.”
“And in the fields. And factories. And in shops. You have a female employee. Mrs. Burroughs has worked for you for ten years.”
“The sister of my bookkeeper. The result of a favor given. An exception, not the rule.”
“Your loss.”
“What did you say?”
Vesta’s throat grew tight. “I admire the working girls of today. They have ambition. They have…gumption.”
“They are taking jobs away from men.”
“There is plenty of work to go around.”
“Hmm.”
She took his response as a victory. “Annie wishes to design for working women.”
“Don’t encourage her.”
“That’s rude, Richard. Don’t those women deserve to look nice and wear functional clothes that are comfortable enough to work in?”
He moved a piece of paper close and picked up a pen. “I liked bustles.”
“Why?”
“They were…interesting. All those flounces and drapery.”
Vesta wasn’t sure which point to address first, the fact Richard had an opinion about fashion or the absurdity of his preference. “Bustles made sitting awkward. And the weight of them, pulling back…”
He shrugged. “I stand by my opinion.”
And I stand by mine. She stood. “I’m going to dress for dinner now.”
“You’re not going tomorrow.”
It was not a question. “Yes, I am. Annie is still confined to bed.”
“But I need you here.”
“To do what?”
“To do…what you normally do.”
“And what is that?” He looked flummoxed, and she realized he had no idea how she spent her days—not that there was much depth to them now that the children were grown. She got to the crux of it. “I am bored here, Richard. Sean and Sybil are grown, with lives of their own. The household runs without me. And you will not let me work at the store.”
He shook his head adamantly. “Totally unacceptable.”
“Why is that? Sean and Annie worked together.”
“It’s…unconventional.”
“Only for our set.”
“The women in our set do not work outside the home.”
“And I guarantee they are as bored as I.”
“They—they are involved in charity work.”
“As am I.”
He made a face. “Which charity?”
She was hurt that he was unaware of her good deeds. “I help raise funds for the foundling home, the city mission, and the veterans’ home. I even volunteer occasionally.”
His eyebrows rose. “You actually…go there?”
“In person.” She leaned toward him and said, as if in confidence, “I’ve even held a foundling child in my arms, served a meal to a homeless man, and had a chat with a veteran who was missing a leg.”
His lips moved as though he wanted to say something. Yet all he managed was, “Well then. Good for you.” He set his pen aside and took up a cigar, snipped the end, and lit it. Acrid smoke wafted toward her nostrils.
“You know I dislike that smell,” she said.
“I will see you at dinner then.”
She was being dismissed. Summoned and dismissed. How pitiful.
CHAPTER SIX
Vesta knocked and entered Annie’s apartment without waiting for a response. She carried a dress draped over her arm, along with a needle, thread, and scissors.
“Annie, you’re out of bed,” she said. “Should you be out of bed?”
“I have moved from the bed to the sofa. I am not running wild or jumping up and down but am sitting quietly in a new setting.” Annie fingered the necktie of her dressing gown to make her next point. “And see? As usual I am not even fully dressed. Does that appease your concern?”
“I’m not sure. For the past three days you’ve cajoled us into bringing you handwork to pass the time. I don’t want you to overwork.”
Annie scoffed. “There is little risk of that. And a person can only sleep so much and only read so many books.”
“Did you enjoy Sense and Sensibility?”
“Very much, though I have decided I much prefer to live out my own drama—which will commence tomorrow when I am set free of my confinement.”
“The doctor has given permission?”
Annie nodded. “But actually, it has been the baby and its increased flutterings that convinced us I am recovered.”
“We thank God for that.” Vesta considered the room’s light. “Do you want to move to the window seat to see better?”
“A good idea.”
Vesta arranged a backrest of pillows and drew a kitchen chair close to act as a table for the supplies. “There. Can I get you anything else?”
“I am fully equipped. Stop in later and tell me how the day progresses.”
Annie was left to her work—which she usually tackled immediately.
Yet today…the hem was forgotten as she paused to look down upon the teeming street below. Although she’d observed the scene often, the number of times she had done so with full eyes and comprehension could be counted upon a single finger, a finger symbolizing her viewing on this day, as if seeing it for the very first time.
Below her, dozens of men and women went about their days. The sight of them made her happy, and she found herself uttering a prayer, “Lord, bless them.”
You bless them.
She blinked at the thought. How could she bless them?
Look. Watch. See.
She watched wives, mothers, and women moving from errands to home, or to their jobs in stores, offices, and factories. The image of Mrs. Sampson’s fancy trims flashed into her thoughts but was quickly discarded. She knew she’d made the right decision to deny the woman’s request.
And yet…there was more to deny.
Watching the real women, living real lives, needing real clothes, caused an idea to fully form. This is my customer, has always been my customer.
She sat back and blinked. “Then why did I let myself be tempted to sew otherwise?”
Maude came into the flat. Annie had been so focused she had not even heard a knock.
“I brought you another hem to sew—if you have—”
Annie turned to face her. “We’re doing it all wrong.”
“Doing what wrong?”
“We’re designing clothing for Eleanor’s Couture. Minus the fancy trims but still Eleanor’s fancified designs.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We are not designing our clothes.”
Maude looked confused. “It’s not what we intended or wanted, but we agreed to Eleanor’s demands because she is our financial support. Plus, it’s a way to gain opinions about our designs from women who wear nice fashion.”
“What does it matter if Eleanor’s wealthy friends like our designs? They aren’t our customer.” She pointed out the window. “They are.”
Maude took a seat beside her. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Sense. And a sensibility to all the ordinary woman out there who need to move freely and comfortably, who deserve comfort and feeling pretty in the process.”
Maude put a hand on Annie’s forehead. “You don’t feel feverish.”
“I am perfectly well.”
“Perfectly daft to even think of changing direction at this late date.”
Was she daft? Annie closed her eyes and prayed aloud, “Oh, Lord. Show us the way we should go.”
I will. Trust me.
She held her breath a moment, embracing the affirmation. Then she looked at Maude. “We’re supposed to trust Him.”
“And you know this how?”
He just told me. Annie stood and took Maude’s hand. “Because we should always trust Him. Let’s go to the workshop.”
“But you’re supposed to rest.”
“Rest time is over. Now is the time for action.”
Maude forced Annie to slow down on the stairs, or
she would have attempted to take them two at a time. Together they burst into the workshop.
“Annie!” Vesta said. “You’re not to be back until tomorrow.”
“What I have to say can’t wait.” She saw the two seamstresses sewing in the other room. “Stop the work! Stop all the work.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Edna asked.
“God and good sense.”
“What?” Vesta asked.
Maude shook her head, but she was smiling. “Trust her,” she said. “It’s for your own good.”
Annie’s heart beat harder. She had everyone’s attention. What she would say next would affect all of them. Lord? Yes?
She waited to feel a check in her spirit, but feeling none, continued. “We’re starting over.”
“Starting what over?”
“Everything.” She saw her old portfolio leaning against the floor by the window and put it on the cutting table. She dug through the pages and took out her initial designs. “These. These are the dresses we are to make.”
“But Mrs. Sampson changed those original designs, making them elaborate and showy for her friends.”
“Her friends are not our customer.”
Edna put a calming hand on hers. “But Annie. The Sampsons have financed us. If we don’t give them what they want, they will pull their support. We will have nothing.”
“We’ve had nothing before.” Her words sounded strong, yet her stomach clenched. “In truth, I think we need to break from the Sampsons altogether. It’s not fair to give Eleanor fashion that doesn’t suit her vision.”
She saw Edna and Maude exchange a look. Maude spoke for them. “We quit our positions in order to do this. And now without financial support this is at risk of ever being successful.”
Annie shook her head. “This is not what we wanted to do. This is not even what Mrs. Sampson assigned me to do. She befriended me because she saw a fiery passion for good fashion design, not fad or frippery. I’ve lost that fire just as she has lost her focus. We must get it back.”
Everyone took a fresh breath. The air tingled between them.
“We need to talk to Mrs. Sampson then,” Maude said. “It’s only right we tell her.”
Annie hated the mere thought of it. “As soon as Sean gets home from work, he and I will go see them so we waste no more time on this wrong road.”
“Are you sure we can wait until then?” Vesta asked. “I could go with you. Now.”
Annie considered her words and agreed. “Are you sure?”
“If you do all the talking, I can certainly be there for support. I hate to waste an afternoon working on the wrong designs.”
Annie smiled. She had never felt closer to her mother-in-law. Her friend.
Edna shook her head. “I should insist that you return to bed, but I know you won’t rest. Not when your fire is aflaming.”
Annie kissed her cheek then looked at the others. “I will do right by all of you. I promise.”
“Go ahead and do right, but…” Maude pointed at her dressing gown. “I suggest you get dressed first.”
Annie felt herself redden. She hadn’t even realized she’d left the flat in her dressing gown, with her hair cascading upon her shoulders like a girl. “I have one favor to ask of all of you.”
“It appears your wish is our command,” Edna said.
“Pray for us as we see the Sampsons. Pray God gives me the right words. Pray Mrs. Sampson is merciful.”
The baby did not cause the flutterings in Annie’s midsection. They were the result of her overanimated nerves. A hundred questions and scenarios rushed through her mind, making her heart overbeat and her legs wobble.
“Please hold onto me,” Annie said as she and Vesta stood at the front door of the Sampsons’ mansion.
“Are you all right?”
“I will be. Once this is over.”
Vesta nodded and looked at the grand entrance. “This is a gorgeous home. Enormous.”
“Don’t be intimidated,” Annie said, ringing the bell. The Sampsons are intimidating enough.
The butler answered. “Mrs. Culver. Good morning.”
“Good morning. Is Mrs. Sampson available?” Annie asked. “I know we come unannounced, but it’s important.”
“Unfortunately, she is not to home.”
“Oh.” Annie felt deflated.
“But Mr. Sampson is here.”
Actually…perhaps that would be better. “Yes. Please. May we see him?”
They were led into the drawing room. Annie remembered the last time she’d been in this room, the day everything changed when Mrs. Sampson mentioned Eleanor’s Couture. Today, everything would change again. Why was change so frightening? And exciting?
Mr. Sampson entered and they both stood. “How nice to see you, Annie.” He looked at Vesta.
“I would like to introduce you to my mother-in-law, the other Mrs. Culver. Vesta, this is Mr. Sampson.”
“How nice to meet you,” she said.
“Charmed.” He gave her a wink. “Please take a seat.”
As soon as he sat down, his pug dog jumped up on his lap and received a scratch behind the ears. He scanned their faces. “Something is wrong?”
“Not wrong,” Annie began.
“Not wrong at all,” Vesta said.
The dog stared at them with large eyes as if daring them to upset its master.
“I can tell something is weighing on your minds. Tell me.”
Annie looked to Vesta, who nodded. “I think it’s best—and easiest—if I get right to the point.”
“Always a good decision.”
“We are changing the fashion designs.”
“For the better I hope?”
“Definitely. In fact, since they aren’t what we originally talked about at our last meeting we think it’s only fair to you and Mrs. Sampson that we call off the soiree.”
His face clouded. “That’s not possible. This party has become her sole focus.” He shook his head. “Sole focus.”
“But what if the designs don’t please her anymore? They are far less elaborate than the dresses she expects.”
He was silent a moment. Then he sighed. “I fully admit that the entire enterprise has gotten out of hand. I should have stopped her the first time she uttered the words ‘Eleanor’s Couture.’ This excessive ornamentation is not the ‘function over fad’ we talked about when we met you a year ago.”
“No, it’s not.” Annie felt the beginnings of relief wash over her. And yet Mr. Sampson’s acknowledgment did not remove the problem.
“Alas, I have tried to speak to her about it,” Mr. Sampson said. “But when she is on a mission it’s like talking to a fidgety, willful dog who yaps incessantly, is determined to bite the table legs, and won’t eat dinner unless it’s freshly ground lamb.” He lifted the dog’s chin and looked it in the eye.
“It sounds like you speak from specific experience,” Vesta said. “What’s her name?”
“Penelope.”
“She’s quiet now.”
“Because she’s satiated and full and I let her have her way.”
“As you wish to let your wife have her way?” Annie said.
“I believe there is no choice in that. Or rather no choice I can live with.”
“So you wish to continue with the soiree, no matter how the fashions have evolved?” Annie asked.
He touched her hand. “We’ve come too far to stop. I trust you, Annie. You are a businesswoman. My wife is a dreamer. Do what you have to do, show the fashion you feel you must show, and…and…”
“And?”
“I will be here to pick up the pieces if things go awry.” He stood, their audience over.
Although she knew it wasn’t proper, Annie drew him into an embrace. “Thank you. For all you’ve done and for all you are about to do.”
“Yes, well…I think we’ll all breathe easier when this event is over.”
Upon arriving back at the workshop, Annie and Vesta to
ld the others about the conversation with the Sampsons. Yet that was not the most important topic.
Annie had a new idea that even Vesta didn’t know about.
“I’m calling all the models in for a meeting this evening at seven.”
“Why?” Edna asked. “They’ve already had a fitting.”
“Because I want to pluck their brains.” That didn’t sound right.
“Pick their brains?” Maude offered.
“That’s it. If we are designing for the working woman, we need to find out what they want, what their employers will allow, and what they would like to wear outside of work. I’ll call Mrs. Tuttle and Jane, and—”
“The rest are at their jobs,” Maude pointed out. “I’ll call Suzanne and Dora at Butterick.”
“I’ll call Velma and Mildred at Macy’s,” Edna said.
Annie thought about the neighbor ladies. “I don’t think they all have access to a telephone. I’ll have to bring around notes or see them in person.”
“No you won’t,” Vesta said. “I will bring around any notes. Just tell me where they live.” She took hold of Annie’s shoulders and led her to a chair. “Your idea is a good one. But let us do the legwork. You mustn’t overtax yourself.”
“Baby comes first,” Edna said.
It was hard to let others do things for her, but they were right.
“You what?” Sean said.
“Vesta and I went to see the Sampsons.”
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
“The doctor said I could go back to work tomorrow. It’s just a day early.”
Sean shook his head and sat beside her at the table. “Tell me what happened that spurred a meeting with them.”
Annie shared all the details, ending with, “It was God’s doing that Eleanor wasn’t at home.”
“I agree. You would not have received the same reception if your news had been shared directly with her.”
She knew what he said was the truth. “Mr. Sampson is a gem.”
“And a very patient, indulgent husband.”
Annie reached for his hand across the table. “I feel so much better to have told him about it ahead of time.”
“It was the right thing to do.”
“We can now proceed with a clear conscience.”
