by Nancy Moser
“Who has time? Besides, we never get a chance to talk with them except when we’re doing a fitting.”
“And then we don’t talk; we’re just hands, doing the work,” Dolly said.
“While Madame talks. And talks,” Mavis said.
More soft laughter.
“It’s her best talent.”
Suddenly, the curtain dividing the workroom from the lobby was pulled to the side. “Leona, join us, s’il vous plaît.”
Leona, who was at the sewing machine, gathered a pincushion and exited through the curtain.
Tessie found a basket of buttons and placed them in front of Sofia, patting a chair near Dolly. “Sort these and string like ones together.”
It was demeaning work, child’s work. “But I can sew too,” Sofia said.
“I’m sure you can, but do this for now.”
Tessie handed Lucy a blouse. “These cuffs need hemming.”
It was rather funny actually. For Lucy to be handed a sleeve. Once again, a sleeve.
Dorothy led Mamma to the scrap bin. “See if there’s anything salvageable in here for bonnets or hats.”
Sofia saw Mamma’s eyes light up and was happy for her.
Everyone returned to work and Sofia settled into her button sorting. Their jobs weren’t as glamorous as Lucy had implied, but they were certainly better than their last ones. This would work.
It had to.
Lucy hadn’t tried to overhear, but with her position next to the curtain that divided the workroom from the lobby and fitting rooms, she couldn’t help it.
“I wish I had a hat to complete the costume,” the customer said. “Something in this green with some flowers or feathers.”
“Oui, Madame Stewart,” Mrs. Flynn said. “As soon as Leona gets finished marking the hem, I will have you meet our newest addition, Madame Scarpelli, a milliner of the highest degree.”
Lucy set her sewing aside and rushed to Mamma, who’d divided the scrap barrel by colors. “Mamma! Your big chance has come.” She told her about the woman’s words.
“I must see the dress first,” Mamma said.
Dorothy was listening. “You could bring Leona some more pins.”
“Does she need—?”
Dorothy handed her a pincushion. “Don’t say anything. And just a quick peek. Will that be enough?”
“It will have to be,” Mamma said.
Armed with the pincushion, Mamma smoothed her hair and went through the curtain.
“Where’s she going?” Sofia asked.
“She’s making herself indispensable,” Lucy said.
In just a few moments, Mamma returned. “It’s a sage green dress with pink accents. I wish I had my flowers.”
“Make some,” Lucy said.
“I’ll do it,” Sofia said.
Mamma plucked some green fabric from the scrap pile. “This is left over from the dress!” She looked around. “I need some stiffener. Interfacing?”
“I’ll get some,” Dolly said.
Sofia found some pink ribbon. “Ribbon roses, but how big?”
“One large flower, two inches,” Mamma started, “and a half dozen smaller.”
“I need pink thread,” Sofia said.
“Here.” Ruth brought her some from the spindle wall, along with a needle and some small scissors.
Soon everyone was involved as Mamma expertly covered the many layers of starched material with the green fabric, adding interest by making small pleats across the crown. She added a poof of ivory lace, along with two pale blue feathers, and finally, Sofia’s ribbon roses.
Dolly peeked through the curtain. “Hurry! She’s getting ready to leave.”
Mamma finished her final stitch, cutting the thread with her teeth. “Here.”
Dorothy shook her head. “No, Lea. You are the creator. You show it.”
“But I can’t—”
“I’ll go with you,” Dorothy said.
Mamma looked petrified but, with Dorothy’s hand upon her elbow, exited the workroom.
All sewing stopped as the women gathered by the curtain to eavesdrop.
“What is this?” Mrs. Flynn said.
Dorothy did the talking. “Mrs. Scarpelli overheard your need for a hat and has created one for you.”
Mrs. Stewart answered. “In this short time?”
Mamma found her voice. “All the ladies helped.”
“I wish I could see,” Lucy whispered.
They didn’t have to see, for they all heard Mrs. Stewart’s exclamation of oohs and ahs. “It’s absolutely perfect,” she said. “I didn’t know you had a milliner here.”
“She’s a new addition,” Mrs. Flynn said. “I brought her in especially for you.”
“What?” Lucy asked.
“Witness another of Madame’s ways,” Tessie said. “Everything is her idea, and all talent stems from her alone.”
Mrs. Stewart was speaking again. “The ball gown you are working on . . . I would like a spray of flowers for my hair, perhaps with some beadwork. Can you do beadwork?”
“Of course,” Mamma said.
“She is an expert at beading,” Mrs. Flynn added. “Go on, then, Mrs. Scarpelli. Back to work.”
The women parted so Dorothy and Mamma could enter the workroom. Sofia flung her arms around her mother. “I’m so proud of you!”
Mamma shook her head. “I am so proud of all of you. For you to help me, when you don’t even know me . . .” There were tears in her eyes. “Grazie.”
Dorothy put her arm around Mamma, but her words were for the lot of them. “We are a family here, Lea. And now our family has been increased by three.”
Lucy felt her own tears threaten. All her fears of being accepted evaporated. To witness such kind cooperation. To see Mamma glow with the satisfaction of creating something beautiful . . .
They were the luckiest women in the world.
Lucy handed Sofia a broom.
A broom? “It’s after closing. What am I supposed to do with this?”
“It’s part of the arrangement I made with Mr. Standish. Reduced rent if we clean the shop after hours.”
“But I’m tired.”
Mamma slapped the side of her arm. “And we’re not? It’s the end of our first day. We need to make a good impression. Chi ben comincia è a metà dell’opera: A good start is half the battle.”
Yes, yes.
Lucy used a feather duster on the worktables and Mamma tidied the trim and scrap bin and the pile of bolts, which left sweeping the floor to Sofia.
“Why do I always get the worst job?” she asked.
Mamma looked up. “You want my job?”
“Actually . . .” Sofia handed Mamma the broom. At least she’d get a chance to touch the pretty fabrics.
She was folding over a stray edge of a bolt to set it on the pile with the others when the bolt slipped from her hands and fell to the floor.
“Careful with that!” Mamma said. “That fabric is expensive.”
As Sofia collected the bolt, the fabric slipped off and into her arms. It was a royal blue nubby silk. She’d never felt anything so exquisite.
The temptation was too much.
Sofia wrapped it around her torso. “Look at me. I’m a lady.” She tucked in the end, making it secure.
Mamma looked to scold her, but after a moment’s hesitation retrieved a feathered hat she’d been making. “You need a bonnet, mademoiselle.”
Lucy stopped her dusting. “You shouldn’t play with those things. They aren’t ours.”
She could be so stuffy sometimes.
Sofia drew a length of gold braid from the basket and tied it around her middle, cinching the silk into her waist. “Now, where is my wrap? It’s chilly tonight.”
Mamma yanked the remains of a pink satin from its bolt and waved it in the air. “Here you are!” She draped it around Sofia’s shoulders.
Sofia laughed—and found the sound foreign. She spotted a long string of buttons she’d strung toge
ther that very day. She pointed and instructed Lucy. “My jewels, please!”
Reluctantly, Lucy brought the strand and placed it around Sofia’s neck. “This is silly.”
“Yes, it is.” Sofia raised her chin and took several long strides across the room, flaunting her fashion.
Mamma got into the fun by putting on a half-sewn chemise with only one puffed sleeve. “It’s the newest fashion,” she said, pulling at the one puff.
Lucy stood by, shaking her head. “We really should stop.”
Sofia tossed her a length of lace fabric. “Sometimes you’re like pasta without any sauce, sister.”
Unenthusiastically, as if it were painful, Lucy draped the lace around her shoulders. Sofia took a red ostrich plume and stuck it in her sister’s hair. “See? You look just like a lady in one of my novels.”
“Lady of the evening, more like.”
Sofia was glad when Lucy left the feather alone, and was surprised when she even tied some ribbon in a bow and pinned it to her shawl.
“Better?” Lucy asked.
“Bella, bellissima!” Sofia said, kissing her fingers.
As they played, even as they eventually put their props away and got back to cleaning, Sofia reveled in the laughter and frivolity. Life was serious business, yet she remembered laughing quite a lot when Papa was alive. Had the laughter died with him?
Perhaps. Until this evening, playing among the silks.
How odd that this simple act gave her hope.
Their new life just might work out after all.
Chapter Five
Sit up straight, dear.”
Rowena Langdon abandoned her comfortable slouch and straightened her spine. Her corset pinched, claiming victory. The fashion of tiny waists was fine for those to whom God had granted such a trait, but to women of slightly wider build, it was torture.
The family carriage jostled left, forcing Rowena to stay herself with a hand against the leather wall.
“Must we suffer every bump?” Mother asked.
Rowena was glad an answer wasn’t required. She was tired of talking, or rather, listening. In the past two weeks her mother and father had made it more than clear that she was to marry Edward DeWitt. On and on they went, as if it were the only topic in the world.
Not that there was anything wrong with Edward. He was a handsome man, quite a catch. But there was something disturbing about being told to marry someone—for business reasons. It lumped a girl into the category of a highly bred brood mare or piece of prized Manhattan property.
Rowena’s and Edward’s fathers were recently partnered in a business that sold and installed the elevators that had become a necessity in the tall buildings taking over the skyline. Earlier that year the American Surety Building had scraped the sky at twenty-one stories. Rowena couldn’t imagine being up so high. The four stories of Macy’s department store was quite enough for her.
Why the two sets of parents were insisting their children be partnered was not exactly clear, but Rowena was in no position to argue. Girls with physical infirmities were not on the top of any gentleman’s marriage list.
At the thought of her bad leg, Rowena adjusted her skirt over it. Today was not going to be pleasurable, for she and her mother were on the way to Madame Moreau’s Fashion Emporium for another fitting. They were leaving for the summer season in Newport soon, and had ordered two complete wardrobes. Over thirty ensembles each.
Rowena knew she should be thankful her father was willing to expend such money on fashion, but when that fashion only accentuated her lopsided stance . . .
The fact was, no matter how much satin and lace Rowena put on, she would never be a swan.
Lucy was in seamstress heaven. The tedium of her sweatshop days was over, making each new challenge as invigorating as a breath of morning air. After hemming the cuffs—her first assignment—she’d been asked to hand stitch lace to a bodice, and was now carefully tacking the facing of a voile blouse. Having never experienced variety, she now embraced it. Even Sofia was being allowed to do some real seamstress tasks. And her declaration that she would learn how to work the sewing machine? Leona had been kind enough to begin the task of teaching her. To have a machine make a run of stitches in just a few seconds was mind-boggling.
The women in the shop continued to be kind. Dolly was the least talkative, though Lucy had often seen her and Sofia with their heads together. The fabric cutters, Mavis and Ruth, acted like best friends and didn’t seem eager to expand their close circle. Dorothy and Mamma had formed a bond, most likely based on their common age. And Lucy enjoyed Tessie’s talkative nature.
Dorothy came through the curtain, her head shaking in disgust. “These socialites who expect us to create dozens of new outfits are one thing, but wanting changes at the last minute is quite another.” She motioned to Lucy. “Come with me and bring a notepad and pencil. I can’t keep all of Mrs. Langdon’s requests in my head.”
Once again, the distraction of a new task was welcome. Up until now, Lucy had not been invited into the presence of the customers.
There were two of them. The older woman held herself with stately aplomb. Her blond hair revealed streaks of gray, and her face displayed lines around her eyes and forehead. Yet there was beauty there. It was not hard to imagine her as a young woman, turning heads and breaking hearts.
The other customer appeared to be her daughter, due to the shared shade of blondness and the turn of her narrow nose. She was not as beautiful as her mother was—or even had been—but Lucy wasn’t sure if that conclusion was accurate or due to the awkward way she held her body and the shy manner in which she avoided all eye contact as she gave her attention to the floor.
“Stand up straight, Rowena,” her mother commanded.
Rowena did her best, but it was with her best attempt that Lucy noticed a flaw in the girl’s stance. Despite her best efforts, Rowena’s posture was far from straight. Lucy didn’t want to stare, but it appeared one shoulder was lower than the other and the issue continued with her hips, causing the entire ensemble to lose its symmetry and the center line of buttons to curve awkwardly rather than stand tall.
“Lucy . . .”
Dorothy was behind Rowena, tugging at this and pulling on that, trying to make the dress hang straight. “Write this down,” Mrs. Flynn said. “Make a tuck in the back yoke on the right side. Add another row of lace to hide the seam. Adjust the—”
Lucy wrote on the pad, but her eyes were glued to the dress. What Madame was saying and what Dorothy was doing wouldn’t help the line of the dress. If anything, it would accentuate the difference in the girl’s shoulders.
Lucy’s mind buzzed with ideas of her own. Her ears heard what Madame was saying, her hand wrote the words down, but her thoughts flew of their own accord, finally landing on, Yes, I think that would work.
Before she lost the idea, she spoke aloud. “What if we put an extra pad on her hip and even one on her shoulder so the dress would hang—”
Mrs. Flynn strode toward her, grabbing the pad and pencil away. “Silence, missy,” she hissed. “Go back to the workroom, where you belong.”
Lucy looked to Dorothy, who shook her head the slightest bit. Lucy had spoken at the wrong time and would receive no help from her. Could receive no help.
Yet as Lucy turned to leave, she caught a glance from Rowena, a wistful smile, as if she was appreciative but had resigned herself to the limitations of her fashion. The passive resignation wrenched Lucy’s heart.
As soon as Lucy entered the workroom, she blurted out, “I can help her. I know I can.”
The others wanted to know what had happened, and Lucy told them. “If only they’d let me play with the design a bit, I’m sure I could come up with something that would minimize the girl’s—”
Mrs. Flynn interrupted by flinging the curtain aside as she entered the room. She strode directly to Lucy. “Who do you think you are?”
Dorothy slipped in behind her, carrying Rowena’s dress among othe
rs. She offered Lucy a glance, but no more.
Lucy knew she should feel guilty for speaking up in front of a customer, but was surprised that wasn’t the emotion she was feeling at all. Anger filled the spaces that frustration had left behind. She was about to say something to Mrs. Flynn when she spotted Mamma, shaking her head, warning her to keep her mouth shut.
Fine.
“Well?” Mrs. Flynn said, after her rant.
The woman was expecting an apology. That was the last thing Lucy wanted to give, yet it was the one thing she must give. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“It won’t happen again.” Mrs. Flynn offered a statement, not a question.
Lucy wasn’t sure she could promise that. But Mrs. Flynn was waiting—as were the rest of the women.
“I will do my best.”
Mrs. Flynn’s eyebrows rose.
“I promise,” Lucy added, hoping that would appease her. Or confuse her.
A skirt slipped from Dorothy’s arms, ending the exchange.
“Back to work,” Mrs. Flynn said.
While Madame Moreau was out of the room, Rowena turned to her mother in a whisper. “I want to hear what that girl has to say.”
“She is an underling, dear. She is not a designer. Besides, she was rude to speak out of turn.”
Out of turn or not, Rowena wanted to hear the girl’s ideas. For the first time since her accident, a dressmaker was truly seeing her problem and, more than that, was offering solutions. That the girl was in the back room being chastised was untenable.
“Mother, please go after her. Don’t you want me to look my best for Edward?”
Her mother blinked once, and then again, as if acknowledging and then conceding the point. But before she could act, Madame returned from behind the curtain with Dorothy. The outspoken girl did not join them.
“I do apologize for the rude behavior of the seamstress,” Madame said. “She is new here and hasn’t yet learned her place.”
“But—”
“We understand,” her mother said. “And we appreciate your expertise.”
And so, that was that.
It wasn’t fair.
But what was?
