The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel

by Carla Stewart

  Nell waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “And if my designs don’t catch on?”

  “You’ll be looking for another job.”

  Like Nora Remming.

  It felt like a warning of some sort, that failure was possible. And in a strange way, an echo of what Jeanette and Greta had said. Were they all telling her not to get her hopes up? Or did they think she wasn’t capable of success? Maybe getting her own label wasn’t imminent, but it was certainly worth going after.

  That afternoon Nell tacked the sketches for both the dresses and the hats on the workroom wall so Hazel and Marcella, the other assembly workers who’d volunteered to help with the beadwork, could get a feel for the projects.

  Nell retreated to her usual corner, back against the wall, as she crafted new foundations, added the outer fabrics, and supervised both of her helpers. Steiger had been snippier than ever since she’d gotten the show with Soren. The word was he was miffed that he was wrong about her getting fired. She couldn’t let Steiger get the best of her. Nor Percy who’d been decidedly cool since she’d gotten the project. Besides, there was really no time with the runway show coming up so soon, and she wanted everything to be perfect.

  * * *

  When the evening arrived, Nell felt ready. When she arrived at the Stottlemeir Club, she found Soren pacing and fretful, not oozing confidence like he normally did.

  “Stage fright,” he told her. “The house is packed.”

  Nell peeked around the curtain. Servers in black tails and starchy shirts weaved through the crowd—yes, swarms of people. Potential customers, but finicky critics as well if they didn’t like what they saw. In the wings, Soren fussed over the mannequins—“models” they were called in America—tucking a lock of dark hair behind one’s ear, running around with a rouge pot and adding more color to cheekbones, cooing that they were going to be simply marvelous.

  When the girls were lined up and the president of the club had given the welcome, Soren gripped Nell’s hand. “You run on, darling, and sit with Oscar so you can gauge people’s reaction. I can handle the script.”

  She wished him luck, thankful that with her stammer, she wasn’t called on to help with introducing the ensembles. Nell slipped into the chair between Mr. Fields and Calvin, took a deep breath, and noticed that Mrs. Benchley and her daughters shared their table. Cozy, like a family. Candles flickered on each of the tables, the effect that of a kaleidoscope with the reflections of the silver place settings and lovely rose centerpieces. Nell’s mother would’ve approved, crazy as she was over roses.

  Calvin took her trembling hand and gave it a squeeze. “Nice dress.”

  It was a nice dress—one of Soren’s “extra” designs. The buttercup silk moved with her, and the headpiece she’d designed for it made her feel elegant with its headband of pearls and a center medallion with emerald, topaz, and peridot stones. She wore it across her forehead and let her blonde hair tumble to her shoulders.

  Mr. Fields leaned over and whispered, “I hope this isn’t much ado about nothing.”

  Nell did a hesitant thumbs-up at the edge of the table and turned her attention to the introduction of Soren Michaels.

  The staging area had twinkly lights like stars on the black curtain at the back and swags of greenery with hurricane lamps before the footlights. The girl modeling Persimmon Enchantment stepped out and struck a pose.

  “Our first selection is a rich silk gown with contrasting velvet cording and a waist treatment of decorative embroidery accented with cerulean beadwork. The banded hemline echoes the waist. A dress fit for royalty, but it will be appreciated by the charming hostess or guest at a late autumn dinner party.” Soren’s voice was as enchanting as the auburn-haired mannequin who pivoted onstage as he spoke. A photographer with his black box atop a tripod was stationed at the side of the stage and captured the moment.

  Soren continued, “Topping off the ensemble is a silk velvet cloche with metallic beading and an appliquéd design that complements the gown.” Applause exploded as the mannequin glided down the carpeted aisle between the tables and exited through the rear entry. When the murmur died down, Soren introduced the next ensemble in the collection. Mr. Fields’s face was wooden as he reached for his glass and took a sip. Mrs. Benchley, though, leaned across Mr. Fields and gave Nell a glowing smile.

  The fifth dress of the evening was a merlot gown that shimmered as if it were a second skin on the pert blonde woman modeling it. When she turned and gave a coquettish look over her shoulder, spontaneous applause broke out. The crowd loved it, and as Soren completed the description of the bejeweled hat that completed the ensemble, Mr. Fields draped his arm casually behind Nell, his thumb idly running up and down the back of her bare arm. She stiffened but kept her eyes on the stage.

  Soren saved his favorite for last. The mannequin’s straight dark hair swung just above her shoulders as she entered and posed. “Midnight Masquerade is our final gown of the evening. Whether dancing with your sweetheart or being the life of the party as you welcome in the New Year, this chiffon chemise features an overblouse with smoky glass bugle beads. The fluid swing of the rhinestone-studded strips of the skirt will guarantee every eye is on you as you dance the night away.”

  Stepping onto the runway, the mannequin put enough swagger in her walk so the strips of the skirt swayed, alive in the glow of the hurricane lamps.

  Soren’s mellow voice hitched up a notch. “The ensemble is completed with spool-heeled shoes with a trio of straps secured with jeweled buttons and a delicate mesh skullcap with rhinestones and a band of bugle beads in the same smoky glass as the evening dress.”

  At the final turn, the brunette’s eyelids fluttered and she kicked back one heel, flirting with the crowd. The audience rose to its feet in thunderous applause.

  Soren allowed the room to settle before his final remarks.

  “It is with utmost pleasure that I thank you, the members of the Stottlemeir Club, for your rapturous attention. And a special nod to my friend Oscar of Oscar Fields Millinery—” He made a wide gesture toward Mr. Fields.

  Oscar stood and bowed to the crowd. “Thank you, Mr. Michaels, for a grand show, and my gratitude to all of you who came; I’m delighted at your response and look forward to serving you with all your millinery needs.”

  As more clapping rippled through the crowd, Mrs. Benchley leaned over and swatted Mr. Fields on the arm. “I would think you would at least have mentioned our sweet Nell. I was so hoping that you might make a noble gesture and introduce her and the Nellie March line.”

  Nell held her breath. Yes, she’d wished for that, too, but an old nursery rhyme ran singsong through her head. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

  Mr. Fields frowned. “That was never part of the deal. If anyone should get credit, it would be you, dear Mavis. You’re the genius behind this. And only time will tell if it brings any business our way.”

  Wishing for her own label was useless. And Mr. Fields was right. Only time would tell. Calvin leaned in and whispered, “For the record, I think you’re the bee’s knees. And your hats weren’t half-bad, either. Now if you could just sprinkle some of that magic dust on me, we’d both be set.”

  Chapter 9

  Calvin insisted on escorting Nell home, and when the cab pulled up to her address, Nell said, “Sal’s lights are still on. You want to see if we can get a cup of tea?”

  “It’s tempting, but the folks in your neighborhood don’t take too kindly to serving people like me.”

  Nell whipped her head toward his. “Because you’re Jewish? That’s ridiculous. Sal and Felice would welcome anyone who was a friend of mine.”

  “Tea sounds nice. Why not live dangerously?”

  The door clanged when they entered. Chairs had already been stacked on the tables, and Felice pulled a rag mop around the floor like a dancing partner. Her head shot up when she saw them.

  “Thank goodness, you’re here. I’ve worried five years off my life waiting for you. Fi
rst, you don’t come home after work; then you stay out late.” Her eyes widened when she took a good look at Calvin. “Well, who do we have here?”

  Nell gave Felice a hug. “I have someone for you to meet. This is Calvin Gold, the one from work I’ve told you about.”

  Felice eyed him up and down. “Happy to meet you.”

  Calvin tipped his fedora. “Nice to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard nice things about you and the diner.”

  Felice nodded. “And a gentleman, too, I see. I hate to bring the bad news…” She pulled a wheat-colored envelope from the pocket of her apron and thrust it into Nell’s hands.

  The Western Union emblem on the outside was unmistakable. The air inside the diner thinned. Nell squinted to read the type through the envelope to see who it was from, hoping it wasn’t something dreadful. Wires they received from England, where telephoning was out of the question, were only to announce important events like births and deaths. Her stomach went queasy.

  “Thank you, Felice.”

  “Aren’t you going to open it? Here, step over here where the light is better. I’ll bring you and your friend a cuppa tea with a dash of Angelo’s secret ingredient, just in case there’s no good news.”

  “That would be lovely. But no secret ingredient, okay?” Although a shot of brandy from Angelo’s hiding place might be just what she needed, there’s no telling what it would do to her on an empty stomach. Nell set her handbag on the nearest table while Felice hovered next to her, her breath a warm garlic fog. Nell scanned the message, afraid to breathe herself, but then she clapped her hand over her mouth to stop the shriek.

  “What? I pray it’s not bad news. I’ve had a terrible feeling—”

  “No. Not bad news at all. It’s from Aunt Sarah. Mittie. Iris. They’re coming, and they’ll be here t-tomorrow! Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Felice leaned on her mop and did the sign of the cross. “Thank heavens. Your aunt, yes? I remember. Stick of a thing, like you. And her girls, twins, no? Bella and full of the spice.”

  Nell gave Felice another hug. “I’ll bring them to see you.”

  “Angelo will make gnocchi just for you. And bring this nice young man with you.”

  “Yes. Gnocchi. Th-thank you.”

  After their tea and saying good night to Felice, Nell thought of inviting Calvin up to the flat, but she didn’t think encouraging him was a good idea. In the next instant, he saved her from the awkward moment. “It’s a nice evening for a walk, so I’ll catch the subway. Guess the dancing tomorrow night is out.”

  “I’d forgotten all about that, but no harm in you going with my roommates. You said you wanted to live dangerously.”

  “Give me a call.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Guess if I can’t dance with you, I’ll have to make do with someone else.”

  “You’ll be fine with Jeanette and Greta. More than fine.”

  * * *

  People elbowed and shoved as they rushed through the mammoth, clattering expanse of Grand Central Terminal. Nell arrived early so she could station herself on the west side of the giant clock on the main concourse. It had been the agreed-upon meeting place for the previous visits from Aunt Sarah and her cousins. And the place Oscar Fields had first met her when she arrived in New York.

  The same nervous anticipation filled her stomach, as it had on that day two years ago. She’d been both terrified and giddy from the possibilities that lay before her. When she’d emerged from the train and asked for directions to the giant clock, she clung to the promise that Mr. Fields had hinted at—that she would be a principal designer within months.

  Now, with people brushing past at an alarming click, and the hiss and clatter of the trains, the glow of that promise had dimmed. Or maybe she’d matured with the reality that to make a name for herself might take longer than she first thought. Perhaps even years.

  Nell spotted Mittie first and waved. Her cousin waved back and loped toward her. At eighteen, Mittie was still all legs and arms with a wild mane of dark hair like the saddlebred horses her daddy, Eli Humphreys, raised in Kentucky. Aunt Sarah and Iris, Mittie’s twin who bore no resemblance to her sister, had to run to keep up with Mittie, but soon enough they were in each other’s arms, everyone talking at once.

  Then Aunt Sarah put both hands on Nell’s shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Oh, sugar, you just get more gorgeous every time I see you. Look at you, so cosmopolitan with that darling cloche—” She turned to Iris. “—This is what I was telling you I saw in Vogue.” She turned back to Nell and kissed her on the cheek.

  “That’s from your mama. She came to the station to send us off and sends her love and a package that’s somewhere in all this mess.” A porter stood by with a cart piled with luggage. “Come on, girls, let’s not keep the gentleman waiting forever and a day.”

  Thirty years in America had erased all but a hint of her aunt’s Yorkshire accent, replaced with that akin to warm honey on a hot biscuit. Southern, they called it in the States. To Nell, it was the sound of ice tinkling in glasses of sweet tea, the chirp of crickets as dusk settled on the rolling meadows of Kentucky.

  Nell held Aunt Sarah’s hand and guided her toward the cabstand, and it wasn’t until they were crowded together in the yellow taxi that Nell was finally able to ask what brought them to New York.

  Mittie unlatched the back window, shoved it open, and waved away the smoke of Aunt Sarah’s cigarette. “Sorry. Mother might have given up some of her vices, but not her Chesterfields.”

  Aunt Sarah sniffed and waved the cigarette in its silver holder through the air. “It’s quite fashionable, you know, and besides, I feel I must support the local tobacco-growing economy.”

  Mittie tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Yeah, the way you supported the local bookies.” She quirked her mouth into a fake grin.

  Aunt Sarah’s gambling debacle had nearly ruined Uncle Eli two years earlier. On the same weekend as the Kentucky Derby when Nell had met Oscar Fields, her aunt nearly lost their entire fortune placing bets with an acquaintance, who turned out to be nothing but a gangster. Nell suspected Mittie’s remark was a lingering grudge because her favorite horse had been sold to recoup some of Aunt Sarah’s losses.

  Iris sighed. “Leave it alone, Mittie. We came to shop and have fun.”

  Aunt Sarah took a long draw on the cigarette and said, “To answer your question, Nell, we simply had to get away. Our upstairs plumbing sprung a leak and ruined half of the Persian rugs, not to mention the water spots on the hickory floors. A week of workers banging and carting things in and out would drive anyone mad. Besides, with Iris being a debutante this season, this was the perfect opportunity to buy her a few gowns for the upcoming balls.”

  Iris but not Mittie? Pretty, popular Iris. Mittie, the wild one who defied taming. It was no secret that Mittie would rather jump off Louisville’s K & I Bridge into the depths of the Ohio River than go through the season. She was much happier dressed in jodhpurs and riding boots letting the wind blow through her hair as she exercised her daddy’s champion show horses.

  Aunt Sarah had made reservations at the Algonquin Hotel in Midtown. Once they were in the suite and the porter had been tipped, Aunt Sarah collapsed on the davenport in the sitting room.

  “You know I never sleep a wink in those Pullman cars, and I’ve developed the most dreadful headache. Why don’t you girls do the town without me? Maybe you can catch a Rudolph Valentino moving picture this evening.”

  Iris said, “Mother, are you sure? I don’t want you to miss out.”

  Aunt Sarah nodded. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll order something from room service and retire early.”

  Nell said, “Actually, my roommates and I had tentative plans, but we’d love for Mittie and Iris to come, too.”

  Aunt Sarah put her feet up and lit a cigarette. “There you go, sweet peas. You don’t need me for a wet blanket.” She pulled a handful of bills from her handbag and handed them to Iris. “Have fun.”

&
nbsp; * * *

  Smoke hung like thin clouds in the air at Lily’s Place. A jazz combo played “The Four O’Clock Blues” as Nell and Iris sipped ginger ale through straws. They’d arrived at eight, lucky to get a table near the dance floor.

  The day had been a whirlwind. When they left Aunt Sarah at the hotel, Nell had taken her cousins to Sal’s for the gnocchi Felice had promised. Afterward, Jeanette and Greta joined them for a shopping spree to get sequins, feathers, and elastic for headbands that Jeanette insisted all the girls were wearing. Her roommates were thrilled over Iris and Mittie joining them and opened their closets to them. Somehow they’d come up with five outfits that didn’t require too many alterations. When they put on the headbands Nell whipped together, they all giggled like schoolgirls.

  Calvin was waiting outside when they arrived and let out a low whistle when Nell introduced him to her roommates and cousins. “Bet there’s not another fella in Manhattan who has a date with five gorgeous dolls.”

  Jeanette stepped forward and hooked her arm in Calvin’s and batted her eyes. “You’ve got that right. What I want to know is why Nell kept a handsome fella like you from us all this time.”

  From the light coming through the front window of Lily’s Place, Nell could see Calvin blush. He was sort of cute, with his dark hair and black eyes. He was more like the brother she never had, nothing more, and even if she were interested, she shuddered at what Mr. Fields might think of two employees fraternizing.

  Once they were inside, Calvin took turns dancing with Mittie, Greta, and Jeanette. When Nell teased him about saying he couldn’t dance, he told her he’d been to his share of bar mitzvahs. He tried to drag Nell out on the floor, but she told him she’d rather just sit with Iris and catch up on news from home. Which wasn’t entirely a lie. That afternoon Iris had confided in her that her parents were concerned about Mittie because she was so unfocused and couldn’t decide what to do with her life. But rather than talk about Mittie, who went off dancing with first one dapper fellow, then another, Nell and Iris talked about fashion, and Nell admitted she’d really come to the club to get ideas and see what girls were wearing.