The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel

by Carla Stewart

  Aunt Sarah looked up from the menu in the dining room at the Algonquin Hotel. “I’ve heard that some of the Vanity Fair writers frequent here at lunch. Not that I would know them in person, mind you, but it does have quite a literary feel, doesn’t it? I suppose now that you’re moving up in the fashion business, Nell, you’ll be moving in the finer circles and might happen upon them.”

  Nell shook her head. “I d-doubt it. The show wasn’t as successful as I first thought.” It was vague without going into the details.

  “You look weary. Is everything all right?”

  “Fine. And I’m happy to see you all again. Tell me, have you had a good trip?”

  After they ordered, her aunt and cousins chattered about the shops they’d visited, the clothes they’d ordered, and going to the New Amsterdam Theatre to see the Ziegfeld Follies.

  The waiter served their meal and asked if there was anything else. Aunt Sarah waved him away and leaned in. “Enough about us. Tell me, I’ve had such hopes that things would materialize with you and the young man in your office. What was his name?”

  “Calvin Gold.” Mittie drummed her fingers on the table and gave her mother an impatient look. “He’s not Nell’s type. We told you that.”

  Aunt Sarah nodded. “Yes, sweetie. But that wasn’t who I was referring to. It wouldn’t be all that unusual for an apprentice to catch the eye of her boss. And if I remember correctly, he’s quite dashing.”

  Nell nearly choked on her sip of water. “Mr. Fields? Oh, goodness, I’m not in the least bit interested. He’s much older for one thing, and my career is first.” Aunt Sarah’s idea was preposterous, although her mother had made similar remarks, had asked if Mr. Fields had taken her out socially, letting her hopes dangle over the telephone wires.

  “But, darling, surely you’ve thought of your prospects.” She patted Nell’s hand. “Perhaps when you come to Louisville for Iris’s Christmas ball, you’ll catch the eye of some nice young man.”

  “Mmmm.” It was easier to go along than be the pebble in Aunt Sarah’s shoe, and it was difficult to explain how working with Soren had ignited such passion in her. And it wasn’t romance.

  “It’s going to be simply marvelous. Two days after Christmas during that lull before New Year’s. We’ve hired a band and…”

  Everyone had their obsessions—even Aunt Sarah. Nell just hoped she still had a job by Christmas.

  While her aunt stopped for a breath, Iris clapped her hands together. “I bet that Nellie March thing catches on, and you’ll be swamped with orders. Isn’t that the cutest name?”

  Nell shrugged. “No label. It was silly to get my hopes up.”

  Aunt Sarah said that was nonsense and then changed direction and told her about her latest project with the Louisville Women’s League. When the waiter served their dessert and Aunt Sarah took the last bite of cheesecake, she licked her lips and said, “Delicious. Not that I would put it up against the buttermilk pie the Ladies Aid serves at our church, but quite satisfactory. As I was saying, you need to come up to our suite so I can give you your mother’s package.”

  Nell had forgotten her mother sent something and was cheered at the prospect. She hoped it was a new scarf or a packet of rose petals for the bath. Something she could use and not another recipe book to catch dust and clutter their already-cramped kitchen.

  Nell folded her napkin. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  Wrapped in brown paper, the package was rectangular, thinner than a book. Inside the brown paper was a layer of newspaper. An envelope with her mother’s handwriting protruded between the overlapping edges. Nell opened the note first.

  Dearest Nell,

  Your grandmother shipped this along with some other things that didn’t fit her new surroundings in Heathdown. I’ve saved them for you but am letting Caroline play with the miniature china tea set. As I recall, you didn’t care much for it. You can have a look-see when you come for Christmas. For now, though, I thought you’d like to have this.

  Must get this ready for your Aunt Sarah. She’s in a frightful rush as always.

  With much love,

  Mama

  With trembling fingers, Nell removed the paper. Her breath caught in her throat. The embroidery that hung in Grandmama’s bedchamber above her writing desk. Nell hugged it to her chest, her eyes burning.

  “Well, darling, are you going to keep us in suspense forever?” Aunt Sarah puffed on her cigarette, sending out a wisp of smoke.

  Nell held the framed handiwork at arm’s length to take it in, then turned it for her aunt to see. “It’s a s-sampler Grandmama made the year before she married my grandfather.” She traced the words from Proverbs 31: Strength and honor are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come. The stitching was still perfect; the figure of a woman to one side dressed in a blue dress with a hoopskirt and wearing a spoon bonnet that had been fashionable in the last century.

  Aunt Sarah said, “That’s lovely…and thoughtful. Not that I take much stock in ancient history. It was a happy day indeed when Eli swept me off my feet and carried me off to Kentucky. I’ve not missed the cold misery I left behind for even a moment.”

  Nell shuddered and whispered, “I miss everything about it.”

  “Even with your big exciting life in New York?”

  “New York is swell. So was Kentucky. But they’re not the same. They’re not home.”

  “Home is what you make of it, that’s what I’ve always told the girls. Of course, it’s nicer if you have a man of means to share it with.” She ground out her cigarette in the ashtray and narrowed her eyes. “Your mother would sleep better at night knowing you were at least looking for a husband.”

  She knew now what poor Iris was up against. “Someday, if the right person comes along, I’d love to marry.” She flashed a grin. “After I’m famous, of course!” Then, unbidden, Quentin Bledsoe’s familiar grin flashed through her head. She added, “I’ve only had one beau, and that was a long time ago.”

  Her aunt’s eyes widened. “That vicar’s son from the village. Oh, sugar. I thought you’d be over that long before now. Trust me, every one of us has had that first sip of forbidden nectar. Like Mittie and the farrier’s son.”

  “Mother!” Mittie stood in the doorway. “I think you’re the one that’s been dipping in the forbidden nectar. What’d you do, persuade the waiter to doctor your coffee with a shot of bourbon?”

  “Mittie, I do not drink. You know that. Besides, it’s illegal. I’m merely trying to pass along some of the hard-earned wisdom I’ve gained over the years. You girls know I love you more than my Victoria sterling, but even it needs polishing now and then.”

  Some things never changed, Nell decided. Aunt Sarah’s insistence on marrying them all off. Her own mother’s love for roses. And it wasn’t even like she was still in love with Quentin. It was ages ago. Grandmama’s gift had merely stirred up old memories.

  Nell picked up her handbag and Grandmama’s framed stitchery. “It’s getting late, and you have an early train, so I should be going.” She went to her aunt, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. “I love you just the way you are. Thank you for coming. Give Mama and Caroline hugs and kisses from me, all right?”

  After their final good-byes, Nell decided on a taxi to take her home, and as it pulled away from the curb, Nell looked back at the ornate but stately Algonquin, the glow in the bay windows, the doorman at his post. She craned her neck to see the fifth floor where her aunt Sarah, Iris, and Mittie were preparing for the train ride home.

  She missed them already, but Christmas wasn’t that far away.

  * * *

  Strength and honor are her clothing.

  Nell gazed at Grandmama’s sampler and huffed out a breath. She was hopelessly without honor if she couldn’t clear her name, the shame of her carelessness with Soren’s drawings. And she hadn’t been strong, either, in finding out who was responsible.

  The flat was quiet, her roommates already retired for the night,
but sleep eluded Nell. Calvin had said she had integrity the day he showed her the pictures in the newspaper. Did she? And if Calvin said that, did it mean he was also a man of integrity? That he recognized it in her because he possessed it?

  It was wrong to suspect Calvin without at least talking to him. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t gone straight to him when Mr. Fields accused her. She slipped to the floor and on her knees asked God to guide her, to give her strength, and say the right things to Calvin. She had to trust someone or she would never regain her honor.

  Chapter 11

  Calvin sat hunched over his drawing table and nodded to Nell. No How do you do? No crooked smile. She couldn’t blame him. She practically ignored him all week, afraid he was responsible for the stolen designs.

  Nell hung up her coat and offered a cheery hello, then looked around to see if they were alone. “Something new you’re working on?”

  “Trying to.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Could you spare a minute?”

  “Anything for you, Nellie M—” He made a face. “Sorry. I know you don’t like that. What’s on your mind?”

  She told him about Mr. Fields and Soren, the designs showing up at House of Price.

  “I heard. Any theories about what happened?”

  “No, but I intend to find out.” She told him about going to the shop and trying to make an appointment, about finding not only Soren’s dresses, but her cloche design as well.

  “It was odd, though. A Mrs. Morris waited on me—Nadine, I think. She seemed familiar, like I’d seen her before. I don’t think she’s a client here, and it’s probably just that I’ve passed her on the street or seen her in the library, but it was rather unnerving.”

  Calvin cupped his chin in his hand and frowned. “Nadine? You sure that was the name?”

  “Nearly certain. Have you had a client with that name?”

  “No, but…” He glanced over his shoulder and then at the door. “Percy’s daughter is named Nadine. He’s mentioned her. A week or two ago he said something about one of Nadine’s kids being sick.” He pointed to Percy’s desk. “The man’s crazy about those grandkids.”

  Nausea welled up. The woman had looked familiar because it was like looking at the feminine version of Percy. Even the narrow gap between the front teeth.

  Nell pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Percy? Do you think?” While it was true he was a loner, he’d always been pleasant enough. In the past he’d even ask about her work now and then, pointing out minor details that would help her designs—a wider brim, more crown height. But he hadn’t done so in a while. Not since her designs had started to become popular. And she didn’t remember him offering any advice about the velvet cloche like the one at the House of Price.

  “I don’t know what to think. It’s eerie sometimes—remember when we first came and he showed us how to draw according to what a client described? He could whip out a design in nothing flat.”

  “He is fast. Not too detail oriented, though.” Like the simple bead design on the copycat dress that lacked the intricacy of Soren’s creation. “Do you think it’s enough to mention to Mr. Fields?”

  “It’s your job on the line.” Calvin raised his eyebrows. “You want me to come along?”

  “Not this time.”

  Nell retrieved her portfolio. She’d use it as a pretense to talk with her boss. With a prayer in her heart, she ran up the steps to the third-floor offices and asked Harjo if Mr. Fields was in.

  “Last time I checked.” He nodded her in.

  Mr. Fields squinted when she asked to have a word. “Come to throw yourself at my mercy?”

  Words clogged Nell’s throat. She swallowed and gave a thin laugh. “If that would h-help. If what I’ve uncovered about the c-copied d-designs turns out to be wrong.”

  “What? Have you added sleuthing to your list of invaluable skills? Seems to me you should be applying yourself to the honorable clients who’ve requested your services.”

  “I have been doing that. P-please, hear me out.”

  She laid bare her suspicions and her conversation with Calvin, the woman’s resemblance to Percy. She only stammered a few times, but enough that she knew her recent speech progress had been temporary.

  Mr. Fields’s look was that of stone, his eyes narrowed. “Pure fantasy, I’m certain. And I’m appalled that you would accuse my top designer, the one whose opinion I value highly.”

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t a good d-designer. Only that I think it b-bears looking into.”

  “You’ve made your case. Now, skeedaddle. See if you can’t find something productive to do and quit wasting my time.”

  “Yes, sir. And th-thank you.”

  Her legs were as limp as linguine as she found her way out and scuttled past Harjo without a word. Please, let him believe me. Or at least do his own inquiries.

  All she could do was trust that her prayers were heard.

  * * *

  Nell crossed her legs, jiggling the top one as she waited for Dr. Underwood. She reached for her tea, furnished as always by Lindy Williams, but it had already grown cold. It wasn’t like Dr. Underwood to keep her waiting, and just when Nell had given up on his coming, Lindy popped back in.

  “So sorry for the wait. Dr. Underwood should be here in just a tick.” She perched on the arm of Dr. Underwood’s chair. “Have you had a good week?”

  Lindy meant well, trying to engage her in conversation, but Nell evaded the question. An entire day had passed without a word from Mr. Fields, although Nell had little time to dwell on it with her numerous consultations. The design work would keep her busy all weekend and the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday as well. Lindy smiled, waiting for an answer.

  “Not too bad. I’m curious, though. Do you observe Thanksgiving? I find it peculiar since it’s not one of our English traditions.”

  “It did seem strange at first, but my husband’s family makes it quite the frolic with the bird and all. And I get an extra two days off to be with my wee ones.”

  “I didn’t realize you had children.”

  “Two little cherubs. My mum lives in the flat next door and watches after them. Like I said, it will be a merry time.” Lindy glanced at the clock. “I’ll run on now and check on Dr. Underwood.”

  Moments later, Dr. Underwood came in, and without ado, he asked how she was.

  “My stammering is better, at least when I’m with friends.”

  “You’ve always related well to your peers then?”

  “I’m not sure. I wasn’t around that many growing up. I had a g-governess at the manor, so the only time I was with other children was at the village church.”

  “Ah, yes. Makes sense. Did you have a best friend?”

  “Not when I was younger. I spent a lot of time with Jane Alistair, the lady’s maid to my grandmother. She’s the one who first taught me about hats.”

  “So you always lived in a predominantly adult world. Interesting, I’d like to explore this area. Perhaps you could draw a church picnic or a Sunday school class.”

  Nell sighed. It was a waste of time. Her drawings of her grandmother, one of her father on his Royal Navy ship, and the garden had done nothing but stir up longing for her family and England. And yet, Dr. Underwood’s current suggestion had unearthed a scorching memory.

  It took longer than usual to do the sketch, and when she’d finished, Dr. Underwood studied it for a moment and pointed to a figure in the corner. “Is this you?”

  Nell smiled. “It is. And now that you pointed it out, I know I always choose to sit in an obscure place, my b-back to the wall.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “It’s what I’ve always done, a way to observe p-people and stay on the f-fringe.”

  “I prefer that myself, so I’m not being critical, just clarifying. But I did notice that you’re faltering again. Perhaps an old wound. Think it over and we’ll talk about it after Thanksgiving.” He tucked
the sketch in her folder and wished her a happy holiday.

  On the trolley, Nell stared at the throng out the window. Dusk had come quickly, and with it a chill wind. Through the blur of glass, she thought of the picture she’d drawn and of that day long ago.

  * * *

  A light snow had fallen overnight, the temperature sinking as the day wore on. As she ran to the carriage house, ten-year-old Prunella’s breath came out in puffs like the ones from her papa’s pipe. Freddy held the door for her to get in the back of Grandfather’s car for her weekly confirmation class. The minute Freddy pulled to a stop in front of St. John’s Church, Prunella jumped from the Rolls-Royce and ducked her head into the wind. She hated arriving in the car and the jabs from the children who had to walk from school to attend the class.

  Prunella the Princess.

  What’s the matter, your legs broken so you have your chauffeur drive you to catechism school?

  If she answered, they ridiculed her stammer. If she remained silent, they taunted, Cat got your tongue?

  The transept was frigid that day, but it was a relief to get in from the wind, and an even bigger relief that she’d made it without an encounter. She took her spot on the far end of the back row, the stone bench like ice through her woolen dress. Her stomach twisted when Wiggins, the teaching elder, entered, eyeing her with a frown. He turned his back and coughed into his fist, a loud rattle deep in his chest.

  With her attention on Wiggins, she didn’t see the others come in. Simone Honeycutt slipped next to her. Prunella’s stomach wrung itself into a knot. Anyone but Simone. She quirked her mouth into a smile, determined not to let Simone, with her innocent violet eyes and hair that fell to her shoulders in ringlets, unsettle her.