The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel

by Carla Stewart

  When they were settled in the cab and Mr. Fields had given the driver the address, she thanked him again for his generosity.

  “Image, my dear. This is an influential crowd, so it’s best to project your best. And let me do the talking. You’re charming to look at, but I don’t want to put off anyone with your babbling. I’m hoping this event will bring in enough customers to carry us into the New Year.”

  “Certainly.” She knew her place. Look pretty and smile. Let the boss do the talking.

  The club ballroom was spacious with Roman columns wrapped in evergreen boughs for Christmas. A harpist sat in one wing, the strains of “Good King Wenceslas” wafting through the chatter. Elegant gowns hung on molded mannequins and hats displayed on stands at eye level were meant to allow the women to walk around, chat, and take notes. Nell and Mr. Fields were guests at the luncheon and available, of course, to talk about the salon and set up consultations.

  Nell spotted her hats in the display and a group of women admiring the one with a sequined starburst.

  Schmooze. That’s what Calvin had told her to do. It would be easier if Mr. Fields gave her some space, but he’d made it clear she was to remain at his side.

  He whispered instructions in her ear and discreetly pointed out some of the women. “An ambassador’s wife. The cousin of Mayor Hylan. The wives from Eccles’s law firm. Pay no account to them—they’re faithful to Murdoch’s. Let me do the talking.”

  Mr. Fields’s knowledge of who was who was impressive, and Nell felt as if her face would freeze into the wide smile she’d put on for the occasion. She wasn’t even sure why Mr. Fields wanted her to come along. Image. That’s what he’d told her. She smiled some more.

  She didn’t see Soren until they were nearly ready to go. Mr. Fields was engaged in a conversation as Nell stood dutifully by his side.

  Soren swept across the room. “Well, don’t you look simply stunning?” Soren clasped her hands in both of his and leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek. It was a gesture she’d seen him do many times and knew it wasn’t personal.

  “Good to s-see you, Soren. Did you have a good r-response?”

  “Quite excellent, actually. And I might’ve sent a few potential customers your way.”

  “Mr. Fields will ap-ap-appreciate it. And me, too.”

  He winked and said, “Connections, darling. It’s always about connections.” He waved at a well-dressed woman passing by. “Gotta run. It was marvvy to see you again.” He disappeared into a sea of women as Nell turned her attention back to Mr. Fields.

  He leaned in and said, “Aren’t you the coy one? Too bad you missed the opportunity to meet the woman who is coming in next week to engage us for her daughter’s wedding.” He cocked his head toward a woman who’d moved into another circle.

  “I’m s-sorry. It was nice to see Soren. He looks well, doesn’t he?”

  “I didn’t notice, and you interrupted me before I finished. The wedding is the day after New Year’s, but I assured her it was no problem. I’m sure you won’t mind missing your holiday trip to Kentucky this year for such an important engagement.” He nodded at a woman with silver hair and gripped Nell’s elbow, steering her toward the exit.

  “I’ve already made p-plans. My mother is ex-expecting me.”

  “I’m sure she will understand that success comes with sacrifice on occasion.” He pushed open the door where an icy wind bit into Nell’s cheeks.

  Chapter 13

  Nell was certain Mr. Fields would change his mind about her going to Kentucky for Christmas if she worked longer hours and was caught up, had the headpieces made for the wedding ahead of time. One look in her appointment diary told her it was possible if she didn’t eat or sleep for the next three weeks. Yes, her career was important—the very air she breathed—but her family was, too. Still, she’d promised her grandmother and herself that she would strive to succeed.

  Her family couldn’t always be first, but the thought of Christmas without them soured her mood. Something Calvin picked up on right away the next morning.

  “What’s the matter? Didn’t the ladies like your hats yesterday?”

  “They liked them fine. I’ll be seeing a bride next week about her wedding.”

  “Guess that means another raise for you?”

  “Don’t be silly. I get the usual review the same as you at the end of the year. And if I don’t meet our boss’s expectations…”

  “It’s for sure I won’t.”

  “Guess we’re both a little hedgehoggy today.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re acting p-prickly…like a hedgehog.”

  “I don’t even know what a hedgehog is. Some sort of British swine?”

  Nell burst out laughing. “It’s a cute little animal covered with soft spines. They curl up in a ball and bristle when they sense danger.”

  “You’re dangerous all right. Making up stories about mythical animals and getting all the plum assignments.”

  “They’re not mythical. They’re completely harmless, and you know I have no control over who asks to have appointments. For your information, I have to work over Christmas. No trip to Kentucky. No fa-la-la-la-la.” Nell stomped off to her desk, grabbed her sketchbook, and left. The only difference between Calvin and a hedgehog was that a hedgehog was cute.

  * * *

  Nell was too busy to worry about her spat with Calvin. Work called. A whirlwind of appointments, ordering special bridal fabrics, and taking trips to the library to look up design elements for the Russian-themed wedding the bride had chosen. She picked up every fashion magazine at the newsstand that might have a bridal idea. Nell’s heart raced with each new discovery and client who left glowing with one of her hats. Inner beauty. She strived to bring that out, and the more she worked, the greater the satisfaction. She wasn’t sure this was what success felt like, but it did carry her along in the weeks before Christmas.

  In brief snatches of spare time, she made hats for her roommates, her cousins, and Felice. She made a tiny red velvet cloche for her sister, Caroline, and sent it with the other gifts she’d gotten her family for Christmas. Her mother had been disappointed at the news that Nell wouldn’t be home for the holidays, but to her credit, she didn’t chide her for being selfish.

  Even with her frantic schedule, she kept seeing Dr. Underwood. Oscar expected her to conquer her stammer, and she doubled her efforts at practicing. Dr. Underwood wore a red shirt with a green and white polka-dotted bow tie one day, green shirt with a gold lamé bow tie another. And it was a joy to see Lindy Williams with her cheerful cups of tea and Yorkshire accent that for a few minutes, twice a week, massaged the homesick corner of Nell’s heart.

  When Dr. Underwood mentioned that Nell looked tired, she agreed, telling him briefly about work and being blue about not getting to go home for Christmas.

  He smiled and told her to take a deep breath and let her shoulders relax.

  When she’d done so, he said, “I think for today, we’ll try to keep it light, my gift to you. I want you to think of your earliest memory, a happy time. A pair of new shoes, perhaps, or flying a kite. Even if it’s just a fragment, try to capture that day.”

  “The train. I remember riding the train and watching the sheep from the window.”

  “Excellent. Now, while you’re relaxed, I’d like you to go to the drawing table and sketch that day. Anything at all that comes to mind.”

  She had the sensation of floating toward the desk. With a charcoal pencil she drew the window of the train on one edge of the paper and tried to recall where they were going. Greystone Hall. That was it. To see her mother’s parents. Her grandparents on the Payne side. For her birthday. Her mother kept talking about her birthday and that Gramma Jo was making her a cake.

  Nell relaxed her arm and drew, keeping her eyes unfocused so that whatever landed on the paper was from her child’s eye and not her grown-up ones. Her breaths grew rapid and more shallow as the hairs on the
back of her neck stood at attention. Breathe in and out. She ran her tongue over her teeth, which felt gritty. She wanted a sip of tea, but it was across the room. She swallowed trying to relieve her dry mouth. It was distracting her from the drawing, and when her throat felt scratchy, too, she laid down the pencil and pushed the sketch pad aside.

  She went back to the armchair and sipped the lukewarm tea and waited for Dr. Underwood. He went to the desk and picked up her drawing, holding it at a distance as he always did. He joined her with the paper in hand.

  “An interesting choice, using only the charcoal pencil. Less detail than your other drawings.”

  “I was thirsty, and it b-broke my concentration. Or perhaps I’m just weary.”

  “Understandable. At any rate, it looks like it might have been a birthday you recalled, is that correct?”

  She nodded. “There was a cake, and I remember my mother telling me to blow out the candles.”

  “You’ve a cake here with four candles, so I would surmise you were four.”

  “Something like that.” She squinted her eyes to look at the drawing. The cake looked like it was floating, and there were no people in the picture. She’d drawn the facade of a castle, which she thought was a reasonable likeness of Greystone Hall. She had a vague memory of seeing it in pictures, and what she’d drawn was certainly imposing, whether it was accurate or not.

  “It’s quite an impressive house you’ve drawn. Were your grandparents titled perhaps?”

  “Not anything special. Landed gentry. My mother’s brother, Spencer Payne, inherited the house and now has the title of earl.”

  “Interesting.” He leafed through her folder. “You’ve mentioned your grandmother. I take it she no longer lives in this house then?”

  “No, this was where my mother’s p-parents lived. When Mama married, she and Daddy moved to Marchwold Manor with his p-parents…where I grew up. This is Greystone Hall, my mother’s childhood home. Oddly enough, my two grandmothers were friends growing up in Yorkshire.” Her stomach clenched. Another memory pushed at the one with the birthday candles. “Gramma Jo d-died while we were there.”

  Focus. Picture the words. The sessions were meant to help her speech, not bring on the stammer.

  “An illness?”

  She took a deep breath. “No, an accident. She fell down the steps of the root cellar. Mama wouldn’t allow me near it, said the steps were steep and uneven. Or at least that’s what I r-remember.”

  “I had hoped this would stir up a happy time, and I don’t want to dampen your feeling further, but how did you respond to your grandmother’s death?”

  Nell shrugged. “I’m not sure I was old enough to g-grasp the finality, only that people were sad.”

  “Perhaps now that you’ve drawn the picture, something will come to you. It often does. It’s like we have to give our thoughts a nudge. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about before you go?”

  When she shook her head, he closed the file to indicate the end of the session. “The office will be closed until after the New Year. I’ll see you in January.”

  She left, her steps sluggish as she went to catch the trolley. The memory bothered her, but she didn’t know why, and the session hadn’t had the effect Dr. Underwood intended. Maybe she could shake the gloomy feeling if she did something silly and lighthearted.

  Nell went to FAO Schwarz toy store and found a straw-stuffed hedgehog with the Steiff label in the ear and bought it for Calvin. She tied a ribbon around its neck and set it on his worktable while he was seeing a client. There was a spring in her step when she went to her afternoon appointments.

  Calvin gave her a sidelong look when she returned to the studio after her last consultation. “Rubbing it in, are you?” Calvin ran the back of his fingers along the soft fur of the hedgehog.

  “Just a friendly gesture. I almost bought one for my little sister, but I’d already sent her package.”

  “Now I fall in the category of children?” His tone was light, a sparkle in his eyes that had been missing. “I didn’t get you a gift. Christmas isn’t high on the list of Jewish holidays.”

  “I know, but this wasn’t for Christmas.” She held out her hand. “Friends?”

  “Yeah.” He shook her hand. “And just so you know, I wasn’t sore at you.”

  “If not me, then whom?”

  “When I finally got up the nerve to show Mr. Fields the children’s line I’ve been working on, he turned me down flat. Said children don’t carry pocketbooks. So I’m back to fedoras and bubbehs.” When he saw her questioning look, he said, “Grandmothers. Granny hats.”

  “You do have a gift with the dear ladies.”

  He groaned and picked up the hedgehog. “Thanks anyway. Gotta run. And if I don’t see you again, cheers!”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  * * *

  Candles flickered in St. Mark’s Church in-the-Bowery as organ music played softly in the background. Nell slipped into a pew in the church that was the American version of her village church in Heathdown. The hushed tones in the nave enveloped her, her attention focused as the minister gave the lesson and reading from Luke. As Nell joined the throng of strangers in singing “The Holly and the Ivy,” she was transported back to her childhood, the excitement that mounted as Christmas Eve ushered in the season. She wished she’d appreciated it more then. A thought of Quentin interrupted, and she wondered if he might be worshipping at Westminster or another chapel closer to his new flat.

  A light snow fell as she left St. Mark’s and joined the queue for a taxicab. While she waited, she thought of the horse-drawn landau rides with her grandfather from the manor to the village church. Zilla, the cook, always had a steaming pot of cocoa and a plate with shortbread and tiny mince pies waiting on their return. Nell didn’t even have cocoa in her flat, and even if she had, she would be useless at making it the way Zilla did.

  Christmas morning dawned cold and dreary. Not a snowflake or blanket of white anywhere when Nell looked out the window and put on the kettle. Christmas. Alone.

  Both Jeanette and Greta had gone the day before to spend Christmas Eve and morning with their families. For Jeanette, Nell knew it might be a bittersweet day if her dad wasn’t doing well. While having her milk tea, Nell eyed the gifts she’d received in the post. A good-sized box from her mother, a slightly smaller one from her grandmother.

  She opened the package from her mother first—a satin box with dried rose petals and spices, the scent like a warm embrace from her mother. Nell blinked to ward off tears. She picked up a package with uneven corners, obviously wrapped by Caroline. Inside the box were layers of cotton wool and nestled deep inside was a crystal hedgehog. Nell burst out laughing. In her hand, the little creature was quite weighty, heavy enough to serve as a paperweight, but it was exquisite with tiny spines that sparkled in the light and fine metal pins for whiskers. A silk scarf from Aunt Sarah and a pair of leather gloves lined in lamb’s wool from her mother and stepfather, Granville, completed the gifts from Kentucky.

  Nell leaned her head against the back of the chair and told herself she wouldn’t cry, that this was the life she’d chosen, and by tomorrow she’d be putting the finishing touches on the hats for the wedding.

  Just get through today.

  She saved her grandmother’s package for last. As she removed the outer wrapping, she hummed “What Child Is This” in her normal off-key manner. Inside the packing box were three smaller ones cushioned with crumpled newspaper. She shook them to see if she could guess what they were. She opened a thin rectangular box first, hoping it was Scottish shortbread, and it was. Her mouth watered, and she was tempted to sample them, but she was going to eat with Felice and her family. A woolen scarf and leather journal were next. And finally, a square tin of her favorite cream toffees made in the Cotswolds. Now her mouth watered and her stomach growled.

  A note was attached to the toffees on which her grandmother scrawled, “Quentin brought these by when he came to vis
it his parents. He remembered that you were fond of them.” Nell bit her lip. Quentin. Always thoughtful.

  As she gathered her gifts, the bits of packing, and the boxes to take to her room, a knock came on the door.

  “Ricky! Oh g-gracious, is it time to come down for d-dinner already?”

  Felice’s soon-to-be-thirteen-year-old son flashed his dark eyes. “Mama says, Soup’s on, that everyone is here.” His teeth were overly large for his mouth, but he had a cute smile. He looked at her with a curious expression. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  Nell’s hand went to her chest. She was still in her dressing gown, having fiddled away the entire morning in a fit of melancholy. “Goodness, no. That would give your family something to talk about now, wouldn’t it?” She told him she’d be down in five minutes.

  It was more like ten, with her hair tucked up in a red woolen cloche and a green velvet dress with simple lines that she’d worn the last two Christmases.

  “Oh, Nell!” Felice bustled over to her and kissed her on both cheeks. “My family, we all come to the diner for Christmas so we can have the, what you say, the big celebration. This is my sister, Rosa, and my mamma, and over here…” She pulled Nell from table to table and introduced her to what seemed like dozens of relatives. Aunts, uncles, cousins. At least three babies.

  The smell of garlic and heavenly spices made Nell swoon. She couldn’t wait for Angelo to serve the dinner. It started with a blessing in native Italian by the eldest relative that some of the children called Nonno, followed with pumpkin-filled tortellini floating in a savory broth. Rosa whispered, “Eel broth. In Italia, we feasted on eel and lamb, but we no have so much chances here in America. Angelo, though, he makes the best roasted chicken and potatoes to ever cross your tongue, and his roasted veal…” Her eyes rolled up as she inhaled and waved her hand in front of her face.