“I thought of making a different quilt, too.” Liddie threw her shawl over her shoulders as she surveyed the room. It was her room; these were her things; she was responsible for it all. She closed the door firmly behind her, locked it, and pocketed the key.
When Liddie returned to her room that evening after supper—“dinner,” as Mrs. Prescott called it—she was glad to be in the solitude of her own room. Even though it felt bare, it was hers, as was this whole day. She’d soaked in the amber glow of the October afternoon, talked with Minnie as though she’d known her for her entire life, and met the other boarders over a passable supper. Dinner. She vowed to remember to call it that. She pulled the chair up to the dressing table and took out a piece of notepaper.
Dear Mama, Aunt Kate, and Vern,
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for letting me come to Maquoketa. I’m happy to report I’ve made a new friend.
When she signed her name three pages later, she was surprised how much she had to share after only one day. She took one of the postage stamps her mother had tucked inside the address book and affixed it to the envelope. She’d post it on the way to work in the morning.
Chapter 9
Ernestine Tinker had first begun taking in sewing projects as a way to occupy her days. Her husband, Jack, an accountant at First National Bank in Maquoketa, had encouraged her. As the years passed and children did not appear to be part of God’s plan for them, Ernestine attracted more customers, and the sewing spilled out of the small back room and into the dining room. At mealtime, Ernestine pushed whatever dress or shirt or trousers she was working on at the moment to one end of the table, and she and Jack shared the happenings of the day while they ate. When a runaway horse tipped his buggy, throwing Jack into a ditch, breaking his neck, and ending his life, sewing became Ernestine’s path to economic and social stability.
The back room off the dining room became a cozy dressing room with mirrors. A sturdy wooden box provided a raised platform for customers to stand on during fittings. The dining room evolved into a workroom with two new treadle sewing machines, each with its own worktable. Mrs. Tinker hired a series of girls to work at the second machine, preferring farm girls, who were used to working hard and who, once they survived the initial bouts of homesickness, settled in as responsible—if often unimaginative—help. At least until they each attracted the attention of a young man. Then they were gone.
Some of this Liddie had learned from conversations with her mother and aunt. The more dramatic details Minnie filled in based on gossip gleaned from the customers she served at Fisher’s. Most relevant was that Mrs. Tinker’s previous girl quit without notice, leaving the seamstress shorthanded as the holidays approached—and opening the position once again for Liddie.
On Liddie’s first day, Mrs. Tinker welcomed her wearing the high-collared white blouse and gathered navy skirt that Liddie would learn was her standard work wear. With her graying hair pulled into a tight bun, she presented an image of efficiency that suited a tradeswoman.
Her home turned business was in a modest two-story frame house on a street lined with similar houses. Clumps of daisies and black-eyed Susans bordered a wood plank walkway that led from the street to the front door. When customers began coming to the house with some regularity, Mr. Tinker had installed a step at the curb to assist women descending from their buggies. Several of the houses along the tree-lined street, including the Tinkers’, had picket fences.
Mrs. Tinker devoted the first floor of her home to sewing work. The parlor served as both a reception area and a relaxing space where customers could enjoy a cup of tea as they discussed clothing needs. A drop-leaf table near the front door was opened each day to accommodate transactions. In the kitchen, an ironing board stood at the ready. Dress forms, including one for larger women, stood like sentinels at one end of the dining room.
“With the holidays coming on, we have much to get done,” Mrs. Tinker said as she moved purposefully through the rooms. “You’ll have a lot to learn quickly.” She pointed out a rack full of clothes needing alterations and a maple hutch full of clothes needing mending. A note pinned to each item described the work to be done and the promised completion date.
“Yes, ma’am.” Liddie tried to convey confidence. “I’ll do my best.”
“Your best is all anyone can ask, dear,” Mrs. Tinker said with a smile that included her gray eyes as well as her mouth.
Taking a measure of reassurance from the smile, Liddie began to relax, when the doorbell rang.
“That’s Mrs. Jacobs.” Mrs. Tinker moved toward the door. “Start on the rack clothes. Ask if you have questions.”
As Mrs. Tinker greeted a harried-looking woman carrying a large bundle, Liddie stared after her, a bit stunned. Just like that? Wasn’t there more to know? She turned to the rack, attempting to quell the anxiety in her stomach.
“Yes, Glenna left us,” she heard Mrs. Tinker say. “Liddie Treadway started today.” She beckoned for Liddie to join her. “This is Mrs. Jacobs.”
“Ma’am.” Liddie nodded.
“You’re Margretta’s daughter,” the woman said. “My sympathy on your father’s passing.”
“Thank you.” Liddie managed a tight smile. She hadn’t expected to be reminded of her father and stood there in awkward silence.
“Mrs. Jacobs was one of my first customers.” Mrs. Tinker gracefully changed the subject. “She encouraged me to start my business.”
“It was one of the smarter suggestions I’ve ever made.” Mrs. Jacobs smiled, obviously pleased to be recognized for her role.
“Why don’t you start on that blue dress, Liddie?” Mrs. Tinker nodded toward the rack. “The one at the end.”
“Give my regards to your mother, Liddie,” Mrs. Jacobs said.
“I will. Thank you.”
As Liddie returned to the workroom, she heard the woman titter. “I expect it is a little overwhelming. The first day.” Then she lowered her voice. “I didn’t realize the girl needed to work out.”
“Let’s take a look at your dress.” Mrs. Tinker began to unwrap the package. “It will be Christmas before we know it!”
Although Mrs. Jacobs had lowered her voice, Liddie still heard her. Needed to work out? Is that what people thought? That she was here because their family needed the money? The back of her neck prickled with embarrassment, then anger.
She found the blue dress and lifted it off the rack. She stopped. This wasn’t what she needed to do; this was what she wanted to do. She put the dress back and went into the parlor.
“Mrs. Jacobs?”
Mrs. Tinker looked up. “What is it, Liddie?”
Heat crept up Liddie’s neck. Now that she was standing there, she wondered if saying something was wise.
“Yes?” Mrs. Tinker prompted.
“I’m not here because our family is poor. I’m here because I love to sew.” Her eyes darted from Mrs. Tinker to Mrs. Jacobs and back again. “I—I wanted her to know that.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Jacobs’s face went beet red. “I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Tinker was no longer smiling. “Liddie. You have work you need to be doing.”
Liddie blinked as though suddenly remembering why she was there. “Yes. Yes, ma’am. The blue dress.” Her face hot with embarrassment, Liddie hurried to the rack.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Jacobs said. “I didn’t mean . . .”
“No, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Tinker said. “Please forgive her. Would you like some tea while we talk?”
“No. I’ll come back another time.”
As Liddie took the blue dress to her sewing machine, she was acutely aware that Mrs. Jacobs hurriedly gathered up her bundle and left.
Mrs. Tinker closed the front door, planted her hands on her hips, and stared into space. Stealing furtive glances at her employer, Liddie feared this first hour of her career as a seamstress could
be her last.
When Mrs. Tinker approached, Liddie laid the dress down and stood. “I’m sorry. I just . . .”
“Liddie, I wouldn’t have thought it necessary to tell you that embarrassing a customer is never appropriate.”
“But she—”
“But nothing. Mrs. Jacobs is my customer. Whether she did or did not understand your situation is irrelevant. Our customers are always treated with respect.”
Embarrassment burned through Liddie’s body.
“Your job here is to provide the best possible sewing work for my customers. That is all. Do you understand?” She spoke in a low, firm tone that left no doubt, yet at the same time was not unkind.
“Yes, ma’am.” Liddie couldn’t look Mrs. Tinker in the eyes. “I am so sorry.”
“Very well, then. I’m going to chalk this whole thing up to youth and inexperience.” Mrs. Tinker picked up the dress Liddie was supposed to be working on. “Tell me how you’re going to do this.”
Liddie looked at the front door. “Will she come back?”
“Mrs. Jacobs? Oh yes. And you’ll do her sewing.”
“Will she let me?”
“It’s imperative that you do. You see, one of the reasons my business thrives is because Mrs. Jacobs talks freely with her friends. If you are to be successful, we need to replace this unfortunate first impression with a more positive one.” She firmly pressed the dress into Liddie’s hands, and a reassuring smile returned to her face. “Now. Let’s put this awkwardness behind us and get to work.”
Liddie settled in at the sewing machine and completed the work as well as she was able. Tidy rows of thread spools, folders of needles in all sizes, scissors hanging on pegs, all within easy reach—she had every tool she needed. She didn’t have time to think another personal thought for the rest of the day.
Upon later reflection, Liddie realized she got off easy that first day because Mrs. Tinker was a kind and encouraging employer. Once a problem was addressed, Mrs. Tinker never brought it up again. And for her part, Liddie vowed to let her sewing speak for her in the future.
When her mother had commented that Ernestine Tinker did good business, Liddie hadn’t really understood what that meant. In the following weeks, she learned firsthand. From the time she sat down at her worktable at seven thirty in the morning until she left at six in the evening, Liddie was seldom without a piece of work. Mending tears. Repairing buttonholes. Inserting padding. Making flat felled seams. Threading. Tacking. Basting. The tasks she might have done in a year of sewing at home passed through her hands each week.
Each morning, she and Mrs. Tinker reviewed the priorities among the garments on the alteration rack and in the hutch. They estimated what she could finish in the day, adjusting the order of tasks as necessary.
There was a sameness to the assigned work that reminded Liddie of life on the farm, yet because the people, the place, and the responsibilities were new, she looked to each day with a sense of anticipation. The fact that someone would pay her to do what she loved thrilled her.
Though it never came up again—at least not in her hearing—Mrs. Jacobs’s comment about her having to work stuck with her, a simmering embarrassment. Her mother paid Mrs. Prescott for her food and lodging; Liddie herself was responsible for incidentals. Regardless of her family’s help, if she was going to set her own future, she needed to be able to support herself.
She bought a ledger and kept meticulous records of what she earned and what she spent. She opened a savings account. Each week after Mrs. Tinker paid her, she went to the bank and deposited everything but a small allowance she set for herself. Her needs were few, and she was proud when she came to the end of a week without spending all she’d set aside for herself. Knowing she had this money in reserve gave her confidence and comfort, like a warm fire on a cold night.
With Christmas parties coming up, there was even more work than usual. Liddie knew girls in positions like hers were often invited to these parties, but Mrs. Tinker never said anything, and Liddie didn’t dare ask. She presumed she was too new. She allowed herself to be blue for two days, then she and Minnie set to planning a party for everyone at the boardinghouse. Though it wouldn’t be as fancy, they intended to make it every bit as much fun. It was Christmas. Of course it would be fun.
November 15, 1913
Dear Joe,
How are you? I could not believe that your address is Forget, Saskatchewan. Does that explain why we didn’t hear from you for six weeks? Did you “forget” us in Iowa?
We are all well. I am so happy here in Maquoketa. Mrs. Tinker is wonderful. I meet new people and see new things every single day. I also made a friend—Minnie. She rooms at the boardinghouse, too. She has a collection of animal figurines. Mostly little dogs. I don’t know that I’d spend money that way, but she says it makes her happy to wake up to those puppies playing on her bureau. It must work, because she is the happiest, liveliest person I’ve ever met.
I hope you like your new home as well as I do mine. I am eager to hear about your trip and your work and where you live. Vern plans to shoot a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. Shall we save a drumstick for you?
Write soon.
Your friend, Liddie
Chapter 10
“Tell me about your family,” Minnie said. Propped up against the headboard of Liddie’s bed, a throw over her legs, Minnie sat with the tin of Christmas candies on her lap. Slowly and deliberately she selected from the variety of sweet treasures Margretta had packed for them. Most recently, she’d chosen a piece of walnut fudge and nibbled at it with such tiny bites over such a long time that the chocolate melted on her fingertips.
“I’ve told you everything.” Liddie was curled up on the end of the bed, her head resting on a needlepoint pillow. She propped herself up on one elbow. “Are you going to eat them all?”
“I’ll trade the candy for more stories,” Minnie said, nudging the tin across the bed. Raised by a distant and often disagreeable aunt from the time she was ten, Minnie never tired of hearing stories about Liddie’s close-knit family. “You tell me about your mother and father. You tell me about Vern and Joe. You talk about your aunt all the time.” She licked chocolate off her thumb. “But you don’t talk about your sister. Why?”
“I don’t want to talk about her.”
“I don’t understand. You shared a room. You had to be close.”
Liddie swung off the bed, sat down at the dressing table, and began to pull the pins out of her hair. “I just don’t.”
“But why? It’s almost as though you’ve erased her from your life.”
Liddie felt Minnie staring at her. Waiting. She picked up her brush and began to pull it through her hair, straightening out the tangles, smoothing the thick locks over her shoulders. Like Amelia used to do. The memory brought tears that she quickly wiped away.
Minnie pushed the throw aside and slid over to the edge of the bed. “Are you crying?”
Liddie hunched her shoulders when Minnie touched her, as she felt her protective shield crumble.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you cry. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
Liddie had never said the words before. To anyone. Finally, holding the words in took more effort than letting them out. “She got into . . . trouble.” She swallowed the word “trouble” as embarrassment and shame swept over her.
“She what?”
“She got . . . pregnant.”
When Minnie’s hand dropped away, Liddie felt the rejection she’d expected.
“Oh.”
The shock in Minnie’s voice hung in the air. Liddie whirled around, defiant. “See? It was horrible. Then she ran away and got married without telling anyone. Mama was worried to death. She wasn’t there for Papa. Or for any of us.”
“Where is she?” Minnie asked, her voice low. “Do you hear from her?”
“She and Fred are in Wyoming.” Liddie ignored Minnie’s second question and returned to brushing her hair. The truth was, Amelia had written to her three times in the last two months. Liddie had not answered. It was not as though she was still angry. She wasn’t. Not exactly. It was just that the longer she didn’t write, the more awkward it became to do so. Each of Amelia’s letters was shorter than the last. The last letter contained only three sentences:
I want to hear from you, but I cannot make you write. It is too painful to receive nothing in return. If I don’t hear from you, I will not write again.
“What about her baby?” Minnie asked.
“She’s due any time.”
“It has to be hard for her. Being all by herself.”
“She should have thought of that before she broke Mama’s and Papa’s hearts.”
“Look, it’s not good what she did. But I give her credit for making the best of a bad situation. She’s married. She’s keeping her baby. That took courage.”
“People will never forget. She embarrassed us all.”
“Listen to yourself, Liddie! You sound like she did it just to hurt you. I expect she’d take it back if she could. Besides, haven’t you ever done something you wished you hadn’t?”
“No,” she insisted.
Minnie looked at Liddie, skepticism in the set of her mouth. “I know if she were my sister, I wouldn’t be so willing to throw her away.” She stood up. “You have family, so you don’t know what it’s like not to have anyone. You’d be sorry. I know that.”
She stomped out of the room, closing the door with more force than necessary, leaving Liddie to remember, finally, that Minnie didn’t have any family. No one at all.
Alone in the quiet room, Liddie stared out into the night. Up and down the street, light from houses reflected off the snow. It was never completely dark in town, not like on the farm. Amelia had written that she and Fred lived in a log house with no neighbors for miles. When Liddie read that, she’d imagined Amelia was enjoying an adventure. Now, with Minnie’s comments needling at her, she wondered if Amelia was lonely.
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