by Jane Steen
“Fighting is like that.” Joe gave Martin’s shoulder a gentle thump.
“I understand, but it sticks in my craw all the same.” Martin rested his head against the horse’s neck for a second, then straightened his shoulders. “Come on, Joe, let’s get the men organized to take the horses home. These beauties need food and rest.”
“And so do you,” I pointed out. “Do you realize you’re the heroes of the hour? The merchants of Chicago have taken their stand against lawlessness.”
“I’m not so sure we shouldn’t have fed them instead of helping the police, now that it’s all over.” Martin shrugged one shoulder. “But I’ll argue the point later—I’ve got a lot to think about. We’d better go, Nellie.”
“I’m coming with you.” I looked around to where a handful of the men were clambering upward, settling in their seats. “And after we’re done at the stables, the three of us are going back to the Palmer House. Baths for you two, and food for all. We don’t know how long this unrest will last, so we’d better be prepared.”
8
Negotiations
With the city full of troops, we could reopen Rutherford’s the next day, which was Friday. Customers were few, although they had increased by Saturday afternoon. Our seamstresses also returned to the store, and by the time we closed in the evening, even Madame was satisfied with the volume of work produced. We all looked forward to our Sunday rest with unusual appreciation.
“‘The city authorities having dispersed all lawlessness in the city, and law and order being restored, I now urge and request all business men and employers generally to resume work, and give as much employment to their workmen as possible.’”
Martin laid down the notice from which he’d been reading and crossed his arms. Outside the window of our Palmer House suite, we could hear the normal noises of State Street on a rainy Sunday. The cooler temperature was bliss; the peace after the rioting even more so.
“I detect a note of sympathy in that last phrase of the mayor’s,” I said. “He’s right—what people need is work.”
“And the railroad men got none of what they asked for.” Martin shifted uneasily on the settee. “I figured Hayes wouldn’t stand for mob rule in Chicago—not after what happened in Pittsburgh and St. Louis—but I’m not happy at the way we arrived at this so-called peace. You put enough troops in any city and the people will act peaceful just to save their skins, but they have resolved nothing.”
“They prevented mob rule.” I rose, crossing the rug to settle down by my husband. “You took the side you had to take. I don’t see how you could have done otherwise.”
“I don’t either.” Martin sighed as he slipped one arm along the back of the settee, inviting me to nestle into him. “But I’m starting to consider how I could do differently in the future.”
“An eight-hour day? Madame won’t like it. She’s annoyed that most of our ladies only work ten hours.”
“Eight hours for everyone. Obviously, we must arrange for shifts at different times, but no employee will need to choose between shorter hours and losing their job. Clerks, shop girls, couturières, carpenters—any extra hours worked at one-and-a-half times’ the usual rate, so that the department heads won’t be tempted to persuade their employees to work longer shifts.”
“Good heavens, Mr. Rutherford, that’s practically socialism.” I closed my eyes, enjoying the smoothness of Martin’s fine wool jacket under my cheek, the warmth and the solidity of him. “Just don’t break the news to Madame until we’re back at full production, will you? All the Chinese silks are several days late, and that consignment of Irish linen has vanished into thin air. Madame keeps lamenting that we have almost nothing new for our fall and winter commissions.”
“Hmmm.” I could feel Martin’s body relaxing, the two of us molding together like warm wax. “I keep excellent records, so I will be able to tell all of us—the partners and Madame—how much money, if any, my newfound socialism is costing us. Although, I’ve been working out the numbers in my head, and I think we’ll be more profitable. People spread a day’s tasks to fit into the hours at their disposal, you know. I suspect they’ll do just as much work in eight hours as in ten. We’ll hire more people to make up the shortfall—and the more people we employ, the more profit we generate.”
“It’s an outlandish notion, but I trust in your business sense.” I yawned. “Goodness, don’t let me fall asleep. I must still write to Sarah, Tess, and Miss Baker. They need to know that we’re all unharmed, and that I’ll be traveling down to Lake Forest on Wednesday.”
“Do you think they’ll mind if we all move in here instead of going back to Aldine Square? We need to remove our belongings from the house the second week of August anyway.”
“I’ll break the news.” I changed my position so that my head was more comfortable. “And it’ll be easier to put Thea and Teddy up here than at Aldine Square. When we find them.”
“What have you done?” I marched into Martin’s office and closed the door firmly. “I asked you not to mention an eight-hour day to Madame until the atelier had settled down again.”
“He didn’t.” Joe appeared from the adjoining small room where Martin’s private safe resided.
“I didn’t,” Martin said indignantly, rising automatically to his feet. “And kindly don’t rush into this room and begin talking about matters strictly between the three of us without checking there’s nobody else here.”
“I shut the door,” I began and then thought better of it. “I’m sorry. You’re quite right; it was wrong of me. It’s a good thing you took Joe into your confidence.”
“It is,” Joe said drily. “Given the explosively political nature of such an innovation. I’ve persuaded Martin to keep quiet about it until we’ve settled into the new store.” He put a stack of bound ledgers on Martin’s desk. “We’re about to start working out how we can estimate the effectiveness of the change in financial terms. I’ve warned Martin already; if it doesn’t work, it will be hard to reverse our position.”
“It’s a risk.” Martin looked pleased at the idea. “But it’s going to work, you’ll see.”
“But Madame knows.” I was determined not to let Martin divert the conversation. “She said something to me that made it clear she not only knows, she’s talked to you about it.”
“She guessed.” Martin frowned. “I’m not sure how. That woman is a force of nature. She appears to have a strongly developed intuition for anything that might affect her precious atelier. My atelier. Our atelier.” He grinned. “She completely rattled me. She swept into this office at seven thirty a.m., shut the door and proceeded to negotiate with me.”
“Negotiate? Is she determined not to allow it to happen?” I asked.
“She’s prepared to let it happen,” Martin said. “If I make a concession.”
“Martin’s notion has given her a bargaining chip.” Joe’s eyes danced. “Out with it, Martin—what’s the old lady up to?”
“House models.” Martin grimaced as Joe let out an “Ah!” and thumped the desk. “Yes, I know you’re in favor too.”
“I think they’re an excellent idea, and most in keeping with the times. Worth uses models.” Joe wagged a finger to emphasize his point.
“Worth is in Paris,” Martin said, his tone exasperated. “This is Chicago. People are a degree more straitlaced.”
“I don’t understand. We already use models to show off our work.” I frowned. “It makes little sense to put a dress on someone it hasn’t been made for, but I’ve often called ladies in from millinery to model a hat. Or I’ve placed a cape on one of our assistants’ shoulders to show it off. And we have dresses displayed on forms throughout the store.”
“It sells the hats, doesn’t it, Nell, to let the customers see them from all angles?” Joe’s saturnine face was alight with interest. “In Paris, the more important dressmakers are copying Worth, using women to display gowns in the same way as you’d demonstrate a hat by putting it on a real
woman.”
“I know—I do read the fashion journals, Joe.” I smiled at his enthusiasm. “But our clients are our best publicity. Women tell their friends who made their dress.”
“And you’re one of our finest models yourself.” Martin smiled at me. “I’m a lucky man to have such an elegant wife. But Madame wants to do much more. She wishes to employ attractive young ladies specifically for the purpose of showing the dresses.”
“What kind of woman would do that?” I mused. “Parading up and down in front of other women—”
“In front of their husbands too.” Joe raised his eyebrows. “If necessary. You’ve seen how some men want to see the investment they’re making before they buy. Although I think it’s insulting not to give your wife a dress allowance and let her get on with it.”
“There are definitely some people in Chicago who would find that shocking,” I said. “Men standing around watching as young women parade by—”
“The ladies at the pinnacle of society won’t be shocked,” Martin said. “The ones who’ve already traveled to Paris and seen how things are done there will consider us advanced, and where those ladies lead, others will follow.” He shrugged. “Madame insisted that since we’re going to turn the trade on its ear with our eight-hour shifts, we may as well surprise them with house models into the bargain. Ten women to begin with, she says.”
“They’ll have to be pretty, of course.” Joe crossed his arms, thinking. “And move well. Perhaps women who would rather not be on the stage, but are proficient in dancing?”
“Why don’t we hire ordinary women?” I asked. “Why do they have to be more attractive than the others? Dresses are for real women.”
“We are not selling the dress.” Martin produced a creditable imitation of Madame’s accent. “We are selling the dream of beauty.”
“You’re sold on the idea,” I said to him accusingly.
“It’s another risk—and, yes, I am ready to take it,” said Martin. “Less than a week ago I was whipping up the horses to follow a cavalry charge, not knowing in the least what would happen to me and not caring. I didn’t like the outcome, as you saw, but I liked the sensation of that moment.” His expression turned serious. “That’s how I felt when I first decided to build this store. It was a challenge, and somehow the idea of not one but two challenges makes life seem full of possibilities. A sign, perhaps, that I’ve finally put the events of last year behind me.”
“Very well.” I crossed to the door. “I defer to you gentlemen, as always, when it comes to sales decisions. I suggest we all talk about this further once I’ve been to fetch Sarah and Tess.”
9
Likes
“Mama! Look at the toy horse Mr. Parnell gave me. He said it was his when he was a little boy. Isn’t that nice? Are we really going to live in the hotel again? May I order ice cream after dinner every day? Isn’t it hot? Why is August so hot? Are you still sad about the Lombardis? I remembered Lucy last night and cried awful hard. Where do you suppose Teddy is? Did people throw stones at the store? Mrs. Parnell said people throw stones at windows sometimes when there’s a riot. She said sometimes storekeepers nail boards across their windows. Did you and Papa do that? Mrs. Parnell said they should send those lawless ruffians to prison for a long, long time. And Miss Baker said Mrs. Parnell is prejudiced. I think that means she’s mad at the workers—oh! She said I shouldn’t repeat that to anyone, but now I guess I’ve told you, so you won’t tell, will you? Have you seen Donny?”
“Donny’s helping Mr. Nutt with the trunks Tess has already packed.” Sensibly answering only the last question, I bent to pick Sarah up. Then I decided she was getting rather heavy and sat down on the bed instead, pulling my daughter up onto my lap. “We’re staying at the hotel till the new house is ready. That should be in November—three months from now.”
“September, October, November.” Sarah punctuated each word by placing a finger on the pleats that trimmed the collar of my mourning gown. “Is that in the winter? Will there be snow?”
“There might be. Papa’s hoping we’ll be in our new home in plenty of time to get it ready for Thanksgiving.”
“And then the new store will open, and there’ll be a big Christmas tree. Will we have a big Christmas tree in our new house?”
“Oh yes, there’s lots of room.”
“Will Donny live in our new house?” Sarah ran her forefinger over the jet buttons on my bodice.
“He’ll live in the stables just down the block. Mr. Nutt will have a room there for a little while too until the new driver and stable hands are settled in and our new carriage is finished.”
“Isn’t Donny going to be a driver too? Mr. Nutt’s been teaching him while we’ve been here. What will he do?”
“Donny will drive sometimes, and sometimes he’ll sit next to the driver to keep him company.” And keep us safe, but I wouldn’t say that. “At other times, he’ll look after the horses and carriage and do any other work we find for him. You’ve seen how good he is at all the practical jobs.” I smiled. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll find plenty of jobs for him. He’s such a good worker, and we like him.”
“Tess likes him too.” Sarah’s jade-green eyes seemed to glow as she gave me a direct look that somehow conveyed significance.
“Of course she does. I expect you’ve had fun visiting all over, haven’t you?”
“Yes, lots of fun. But Mama, Tess likes Donny. Courting kind of likes.” Sarah put a hand in front of her mouth and mimed a suppressed giggle. “She wants to hold hands with him.”
I felt uneasy. “You’re far too young to be thinking about romance, Sarah.” I stroked the ringlets of bright copper hair that shone against my black dress. Sarah was the sharp, noticing kind of child, and she spent much too much time in adult company. “You know you mustn’t gossip about Tess and Donny with anyone, don’t you?”
“Thou shalt not go up and down as a talebearer among thy people,” Sarah intoned solemnly. “Tess just taught me that. She showed me where it says so in her Bible. That was because I told a little tale about a big boy who lives in the house opposite. About how he got whipped for looking up his cousin’s skirt. Oops.” This time Sarah put both hands over her mouth, as if to stop any more gossip leaking out.
I sighed. “Then you understand you’re not to gossip about Tess and Donny? Even to Miss Baker. Tess might well like Donny in the way you say, but he might not be interested in her. I’ve seen no sign of him liking her in a courting sort of way.”
I almost added, Have you? But wouldn’t that be encouraging Sarah to gossip? Sometimes being a mother felt like walking through a forest full of traps.
“Tess says he’s shy of girls.”
“He might well be, at that. And isn’t he younger than Tess?”
“Only three years.” Sarah held up three fingers to illustrate the point. “His birthday is three days after Tess’s, and three is Tess’s favorite number now. Oh, Mama! Are we going to celebrate your birthday? Tess and I have made something for you.”
“When we’re all together at the Palmer House, we’ll order a little cake for the four of us.”
“And ice cream?”
“And ice cream.” I hugged Sarah to me. With all the time spent outdoors riding the Parnells’ pony, she was becoming lithe and whip-strong, a creature of iron and flame, like my father. She had his love of learning and innate curiosity—I remembered my Papa as always reading books—but the hard core of determination, and the daintiness that hid it, were Mama’s. All I saw of John Harvey Venton in her were the crisp waves in her hair, her eyes, and the shape of her face. But those were unmistakable.
“I didn’t really gossip about Tess to you, did I, Mama?” Sarah’s voice was muffled against my dress, but when she pulled away her expression was anxious. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t believe it’s gossip if somebody tells somebody else about somebody else because they’re worried about somebody else.”
I mentally worked my way throu
gh the “somebodies” for a moment and frowned.
“Why are you worried? Are you afraid Tess will leave us if she wants to marry?” I had to admit that idea worried me too. “If it ever came to that, darling, I promise Papa and I would make very sure Tess was well looked after.”
“I don’t think I’m worried about Tess getting married, not really.” The center of Sarah’s smooth forehead wrinkled. “It’s just that—well, isn’t Donny a kind of servant?”
“An employee,” I said quickly. “He’s a working man, just like Papa. Papa was fortunate to get a good start in life—he inherited Grandmama Rutherford’s business. Otherwise he would have started with nothing, as Donny has.”
Sarah blinked hard. “But we’re rich and Donny isn’t. He only has the wages Papa gives him, doesn’t he?”
“He has wages, yes. And a place to sleep and food and clothes that we buy for him. He earns those things by working hard for us.”
“But Tess is a rich lady. And she sits and drinks tea with all the other rich ladies, doesn’t she? The ones who come to see you and the ones you and Tess go to visit.”
“Yes.”
“Sooo . . .” Sarah frowned. “Won’t the other rich ladies say Tess shouldn’t like Donny because he shovels Gentleman’s muck out of the stable? They’re always talking about finding a ‘suitable’ husband for young ladies. Wouldn’t that mean one who doesn’t shovel muck?”
“Oh, heavens.” I put my head in my hands. “How is it you even come up with these things at six years old? And what does it matter what the ‘rich ladies’ think?”
“Nearly six and a half, Mama. It does matter. It matters what the rich ladies think of you if you take tea with them.” Her rosebud lips trembled slightly.
“Oh, Sarah.” I cupped her small face in my hands, kissing the tiny wrinkles on her forehead. “This is about your ‘bad word,’ isn’t it?”