by Jane Steen
Mr. Canavan smiled, handing the piece back to Martin. “I like jewels as I like all beautiful things. That’s why I called my theater the Jewel Box. Mrs. Rutherford, could I trouble you for a brief consultation?”
I acceded and led the way to a chamber that adjoined the suite of vast rooms where we displayed our fabrics. Decorated with heavily carved woodwork and blue tiles, hung with gasoliers and sparsely furnished with large tables and comfortable chairs, it was where the couturières brought customers who had asked for specific advice. Here we could find a little peace to talk, perhaps display sketches or send for fabrics, and determine the customer’s wishes before inviting them up to the various sanctums and fitting rooms on the second and third floors.
“Please sit down.” I indicated a chair next to a free table and then smiled as Mr. Canavan hastened to pull out a chair for me first. There was nothing wrong with his manners. “This is about your costumes, I suppose?” I wanted to add, I hope you won’t find us too expensive, but in the course of my dressmaking career I had learned to bite my tongue when it came to discussing prices. Until the customer wanted to discuss them, of course.
I was a little disconcerted, therefore, when Mr. Canavan linked his long white fingers together and said, “I do want to assure you, dear lady, that I am not about to ask for credit. I will pay cash for your work.”
“I wasn’t going to—” but I flushed a little, and Mr. Canavan noticed. He laughed.
“Did you think I was reading your mind? Not at all. I’m simply used to the assumption that a theater manager, particularly an actor-manager, must needs be teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. I assure you I manage my affairs well, and my credit is excellent. I will supply you with a letter from my bankers.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“But it should be. After all, you barely know me—I’m not even in the city directory as yet. And I’m going to ask you for quite a lot. Not just in terms of quantity; I will be a demanding customer. Dresses for the stage should be well made and easy to move in, as well as being delightful to the eye since they have to go through a lot of wear and tear. My ladies are in despair with the rags they are currently wearing. I will save money in repairs; and if you recall, my theater is small, and the audience is close. We cannot rely on distance to render our mends and patches invisible.”
“And do you want me to design everything?”
“Design and cut. I hear you are a superb cutter. I presume your atélier will do the rest.” He pronounced the French word with what sounded to me like a perfect accent. There was something quaintly British, I realized, in the way he spoke when not on stage.
“I must warn you, I will be away for much of the summer,” I said. “But if you give me a commission now, I can promise you the work can start within the month—if you don’t mind my not being there for the finishing. Usually, I would supervise the final touches.”
He nodded. “I realize you are no mere employee, dear lady. We will manage splendidly. May I give you some initial instructions?”
“Of course.” I stood, and he did the same. “My sketchbooks and so on are upstairs. Would you like to start now?”
I spent much of the following two weeks visiting Elizabeth and the rest of the time drawing sketches. Some were for Mr. Canavan, others for my friend; as she became accustomed to motherhood, I started to imagine dresses for her that reflected her new status in subtle ways while retaining the freshness suited to a recent bride. I arrived one morning with a portfolio in my hand and waited while Elizabeth settled her daughter to sleep.
“Now we can talk.”
Elizabeth put a finger to her lips as she led me away from the cradle. Little Mabel, already filling out in the cheeks, was a pretty sight. Her small red mouth moved in a sucking motion and her fingers stretched then relaxed, curling into her palms as sleep took her farther into its embrace. I had to smile; despite my own ambivalence about more children, the sight of Mabel reminded me of the pleasurable moments of Sarah’s infancy, the sweet, soft touch of my baby’s skin against my lips.
Elizabeth brought me back to the present by gently grasping my shoulder to draw me out of the nursery. She left the door ajar; we tiptoed down the stairs to the parlor where Elizabeth shut the door firmly.
“Nurse will hear her if she cries.” She snorted. “When she cries.”
“Oh, hush.” I was quite used to Elizabeth’s pretense at diffidence. “You have a sweet, healthy baby who sleeps well and feeds well. Don’t pretend you don’t adore her. And you look wonderful.”
“Thanks to your visits.” Elizabeth passed an arm through mine as we settled on the sofa. “Mother declares I barely needed her.”
“Nonsense. Besides, it’s done me good to come here so often. Madame’s right; I have been feeling a little jaded by the pressures and responsibilities that have fallen to my lot.” I looked around the small but cheerful room with its Japanese prints and light yellow curtains. “Coming to a home where the only work is represented by a baby is no end refreshing to me at the moment.”
“Are you so averse to work you can’t bear to show me the sketches you brought?” Elizabeth’s dimples showed. “I was looking forward to them as the highlight of your visit.”
In reply, I handed her my portfolio, watching as she untied the cloth ribbons.
“Oh, Nell.” Elizabeth looked up, her eyes bright. “I can hardly bear to wait for my next quarter’s dress allowance.”
“We can measure you just before we leave for Europe—I generally find that about six weeks after the birth is the best time. Then we can start on the dresses as soon as you tell us to.”
“But these gowns are just mine, Nell.” Elizabeth’s expression was avid. “What about the costumes for the play? I asked you to bring those.”
“And how would you think if I showed your sketches to everyone in Chicago?” I waved a hand over the drawings. “You pay for exclusivity. So does Mr. Canavan.”
“How horribly like a businesswoman you sound.” Elizabeth pouted prettily.
“The benefit of increasing experience.” I shrugged, grinning at my friend’s sulk. “And having a Chicago merchant for a husband. I am allowed to tell you the name of the play: A Summer Frolic. And I can hint to you that the dresses match the title. In fact, my efforts on Mr. Canavan’s behalf partly inspired your sketches, so if the play’s a success, you will be the most fashionable woman in Chicago.”
As I was a businesswoman, I forbore to inform Elizabeth that I had reduced my prices to Victor Canavan in exchange for a full-page advertisement in the bill of entertainment.
“Now listen,” I said as Elizabeth continued to study the sketches, “I have a favor to ask you.”
“Anything.” Elizabeth’s eyes were blue pools as she examined a frivolous confection of broderie anglaise and pin-striped cotton, trimmed with lace and pink bows that swooped across the underskirts like a gathering of butterflies on a white flower.
“Would you keep an eye on Thea while we’re away?”
Elizabeth turned her head to look at me. “Are you worried about her?”
“No-o-o-o-o, but it won’t hurt to be a little vigilant. After all, Teddy will be away too.”
“Hmmm. What do you want to know?”
“Mostly, I suppose, if she has any visitors at the store or if there are any rumors about her. Madame has assured me she will keep her eyes and ears open, but it would be nice if there were someone else who had an excuse to visit the sales floor.”
“Well, I certainly do.” Elizabeth’s countenance brightened. “Now that I’m no longer as round as a balloon, I can simply haunt Rutherford’s. There are the fittings, of course, and I will need a new hat or two.” She patted her thick corn-colored hair. “I can think of a thousand excuses to spend time in your store. In which department does Thea work?”
“In costume jewelry, although Mr. McCombs has occasionally asked for her. Somehow she’s wormed her way into his good graces. She has quite a knack for sales
, you understand, and all jewelry looks marvelous on her. She has lovely coloring and a certain poise—she’s stopped rounding her shoulders and hanging her head.”
“Well, thank heaven for that. She has the potential to be quite beautiful.”
“Yes, and she’s a hard worker. She appears to be using her skill at manipulating people for the purpose of selling our goods, which is something of a relief.”
“When you say visitors, do you mean she may have a gentleman follower? Or two?”
“I certainly hope not—she’s not sixteen till June. But she’s a pretty girl and no doubt has attracted attention. I owe it to Catherine to be a little vigilant.”
“I’ll do my best to follow in your footsteps as a department store spy.” Elizabeth nudged me with her elbow. “And what’s it like working with Mr. Canavan? Do you thrill to his deep and resonant voice? Does his handsome face make your heart beat faster?”
“And I a bride of just one year? Not in the least. In fact, he’s easy to work with. Polite and reserved—never talks anything but business.”
“How disappointing.”
“He seems genuinely interested in what I offer on the dressmaking side.” I frowned, thinking back over my conversation with the actor. “Come to think of it, he talked quite a lot about art; I would surmise that he’s spent a great deal of time in France and Italy, especially Italy. He seems very knowledgeable on such subjects. But he said nothing about himself.”
“And was what he said interesting?”
“Some of it went rather above my head,” I admitted. “But he sent me a book afterward—about the Renaissance, by an Englishman called Pater—and said I should read it before I go to Europe. I’m trying, but it’s dreadfully hard going. I don’t really care about what beauty means to me or to anyone else; I simply like to create something beautiful because it’s beautiful, and I like making a woman feel the joy of owning an ensemble that enhances her own charm. There’s beauty in even the plainest woman, you know.”
“I know that you see it, and that’s enough for me.” Elizabeth grinned. “How amusing, Nell—you, the most reluctant of students, forced to study for the sake of the art you already execute quite superbly.”
“Madame Belvoix is very pleased that I’m reading the dratted book,” I confessed. “She keeps talking to me about enriching my talents, whatever that means. I’m becoming somewhat nervous about meeting the great Worth—what if he also expects me to be some sort of expert in the arts? I thought I was an excellent dressmaker, but people like that make me doubt my own abilities. Supposing he decides I’m not good enough to bother with?”
“He won’t, not if you’re recommended by Madame.” Elizabeth patted my hand. “And you’re not being sent to him as an expert, are you? You’re being sent there to learn.”
I could feel the anxiety building within me, a sensation I had had frequently in the last two weeks.
“I just don’t know if I’m ready. It’s only, what, two months? No time at all when you consider how much I have to do to ensure we’re all ready to leave.”
“You have servants. You’ll manage.” Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed. “You’re like an actress who thinks she’s nervous about going on stage but will be magnificent as soon as she steps on the boards. The only way you’ll find out how you can perform for the great Worth is to do it.”
27
Crossing
The weeks to our departure flew by. They seemed to go quicker than the voyage itself, which was somewhat monotonous. We did not see Teddy at mealtimes, but he often visited us on the deck of the ship so he could talk to us and play with Sarah, of whom he was fond. I did not get a chance to speak with him alone until we had almost traversed the Atlantic.
“Are you sure you won’t stay with us for a little while?” I asked him. “Not even to see London?”
I wasn’t certain Teddy had heard me at first. He had taken off his wide-brimmed hat to prevent it from being swept away by the salt-laden breeze that tugged at my own hat, firmly pinned to my hair as it was, and threatened my coiffure. Below us, green-gray waves ran past in endless repetition, varied only by their caps of white; above us, the vast sky performed its ever-changing variations on clouds and sun. It was a scene to which I was all too accustomed after several days at sea. I suspected that Teddy too was straining his eyes for a sight of the coast of Ireland, which, we had been assured, was not too far over the horizon.
“It reminds me a little of Kansas, in the oddest way.” Teddy turned to lean his back against the railing of the promenade deck, dragging his gaze away from the restless sea. “That sense of endless space and freedom and the sky spread above us like God, watching and protecting.”
“I hope He is protecting us.” I looked up into the young man’s solemn face. “You’re right, this ocean gives me the same impression that the plains did—that we’re infinitely small and frail.” I glanced over to where light streamed down through a rift in the clouds, turning the waves a lighter green. “It makes all human effort seem futile—although Martin would say that we’ve conquered the sea.”
Teddy snorted softly, his eyes also on the faraway shaft of sunlight. “Conquered, is it? But if it makes us feel better to entertain such illusions . . . We can only do what we can with the work in front of us and try to leave the world a little better than we found it.”
Now he looked directly at me. “You understand I can’t stay with you. It’s mighty kind of you to want to give me a vacation, and I must seem like an ungrateful guest to you, but I would have been uncomfortable traveling in first class and staying in big hotels with you. It’s hard to explain, but I just don’t believe I belong there.”
“You’re not the first young man I’ve heard that from.” I was thinking of Donny, of course. “You know your own mind.”
“I’m grateful for your understanding and your generosity, really I am.” Teddy smiled hesitantly. “I’ll see the sights of Europe right enough, in my own way, and at the time the Lord thinks is appropriate. I wouldn’t have come, but I felt so pulled to Europe I couldn’t help it. I can sense Pa inside me, urging me on to do some good work and give my spiritual muscles some exercise for a change.”
He jerked his head in the direction of the wide staircase leading down to the Grand Saloon. “You must pardon my directness, Mrs. Rutherford, but those people there are empty—sounding brasses, a thing that makes a noise in the wind but has no substance. It’s been just a week and I’m plumb tired of the sight of them—no offense meant, of course.” He looked down at his boots. “I guess I’m as rude as Thea, saying such things.”
“You’re trying to tell me the truth. I suppose neither of you are cut out for society after all those years on the plains.”
“I suppose I’m not.” He hesitated. “In some ways, it was just as much a shock to me as it was to Thea to find you so rich. The store, the Palmer House, the carriages, the clothes—it was as if I left you in Kansas as an ordinary woman and found you in Chicago as someone entirely new. Only Sarah’s the same—when she forgets to show off.” He grinned, and I couldn’t help smiling in response.
“You’ve changed too; you wouldn’t have been so ready to judge two years ago,” I pointed out. “I wish you’d spend more time with these people you’re so eager to condemn. Many of them do a lot of good; some of them are considerable philanthropists; and quite a few of the women are involved in charitable work and would have listened to you with interest.”
Teddy looked at me for a long moment before he spoke, his round gray eyes solemn. Then the corners of his lips twitched just a little, and he beat his hat gently with his left hand.
“But they’re not my people. I often get the impression we live in different universes, you and I.” He returned his gaze to the shifting, watery horizon. “Not that I blame you for being worldly, nor Mr. Rutherford. You’re good folk in your way, and I’m certain you love God and seek to do His will as far as your understanding of it goes—but you’re not godly, not in the way
the people I’m drawn to are. Not like Mamma and Pa.”
“I’m not the woman you’d prefer to step into your mother’s place where Thea’s concerned.” I smiled briefly to let Teddy know I didn’t resent the implications of his words.
“To be honest, I’m not sure if even Mamma and Pa could have curbed Thea, so I don’t blame you for falling short. She’s built an iron shell around her heart, and God will need to perform a miracle to melt it.”
“But your mother would have tried?”
“She would, and perhaps Thea would have hated her for it.” He moved one hand impatiently, gesturing toward the sky. “We’ll never know. But you—forgive my frankness—you’ll let your own excellent intentions regarding Thea get in the way of doing any real good.”
“Are my intentions so terrible? I want Thea to be respectable; of course I do. More respectable than I was.” I was aware a flush stained my cheeks, but I stared steadily at Teddy. “Not that I did anything worse than many a young man has done—make a foolish, impulsive mistake—except I had to pay for my error.”
“What you call respectability isn’t godliness. God’s standards are different,” said Teddy softly.
“God’s standards are too often what men tell us they are,” I snapped back with a swiftness that surprised me. “I sinned once, yes, but then I sinned no more—not in that way, in any case. I had to practice deception for Sarah’s sake because decent society would not allow me to be truthful and still live within its bounds. I repented, and isn’t that what you want? I hope not to give Thea any cause to need such repentance. I may not be your mother, but I will do my best for her.”
“You will find her a rich husband.”
“If that’s what she wants. Or an ambitious one, or a kind one, but one who makes her happy—if such a thing can be achieved.” I frowned up at Teddy. “And only if that’s what she wants, when she’s older, and if she wants our help. She may want to work. Some of our department heads are single women who have never wanted marriage.” I shrugged. “Perhaps that’s what Thea wants. Would you object?”