The Pattern Artist

by Moser, Nancy;

  “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  Annie pinned on her hat and gathered her jacket and purse to leave. Her first day was finally finished. As was she. It would take the rest of her stamina to get home.

  Just as she left the locker room, Mildred stepped in her path. Although they’d been introduced, Annie had been so busy throughout the day that they’d never had a chance to get to know each other.

  “Hello, Mildred. Are you as knackered as I am, because—”

  “Because you hogged all the customers?”

  “I did no such thing.” Annie had second thoughts, trying to remember if she’d stepped up when she should have let Mildred handle a sale. “Or if I did, I apologize. It being my first day I was probably overly zealous.”

  “You ruined everything.” Mildred took a step closer, making Annie want to step back. But something about the girl’s stance and the way she scowled made Annie understand that it was important to stand her ground. She’d dealt with bullies before and knew strength was the best deterrent. Besides, Mildred was six inches shorter than Annie.

  “I don’t recall ruining anything,” Annie said. “In fact, Mrs. MacDonald and Mrs. Gold commended my work.”

  “Bootlicker.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t think you can come into my department and take over, acting like a know-it-all.”

  Annie took a step back and then another, turning toward the mirror to adjust her hat. “I don’t believe it is anyone’s department—unless you are Mr. Straus.” The hat properly adjusted, she faced Mildred. “When I saw him this morning he said if I worked hard I would attain all my aspirations. He’s such a nice man.”

  Mildred’s expressions revealed her battle between anger, frustration, and a tinge of envy and fear. “I’ve met him, too, you know.”

  “Jolly for you.”

  Mildred moved close and held a finger in Annie’s face. “Watch it, Annie Wood. You don’t want to cross me.”

  No, she didn’t. With difficulty Annie masked her nerves with a smile and turned on her heel. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go home and rest up for another successful selling day tomorrow.”

  Annie left the room with a stride of bravado. Yet as she made her way toward the exit, she suffered a shiver. It was never good to make an enemy.

  Annie didn’t get home until nearly seven. Jane was washing the dinner dishes.

  “You missed the meal.”

  “I apologize.” She locked the bakery door behind her.

  “I kept a plate warm for you.” Jane removed a plate of roast beef and potatoes from the oven and set it on the table.

  Annie removed her hat and jacket and sat at the table with a thud. “That’s very kind of you.”

  Jane brought her a glass of water. “How was your first day?”

  “Long.”

  “As a maid you’re used to long days. Longer days than this, yes?”

  Annie cut a piece of meat and chewed on it, along with her response. “Working at the store seems longer because my day is out in public. As a maid I worked hard, but I was alone much of the time.” She rubbed her cheeks. “My face is sore from being cheery.”

  Jane laughed. “My hands are sore from washing.”

  “Again I’m sorry for giving you a respite then taking it away so quickly.”

  “From the moment I met you I knew you were destined for big things.”

  “How did you know that?”

  Jane shrugged. “You have an air of success about you.”

  Annie liked the sound of that.

  Annie was already in bed when Iris and Danny came down from the Tuttles’ living quarters.

  “I didn’t know you were back,” Iris said.

  Danny sat on his bed. “You should have come upstairs. We had a rousing game of Whist.”

  “I don’t have the energy to hold the cards.” She wished they would turn out the light.

  “Was being a clerk everything you thought it would be?” Iris asked.

  Annie was unsure what Iris hoped to hear. She was too tired to come up with anything but the truth. “Actually, it’s quite glorious. I enjoy helping customers put together a new ensemble from pattern to cloth to accessories. But it’s also grinding work. My feet are throbbing.”

  Danny doused the lamp so he and Iris could get undressed. “I got to drive the wagon all the way to Chinatown today. It’s like going all the way to China itself.”

  She heard the rustle of the straw mattress as he got under the covers.

  “How about you, Iris? What did you do today?” Annie asked.

  There was a long patch of silence. “I learned how to play jacks.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s picking up little pieces of things before a ball bounces twice. I got to fivesies. And Nelly is an expert at doing the horse before carriage. But little Joe kept stealing the ball and …”

  Annie had no idea what she was talking about, nor did she want to know. Sleep. Sleep.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Walking through Macy’s on the way to her department, Annie paused at the display of sewing machines. She spotted Mrs. Holmquist, the clerk who had talked to her on her first visit to the store.

  Mrs. Holmquist was setting up for the day and smiled at Annie. She began to give her the customer pitch: “May I interest you in the time-saving, high-quality aspects of our latest sewing machine? It is a must in any household that has an eye for custom fashion.”

  “That’s a good line,” Annie said.

  “Thank you. I think the ‘custom fashion’ phrase is the clincher.”

  “Because every woman wants to think her fashion style is one of a kind?”

  She touched the tip of her nose. Then she stared at Annie. “I’ve met you, haven’t I?”

  “I came in the store a few weeks ago, and you gave me your card.”

  Mrs. Holmquist looked at her more closely. “You’re dressed differently, but it’s more than that. You seem more … grown up.”

  Annie had to chuckle. “Life does that. And yes, I am more grown up now. And now I work here. Two weeks now. I’m Annie. Annie Wood.”

  “Edna Holmquist. And I’ve been here since bustles made our bottoms look enormous.”

  Annie liked her immensely. She glanced toward her department, not wanting to be late. “I am interested in learning how to use a machine. I know the basics of dress construction, but I’ve always sewn by hand.”

  “Are you hungry today?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Come by during your lunch break and I’ll show you the basics.”

  “But you’ll miss your lunch, too.”

  Mrs. Holmquist put a hand on her ample midsection. “I have stores enough to miss one meal.”

  They both saw Mrs. Gold coming down the aisle. “I’d better dash,” Annie said. “But I’ll be back.”

  Annie thought about the sewing lesson all morning. It seemed a bit sneaky to ask another clerk for lessons behind Mrs. MacDonald’s back—not to mention Mrs. Gold’s eagle eye. So Annie decided on the up-front approach.

  “Mrs. MacDonald, may I speak with you a moment?”

  As they walked away to gain some privacy, Mildred eyed Annie suspiciously. Mildred was always eyeing Annie suspiciously. She seemed to have two expressions: suspicion and a false smile she pasted on when helping customers.

  “Yes, Annie?” Mrs. MacDonald asked.

  “I thought it might be advantageous if I knew how to run a sewing machine.”

  “You don’t know how to use one?”

  “I’ve only hand sewn.”

  “Dear, dear. I don’t know how that point was missed during your interviews.”

  Did this mean her job was at stake? If only she hadn’t brought it up. “I assure you I am a fast learner, and Mrs. Holmquist has agreed to teach me during my lunch break.”

  “Oh, she has, has she?”

  “I think it would be advantageous to know as much as I can about sewing a garment from
start to finish to best help the customers with specific questions, don’t you?”

  “I do. Of course I do.” She looked toward Mrs. Holmquist’s department then back. “You are familiar with using patterns.”

  It was a statement. A challenge. Annie couldn’t lie. “I’ve studied the envelopes. I’ve noted the different pieces that are involved in making a garment.”

  “But you’ve never actually pinned them to fabric, cut them out, and sewn them together.”

  Suddenly being sneaky about her lessons seemed the better option. “No. I haven’t.” When Mrs. MacDonald’s eyes grew large, Annie added, “I’m going to learn that, too. Since I’ve received my first paycheck, I plan to buy some fabric and a pattern so I can start a garment from scratch, just like my customers have to do.”

  Two customers approached, thankfully ending their conversation.

  For now.

  “You slip the edge of the fabric just so,” Mrs. Holmquist said, “then lower the presser foot to keep it in place. Left hand behind, right hand in front. But first use your right hand to move the wheel on the side forward, and then let your feet get the treadle going, making the needle create the stitch.”

  Before Annie started the seam, she took a deep breath. “So many things to remember.”

  “With just a little practice it will become second nature.”

  Annie began, at first making the needle go too fast with a surge then getting control so it made the stitches with a steady rhythm. “I did it!”

  “You certainly did. You’re a natural.”

  They stopped what they were doing when a customer approached and looked at another machine. Annie experimented with reverse and pivoting at corners, and she loved the sense of taming a machine. She’d never used a machine—any machine. It made her feel bold and strong and confident, as if the world was hers to conquer.

  Mrs. Holmquist returned. “How are you faring?”

  Annie lifted the presser foot and snipped the threads. “I’m enjoying this.”

  “You should. Creating something from scratch is very satisfy—”

  “Ahem.”

  They turned around and saw the floorwalker close by, her hands clasped behind her back.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Gold,” Mrs. Holmquist said.

  The elder woman ignored the greeting. “What’s going on here?”

  “I’m giving Miss Wood a lesson in using a sewing machine.”

  “On company time?”

  “During our lunch break,” Annie said. “Mrs. Holmquist is a wonderful teacher.”

  “That may be, but I want no more lessons on the selling floor. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Annie said.

  “Yes, Mrs. Gold.”

  Annie stood. “I’m disappointed. I need to learn all of it. And Mrs. MacDonald informed me I need to learn how to use a pattern and sew a garment together from scratch.”

  Mrs. Holmquist spread her arms. “Then I’m your woman.”

  “But we can’t—”

  “We can’t have the lessons here, but I have a machine at home. And a dining table that’s perfect for cutting out patterns. Come to my place after work a few evenings a week and I’ll make you an expert in no time.”

  Annie thrilled at the thought. “I’d be happy to pay you for your time.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Holmquist said with a flip of her hand. “I’m a widow and my son lives in Pittsburgh. You would be doing me a favor by providing me with companionship and conversation beyond the sound of my own voice—for it seems I’ve taken to talking to myself.”

  Annie smiled. “Are you a good conversationalist?”

  “Not really. I argue too much.”

  Annie noted the time. “I need to get back. Would tonight be too soon?”

  “Just soon enough,” the woman said.

  Elated, Annie took a detour before returning to her duties in order to use the Macy’s pay phone. She called the Tuttles and told them she would be late getting home.

  All that accomplished, she returned to work, not needing food, not needing any fuel beyond anticipation.

  During the rest of the afternoon, while helping customers choose patterns, fabrics, and notions, Annie had a chance to peruse the Butterick fashion catalogs with her own needs in mind. She decided on a shirtwaist blouse and a five-gored skirt—very practical, yet stylish—and during a free moment she retrieved the two patterns from stock.

  Her fabric choice was made while helping a woman find the proper dress goods for an afternoon dress. A brown broadcloth would do well for Annie’s skirt, and an ivory cotton with a faint print of leaves would make a lovely blouse. On a whim she decided to create a cummerbund from some burnished-orange velveteen. Elated by the purchase for herself, she bought a length of three different colors of ribbon for Iris, Mrs. Tuttle, and Jane.

  When Annie saw Mildred was occupied, she approached Mrs. MacDonald. “Would you cut my fabric, please? And make me a ticket?”

  “You were serious about sewing yourself a garment, then.”

  “Of course I was. Mrs. Holmquist has offered to take me through the process at her home, starting this evening.”

  “That woman is a gem. You should feel very lucky to have such a teacher.”

  The fabric was cut and buttons and thread added to the purchase. Annie got the package boy to wrap up the goods. “When you’re done just slip the parcel under the counter, Robbie.”

  It felt wonderful to pay for the goods out of her own earnings. During all the time she’d worked for the Kidds and earned wages, there had never been much to spend it on in the village of Summerfield. She’d saved up twenty pounds over the years, but it could have been two hundred for all the access she had to it now that she’d run away and left it behind in England.

  She truly was starting from nothing. Wasn’t that the American way? Pulling oneself up by one’s bootstraps and making a success of it? Annie liked the sound of that challenge. And now, for the first time in her life, it all seemed very possible.

  “There,” she said, placing the coins in Mrs. MacDonald’s palm. “All paid.”

  At the end of the workday Annie was hungry—after all, she’d skipped lunch for the sewing machine lesson—but she was not at all tired. Rather, she was eager to go to Mrs. Holmquist’s for the sewing lesson.

  She gathered her jacket and hat from her locker, and on her way out, she stopped to retrieve her parcel from under the counter.

  Suddenly a man grabbed her arm. “We’ll take that, miss.”

  Annie had seen the man in the store previously and had been told he was a plainclothes security man. His main job was to catch shoplifters—

  “You think I’m stealing?” she asked.

  He took the parcel from her and opened it on the counter. “We’ve been so informed.” He seemed disappointed at the contents. “Sewing supplies?”

  Annie was incensed. She saved the spool of thread from rolling off the counter. “Yes, sewing supplies. Supplies I paid for. You can check my receipt book from today.”

  Mrs. Holmquist approached, putting on her gloves. “What’s the issue, Mr. Horace?”

  “We were informed Miss Wood was stealing.”

  “I assure you she is not.” She spotted Mrs. MacDonald and motioned her to join them. “Velma, tell Mr. Horace that Annie paid for the goods.”

  Mrs. MacDonald’s face passed from confusion to anger. “She most certainly did.” She pointed to the parcel. “Wrap it back up, Annie.”

  “But we were informed—”

  “You were informed wrong,” Mrs. MacDonald said. “And who, may we ask, was your informant?”

  “I prefer not to say.”

  “I insist you do say,” she said.

  “As do I,” Mrs. Holmquist said.

  “As do I,” Annie said.

  He looked reluctant but leaned close and said, “Miss Krieger.”

  “Mildred?” Annie wasn’t surprised.

  “I’ll deal with her tomorrow,�
�� Mrs. MacDonald said. “Now then, let us go home in peace.”

  Mr. Horace nodded and let them go.

  The three women made for the exit. “That girl,” Mrs. MacDonald said. “I don’t know what to do with her. If it’s not lollygagging in the department, it’s scowling when she should be smiling, or …”

  “Has she done anything like this before?” Mrs. Holmquist asked.

  “No.”

  “She took a dislike to me the moment I started work,” Annie said. “I have no notion why. I’ve tried to be friendly.”

  “She has a chip on her shoulder, that one does,” Mrs. MacDonald said.

  Mrs. Holmquist opened the exit door and held it for the others. “Maybe it’s time to knock it off.”

  “I know it’s necessary,” Mrs. MacDonald said. “But I’m not looking forward to the repercussions.”

  “Repercussions?” Annie asked.

  They turned south on Broadway. “She is a relative to one of the buyers.”

  “Relative or not, Macy’s holds its clerks to a certain standard.” Mrs. Holmquist said. “Falsely accusing another clerk of theft is unacceptable.”

  Mrs. MacDonald nodded. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Gold about it tomorrow.”

  “That’s settled then,” Mrs. Holmquist said.

  Annie had a bad feeling about it. Nothing about Mildred seemed “settled.”

  “Forgive the walk-up,” Mrs. Holmquist said as they reached the landing for her third-floor apartment.

  “I’m used to stairs,” Annie said. “As a housemaid I used to—”

  Mrs. Holmquist stopped in front of her door, key in hand. “You were a housemaid?”

  “All my life.”

  “Until when?”

  They heard another tenant on the stairs above. “I’ll tell you the entire story inside.”

  Mrs. Holmquist used the key. She flipped a switch and turned on the lights. “It’s not much to look at,” she said. “But it was enough for my Ernie and our son.”

  Mrs. Holmquist hooked their coats and hats on a coatrack by the door.