The Pattern Artist

by Moser, Nancy;

  He stepped out to greet them. “ ’Evening.”

  “Yes it is,” Maude said.

  They began their walk home, but it wasn’t “as always” at all. Sean did not draw her hand around his arm. Nor did he ask about her day, and she didn’t dare ask him about his.

  “This is a delightful conversation we’re having,” Maude said after a block walked in silence.

  “I’m just tired,” Sean said.

  Annie nodded. She was tired, too. Drained. She glanced at Maude and made a short shake of her head, hoping Maude would let it go. Perhaps it was best to just let him be.

  They approached the corner where Maude turned. “Have a nice evening, you two,” she said. “If you can.”

  Why did you add that last bit?

  “Maude, wait,” Sean said. “I’m turning, too.”

  “You are?” Annie asked.

  “If you remember, I’m moving today. Thomas is meeting me at my apartment to help.” He looked her straight in the eye. “I’m moving to be closer to you.”

  It was not said with tenderness, but as a reminder of his sacrifice. What should she say? What could she say but “Thank you.”

  He blinked, as if surprised by her answer. His face softened. “Will you be all right getting home?”

  “Of course.”

  He hesitated a moment. “Good-bye, then.”

  Although he’d said good-bye dozens of times before, this time seemed different. Final. “You don’t have to move if you don’t want to,” she said.

  His countenance fell. “You don’t want me to?”

  “Of course I want you to, but considering … I don’t want you to feel you have to.”

  He broke their gaze and looked to the ground. “I’d better go.”

  She watched him walk away as Maude’s voice resounded in her head: “Learn to keep your mouth shut, Annie Wood.”

  Then she walked toward home, her gaze down, her arms wrapped tightly around her body. I certainly mucked that up.

  She started as a church bell began to strike the hour…. Four, five, six.

  With the resonance of the bells still hanging in the air, Annie stopped walking and turned toward the church. She climbed the steps and took a seat at the top, pulling her skirt and coat over her legs against the cold.

  She was immediately reminded of last Friday when she and Sean had sat on the steps of St. Patrick’s. They’d discussed the job offer.

  So much had happened since then.

  She leaned her head upon her knees. What should I do? I need direction.

  “Hey, missy.”

  She looked up and saw a disheveled man standing on the steps nearby. “Yes?”

  “That’s me place.”

  Even though it made no sense to do so, she stood and apologized. The man sat where she had sat then unwrapped a cloth and pulled out a heel of bread—half-eaten.

  Annie dug a coin from her pocket and handed it to him. Then she headed in the direction of home.

  Edna had to work late, so Annie had the flat to herself. She put a pot of soup on the stove so they could eat later and then went to the window of the front room where she could see the brownstone across the street.

  And then she saw Sean and Thomas walking up the street carrying two suitcases and a carpetbag. She was relieved to feel glad to see him. Perhaps she did want him to move close.

  Then why haven’t you told him that?

  When he looked up at her window, she slipped to the side, out of sight. Coward.

  Then she saw Edna going over to the men, greeting them. She pointed to her apartment, and Annie feared she was inviting them to dinner.

  It would be the right thing to do.

  But Sean shook his head and they parted. A minute later Annie saw the light in Sean’s new apartment turn on.

  “I’m home,” Edna said, taking off her coat and hat. “I smell soup.”

  “It should be ready soon,” Annie said as she went to stir it.

  “How was your day?”

  Annie paused in the stirring, deciding whether she should share. “It was fine,” she said.

  Edna had endured enough of her dirty laundry.

  Annie couldn’t sleep. The knowledge that Sean was right across the street, and that he was angry at her …

  She glanced at the clock. Two in the morning. There was nothing she could do about it now.

  Or was there?

  On a whim she tiptoed out to the parlor and retrieved a piece of stationery and a pencil from Edna’s desk. She returned to her room and wrote a note:

  Dear Sean,

  Please forgive me for all the trouble I have caused you, and not just trouble but confusion and doubt.

  I am very glad you have moved close, and I appreciate your constant care and concern for my well-being.

  I suffer many regrets, but you are not one of them.

  Sleep well.

  She paused, unsure how to sign it: “Sincerely”? “Affectionately”? “With love”?

  She decided on simply Annie.

  She folded it in half then slipped on her shoes, a skirt over her nightgown, and then her jacket. Her hair fell upon her shoulders—totally unacceptable for a girl her age, but odds were, no one would see her.

  Annie was glad Edna was a deep sleeper, but she left the apartment with as much stealth as possible and took the stairs in the same manner so as not to disturb the other tenants.

  Being outside at this time of night reminded her of the first night she, Iris, and Danny had slept on the streets. This was a better locale than the alley they’d chosen, but there were still dangers about. Generally people who were out in the wee hours were up to no good.

  Except her. Hopefully her note would do a lot of good toward mending the rift between herself and Sean.

  She spotted two men talking at the far intersection, so she scurried across the street before they noticed her. The entryway was dark, with only one electric bulb on an upper landing. There were four stories to the building, and she’d seen that Sean was on the third. At the street side. She gathered her skirt and nightgown and made her way upward. There appeared to be four apartments per floor. She tiptoed to his flat and, with a kiss to the page, slipped it under his door.

  It was done. There was nothing more she could do.

  Her heart raced as she retraced her steps back home. But as she reached the street, she heard the sash of a window open. Sean’s window. He leaned out. “Annie, wait,” he whispered. He closed the window, and she stepped near the building, trying to be inconspicuous. Luckily, the men on the corner had moved on.

  A few minutes later, Sean emerged, clutching his coat closed over his shirtless torso. He wore trousers and slippers. He looked wonderful. “I got your note,” he said.

  She could only nod. “You’re moved in?”

  “I am, but …” He shook the topic away. “Not everything can be fixed with an ‘I’m sorry.’”

  “But this can be? Please?”

  He touched the hair around her face, letting his fingers glide its length. “This can be.”

  She fell into his arms, wrapping herself in his forgiveness, needing his strength. “Thank you.”

  He kissed the top of her head then gently stepped away. “Till tomorrow, then.”

  “Till tomorrow.”

  She noticed that he waited to go inside until she was at the door of her building. She waved. He kissed his fingers.

  Thank You, Lord, for Your many mercies.

  Finally, sleep could come.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  What if we did something like this?” Annie drew a sleeve with a slight bell shape at the forearms. “Nothing drastic, but something a little more graceful than the usual tight sleeve.”

  Mrs. Downs perused the drawing. “It’s not done. Slim sleeves are the norm.”

  “But isn’t that the point?” Annie said. “Taking what exists and innovating it into something a bit new?”

  Dora gave the sketch a glance then went ba
ck to her dress form. “Those sleeves will catch on things.”

  Annie listened yet ignored her. In the weeks she’d been working at Butterick she’d learned that Dora was the naysayer in almost every design. Annie offered her defense. “It will provide more ease of movement. And air. We’re designing for summer. We’re trying to show something new.”

  “Suit yourself,” Dora said.

  “Curb your attitude, Dora,” Mrs. Downs said. “Butterick is rooted in innovation.” To Annie she said, “Carry on. Piece it out for me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Once again Annie was given the go-ahead to create a pattern from one of her designs. Not every idea had been met with enthusiasm, and some had been discarded for this reason or that, but the rejections only heightened the sweetness of each victory.

  Annie had just cut a new length of muslin when Mrs. Sampson walked into the department.

  “Mrs. Downs. Ladies,” she said with a nod.

  This was the second time Annie had seen her since the dinner and the job offer, yet far from the tenth time that the woman had contacted her via notes and even letters. She was nothing if not persistent, each time asking if Annie had made a decision. And each time—if Annie responded at all—she asked for more time.

  Annie had been praying for an answer, yes or no, but so far hadn’t received any heavenly nudge that sent her toward a certain decision with confidence. And so she’d hedged, waiting for God to make things clear.

  As Mrs. Downs and Mrs. Sampson chatted in the office, Annie tried to focus on her work. She even called another girl over to the table, hoping her presence would deter a personal conversation with Mrs. Sampson. No one but Sean and Edna knew of the job offer, and Annie hoped to keep it that way.

  Then why not just tell her no and be done with it?

  She knew that was the only way to rid herself of Mrs. Sampson, but she just couldn’t shut the door on the opportunity quite yet.

  Her attempt at evasion was to no avail. The two women came out of the office, and Mrs. Downs beckoned Annie to join them.

  “Mrs. Sampson wishes to speak to you alone. I’ve given her use of my office for the sake of privacy.”

  Annie was immediately alarmed by this assertiveness and regretted the attention it brought. Yet she had no choice but to comply.

  Once in the office, they both remained standing, which Annie hoped was an indication the meeting would be short. She put on a smile for those watching from the workroom—which she had to fake—and a curious look, which she did not. “Yes, Mrs. Sampson?”

  “You’ve evaded me long enough, my dear.”

  “I know. And I’m truly sorry. It’s such a big decision. I simply need more time.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve run out of time. Tomorrow Harold and I are leaving on a ship bound for the warmth of Italy. We will be gone until the spring.” She adjusted her gloves. “By the way, you know one of the other passengers.”

  “I can’t imagine who.”

  “Mr. Straus and his wife. From Macy’s. We know them quite well—and by the by, he speaks very highly of you.”

  Annie was glad for the compliment, yet Mrs. Sampson’s ultimatum remained.

  “I’d like to say it’s now or never,” the woman said, “but I’m afraid I’m too much of an optimist for that. Yet I do wish for your decision. It’s the polite thing to do, don’t you think?”

  “I agree.” Yet faced with the need for a decision, Annie still balked. But then, without her bidding, words began to spill out—words determining her future. “I can’t leave Butterick. They’ve been so kind to me.”

  “Harold and I will be kind to you.” Mrs. Sampson nodded toward the workroom. “Do they believe in you like we do?”

  “I am giving them reason to. I am working very hard to learn from them.”

  “Learning to do their bidding.”

  “You wish for me to do your bidding.”

  “Touché, my dear.” She straightened a piece of paper on the edge of the desk with a single finger. “Yet our bidding leads to the freedom to design what you wish to design. Do you have that freedom here?”

  The word freedom held such power. “Partially.”

  Mrs. Sampson raised an eyebrow.

  “Perhaps not true freedom to fully design. No. Not as yet.”

  “And you won’t. Ever.”

  “Neither of us know that. But I do know my limits. I’m not proficient enough in design and construction to have full freedom. If I ever go out on my own, I need to know much more than I do now. To build anything you have to have a firm foundation.”

  “You are a practical sort.”

  “It’s not a negative trait.”

  “I suppose not.” She adjusted her gloves a second time. “I do wish you the best, Annie.”

  “I wish you the same. I will always remember the faith you had in me. Perhaps someday I’ll be ready to deserve it.” As the woman turned to leave, Annie asked, “What should we tell the ladies in the workroom about our conversation?”

  “Leave it to me.”

  They walked out of the office, and Annie returned to her workstation. Mrs. Sampson thanked Mrs. Downs for the use of her office. “Alas, Miss Wood doesn’t feel proficient enough to make me some dresses.”

  Dora raised a hand. “I’ll sew them for you, Mrs. Sampson.”

  With a blink, Mrs. Sampson said, “Perhaps in the spring, after we return from Europe.”

  As soon as she left, Mrs. Downs clapped her hands. “Back to work, ladies. And Annie? You made a wise choice not to dive into dressmaking. You have much to learn.”

  “That I do, Mrs. Downs.”

  There was a general murmuring among the other girls about what they would have done with such an opportunity, and Annie was glad to let them chatter on. On her own part, she felt exhilarated. Although she had not expected to make a choice today, God had nudged her to the point of decision. The result? She felt a burden lifted. She felt … peace.

  She remembered the dinner conversation at the Sampsons’ when they’d discussed knowing when you were making the right decision. Sean had suggested “practice and peace.” Through today’s decision Annie had gained both.

  Smart man, that Sean.

  On the last Thursday in November, Annie was awakened by the fragrance of nutmeg and cinnamon. But before she could wallow in the heady, cozy smell there was a knock on her bedroom door.

  “Get up, girlie. I need your help in the kitchen.”

  Ah yes. Today was a holiday. Thanksgiving Day.

  She’d been looking forward to this day ever since Edna had told her about it, for she had much to be thankful for. Plus, it would be a time when she could reveal her big decision to Edna and Sean. It had been hard to keep it quiet all week, but considering the weeks it had held her captive, she’d decided a more formal announcement on a day of celebration would be the proper time.

  Annie got dressed quickly and joined Edna in the kitchen where she was putting a turkey in the oven. Fresh pumpkin pies sat on a sideboard.

  “I do hope the turkey is large enough.”

  “There’s enough there for many more than six. What time did you get up?”

  “Four. I needed to get the pies in to free up the oven for the turkey.”

  “You should have awakened me.”

  “There’s no need for two of us to be tired. Besides, I wasn’t sleeping well. I am so excited to have a real party for Thanksgiving. It’s been far too long.”

  Annie tied on an apron. “I’m excited, too—for it’s my first holiday. Set me to work.”

  “You can shuck the corn then peel potatoes. I’m going to get the cranberries on the stove for the cranberry-fig chutney. And I need to punch down the dough for the rolls.”

  The friends made a good team, each intent on their work. “This is also my first holiday off,” Annie said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “At Crompton Hall we had a free day every week, but as far as days free due to a holiday? The servants only g
ot a few hours off for Christmas and Easter. We still had to work. The food did not cook nor the house clean itself.”

  “English Pilgrims started the Thanksgiving tradition over here. In the 1600s they celebrated good harvest with native Indians.” She nodded to the cranberries. “I believe it was the Indians who introduced them to berries.”

  “So it’s been a holiday since then?”

  “Oh no, for we have not been a country since then. It was celebrated here and there but it was only during our awful Civil War that our president, Abraham Lincoln, declared it a national celebration.”

  “It’s a good tradition. We have so much to be thankful for.”

  “That we do.”

  Annie was glad Sean was the first to arrive. She needed a moment alone with him and Edna before the other guests came for dinner.

  The aroma of freshly baked rolls accompanied her announcement. “Can you stop a moment, Edna? I want to share something important with the two of you.”

  Edna gave the corn an extra stir then gave Annie her full attention. “Important?”

  “I made a decision regarding Mrs. Sampson’s offer.”

  “It’s about time,” Edna said. “I’d bragged that you were a girl who made quick decisions, but this one has dragged on for weeks.”

  Sean’s eyebrows rose. “When did you decide?”

  “Monday last. Mrs. Sampson came into work and gave me an ultimatum of sorts since they are traveling to Italy for the winter.”

  “And you said …?” he asked.

  “I declined their offer. I’m staying at Butterick.”

  Sean spun her around, nearly knocking over a chair. “I’m so glad!”

  She hadn’t expected his exuberance. “I didn’t know it meant so much that I stay.”

  “I didn’t either until I heard your decision. I like that we work together. I like walking with you to and from. If you worked elsewhere, when would I see you?”

  His point was well taken.

  “What was your reasoning?” Edna asked.

  “A pragmatic one. I need more time to learn about fashion before I can be held responsible to fully design it.”

  “Good for you,” Sean said.