The Pattern Artist

by Moser, Nancy;

  “But you did. You do.”

  To hear it put so bluntly … “Yes, I do.” Annie randomly turned the pages of a magazine in her lap. “I thought I would be asked to move up. I thought Lady Newley knew that I was the one doing the alterations.”

  “Ah. So the others took the credit?”

  “That’s why I left. Her ladyship and Miss Henrietta were here in New York visiting a relative when I finally realized what a dupe I had been.” She shrugged. “I ran away, got a job at Macy’s, met Sean, and am now at Butterick.”

  “You have ambition.”

  There was admiration in her voice. “Perhaps too much.” Annie considered speaking of her relationship with Sean and how her ambition complicated things.

  But Mrs. Culver did it for her. “Sean wants to marry you and you’re not sure.”

  Annie suffered a laugh. “How did you figure all that out?”

  “I saw the love in his eyes. He’s never brought a girl home to meet us. But then you were quick to tell us you were not engaged.”

  “He hasn’t actually proposed.”

  “He will. I guarantee it. And when he does, what will you say?”

  Annie turned more pages, buying time. “I don’t know. I think I love him, I do care for him tremendously, but marriage …”

  Mrs. Culver shut Annie’s magazine. “Don’t do it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t say yes—at least not yet. How old are you?”

  “Nearly twenty.”

  “Still young. Very young.”

  “Don’t you want us to marry? I know you just met me, but—”

  Mrs. Culver put a hand on her arm. “I wanted to be a fashion designer when I was young.”

  It took Annie a moment to let her thoughts move from her engagement to Mrs. Culver’s talent. “You did?”

  She motioned toward the stash of magazines. “It’s in my blood. Yet before I could do anything with my interest, Richard proposed marriage and I said yes, and then …” Her forehead tightened, and she cleared her throat before looking at Annie. “I love my husband and my children. I love my life. I have no real complaints.”

  “But …?”

  “But I never had the chance to even attempt making my dream a reality. That was twenty-five years ago, and women didn’t have the choices they do now. Now, you have a career and a talent that needs to be nurtured so it can blossom. Sean will wait. Babies will wait—even though I am very eager to have grandchildren.” She beamed. “Our daughter, Sybil, is expecting.”

  “Congratulations.” Sean didn’t mention having a sister. “Where does she live?”

  “Chicago. We don’t see her often enough. But when the baby comes, I’m going out to spend some time with them—with or without Richard.”

  It was clear this subject had been previously discussed.

  Mrs. Culver continued, “I know it’s important to support our husbands’ careers and their dreams. For they are the breadwinners and the head of the household. I am very proud of our store and all Richard has accomplished. I simply advise you to think of the bigger picture of the future, rather than be confined to a future that involves the usual female choices, and when those choices are made.”

  “I merely want you to see with a larger scope.” “Between the two of us, your son is the dreamer. He sees all the colors. I see things in black and white.”

  “Then you make the perfect pair.” Mrs. Culver chose a new magazine for each of them. “Let him know your dreams and merge them with his own. Then you—being the practical one—can help them both come to pass.”

  Annie’s throat was tight. “That sounds rather perfect.”

  “Only because it is.” Mrs. Culver opened a magazine and pointed at a hobble skirt. “What do you think of this silly fashion?”

  “So?” Sean said as they got in the cab to return home. “You and Mother seemed to get along well.”

  “She’s wonderful,” Annie said, adjusting the crate of fashion magazines on the seat beside her. “Did you know she wanted to be a fashion designer before she was married?”

  “What?”

  “She loved fashion and wanted to work in the field, but …”

  Annie was relieved he filled in the blanks. “But then she got married and helped Father attain his dream.”

  “She loves her family very much, loves you very much.”

  “I know.” He bumped her shoulder with his own. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course.”

  “She encouraged me to get a job at Butterick. If it weren’t for her urging, I would still be working at the store.”

  Annie’s respect for the woman grew. “I apologize for leaving you alone with your father so long, but your mother and I were having such a marvelous time.”

  Sean shrugged. “I suggested he show me the store and bring me up to date.”

  “How did it go?”

  “He made constant digs about how all the improvements were done without me, and how I should have been there.”

  “So sorry that he holds a grudge.”

  “A wall of grudges, which he adds to every year I’m gone.” He took her hand. “But enough of him. I’m so glad you had the chance to meet them, and they you. I’ve never brought anyone home.”

  Annie hesitated. “Your mother said as much.”

  He turned to her. “What else did she say about us?”

  There was little about that subject Annie wanted to share—at least at this point. “She is happy we work together and have the same interest in business and fashion.”

  “That’s all she said?”

  “She likes me. She approves of me.”

  Sean drew her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Of course she does.”

  “So?”

  Back home, Annie laughed at Edna’s simple question. “That’s what Sean asked me after I’d spent time with his mother.”

  “And what did you say?”

  Annie wasn’t ready to share the conversation she’d had with Mrs. Culver, even though Edna would surely enjoy the details. Somehow that special time seemed almost sacred.

  “She likes me and I like her.” She moved to the box Sean had carried in from the cab. “Look at what she gave me.”

  Happily, the oohing and ahhing over the fashion magazines prevented any further questions.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The New Year ignited a new passion in Annie for her work. Although she didn’t say as much to Sean, his mother’s encouragement had been instrumental in her zeal to excel.

  The first day back at work after New Year’s, she brought a stack of Mrs. Culver’s fashion magazines to the workroom. “I come bearing gifts,” she said.

  The girls rushed forward as if they were starving and the magazines were a feast. Perhaps they were: a feast for the eyes and the imagination.

  Dora chose a copy of Femina. “French. How fancy.”

  Annie opened a specific copy of Vogue. “Look at this … what if we changed this detail a little? Here, I’ll show you.” She retrieved a piece of tissue paper and spread it over the page. With a sweep of lines, she drew a revised version of the dress. “I think the side draping is too complicated for a home sewer, but if we simply add a few tucks instead …”

  “Interesting.”

  Annie hadn’t seen Mrs. Downs approach, but since she had her attention, she handed her the drawing. “Do you think it would work?”

  Mrs. Downs looked at Annie’s sketch a moment then at the design in the magazine. “If we showed it in a variety of fabrics I think the design could be made for many occasions.”

  “I agree,” Annie said. “That’s why I brought these magazines in. There are so many couture designs that could be adapted and simplified.”

  “Couture,” Mrs. Downs said, tapping her bottom lip. “I do remember when you were hired that Mr. Burroughs mentioned you know something of couture, but I’ve forgotten the details.”

  The voices of Mrs. Culver and Mrs. Sampson combined
. “You have a career and a talent that needs to be nurtured so it can blossom…. Be who you are.”

  “I used to be a maid for a viscountess whose clothes were all couture designed in Paris fashion houses.”

  “You were a maid?” one of the girls asked.

  “I was. But I often made alterations and even improvements on her ladyship’s dresses, and those of her daughter. I’m familiar with couture construction and design. And since leaving that position, I’ve become familiar with the simpler construction and design preferred by the home sewer.”

  “Well la-di-da,” Dora said.

  Instead of being offended, Annie embraced the comment. “That’s a fair description of those gowns.”

  Mrs. Downs paged through a few of the magazines. She closed the covers. “Get back to work, ladies.”

  Annie was disappointed at her response. She’d seemed so interested.

  “Don’t mind her,” Maude said as they went back to their tables. “If the First Lady, Mrs. Taft, walked in, old Downs wouldn’t be impressed.”

  “But she was—for a moment.”

  “That’s more interest than I’ve ever gotten from her. Come help me piece out this bodice.”

  Annie arched her back against the strain of bending over a worktable and cutting out muslin to shape the pattern pieces. She groaned at the excruciating, delectable stretch. “At times like this I wish I were shorter—or the tables higher.”

  “You’re lucky to be tall,” Suzanne said. “I often get mistaken for a twelve-year-old.”

  “That has nothing to do with your height,” Maude teased.

  Suzanne glanced down at her bodice and made herself useful elsewhere.

  “You’re nasty,” Annie said.

  “I tease. That’s not the same thing.”

  Annie wasn’t so sure and was about to get into a discussion about the difference when Mrs. Downs came in the workroom and walked over to her.

  “Come with me, Miss Wood.”

  Her face was stern.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Come.”

  Annie followed Mrs. Downs out to the corridor, sneaking glances at the girls she left behind. They looked curious, and Maude looked worried.

  What could be wrong? This morning Mrs. Downs had seemed genuinely interested in her ideas. She couldn’t imagine how she had offended her since then.

  They took the elevator to the sales floor. Annie spotted Sean, but as he rose to greet her, she shook her head. Not now.

  Mrs. Downs led Annie to a corner office. She knocked on the door and then entered. A striking middle-aged woman sat behind the desk. Her hair was pulled up in the loose fashion of the Gibson girl, yet looked modern with two ribbons woven through it in a haphazard yet determined way.

  “Madame LeFleur,” Mrs. Downs said. “I would like to introduce you to Annie Wood. Annie, this is our head of international sales and design, Madame LeFleur.”

  The woman made no attempt to rise or shake Annie’s hand, so Annie nodded. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “So zis is the artiste.”

  Artist?

  “Sit.”

  Annie let Mrs. Downs choose a chair first then sat beside her. With a glance she saw the walls were covered with beautiful fashion prints. On a table were stacks upon stacks of magazines, making Mrs. Culver’s stash minuscule by comparison.

  Madame LeFleur was fashion.

  “So,” the woman began. “You have ideas to adapt couture?”

  “I … I do. I believe every woman deserves to wear beautiful fashion. If they can’t afford couture, they still deserve to enjoy the essence of those designs—adapted to their specific financial and functional needs.” Annie was rather surprised at her own eloquence.

  Madame exchanged a look with Mrs. Downs. “As I explained,” Mrs. Downs said.

  Madame rose and beckoned Annie to the table where the magazines were stacked. She pulled one from the top and opened it at random. “There. Design.” She handed her a piece of tissue and a pencil.

  Put on the spot, Annie studied the dress on the page and quickly made adjustments. She placed the tissue on top and, with a few glances back to the original, made a sketch. “I think the key to most of these redesigns is removing the fussiness and simplifying the line. The spirit of the fashion remains, but the function and subsequent price is modified.”

  The two women held her drawing between them. Mrs. Downs traced a finger along the sleeve line. A silent decision was made, and the drawing was returned to the table. “How would you like to go to Paris with me in ze spring?”

  Annie wasn’t sure if there was anything Madame could have said that would be more shocking. “Me?”

  Madame explained, “Each season a contingent from Butterick—led by myself—travels to ze Paris fashion shows to keep abreast of ze latest fashion. We return and adapt zat fashion to our patterns.”

  “Similar to what you just did,” Mrs. Downs said.

  “You are quick with ze ideas. Quickness is needed to study, remember, and adapt ze fashion we see.”

  Sean had mentioned such a process, but now to be asked? Lord? What are You doing here? This is beyond anything I could have asked or imagined.

  Mrs. Downs straightened the magazines. “In the past I have gone on the trips, but I find that my time is better utilized here, keeping my department in line. And Maude has gone. She has an eye for the details others miss.”

  “Maude?”

  Madame nodded. “And another woman, Mrs. Brown, has accompanied me, but she is off having ze baby.”

  Thank You, God, for Mrs. Brown’s baby.

  “So?” Madame said. “Would you like to go with us?”

  There was no hesitation, no need for deliberation. “Yes. Very much so.”

  “Très bien. Bon,” Madame said.

  “When do we leave?”

  Madame laughed. “You are eager, yes?”

  “I am eager, yes.”

  “We do not leave until ze mid of March.”

  Annie remembered Sean mentioning sales trips to Europe. Could it be? Could he? “Does anyone else go?”

  “A few others perhaps,” Madame said.

  Annie only needed one other.

  Upon leaving Madame LeFleur’s office, Annie desperately wanted to share the news with Sean. But his desk was empty. Telling Maude would be the next best thing.

  But as she and Mrs. Downs reached their floor, Mrs. Downs said, “I would advise against sharing your news with the other ladies.”

  “Why?”

  “Envy is a sin.”

  That is their problem.

  “So is pride.”

  That is my problem.

  “They will wonder where I’ve been, why you called me away.”

  Mrs. Downs plucked a scrap of muslin from the corridor. “I can only give the warning. Whether you heed it is your choice.”

  They entered the workroom, and the presence of Mrs. Downs was the only reason Annie’s coworkers didn’t swarm around her.

  Maude sidled up close. “Well?”

  Annie’s excitement determined her choice—though shared in a whisper. “I’m going to Paris, to the fashion shows. With you.”

  Maude blinked. “I worked here four years before they invited me to go.”

  Annie was surprised. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  Maude’s countenance changed from surprise to glee. “Of course I am. The two of us in Paris! Can you imagine?”

  “What’s going on?” Dora asked.

  Before Annie could suggest to Maude they keep it to themselves, she told the entire group. “Annie and I are going to Paris in the spring!”

  There were groans all around, and a few comments that were far from kind, but it was nothing Annie couldn’t handle.

  She was going to Paris!

  All day, Annie had but a single focus: she wanted to tell Sean about Paris, talk to Maude about Paris, and dream about Paris. But after the mixed reaction she received from th
e other girls in the workroom, she had to keep her excitement to herself—as best she could.

  She was only partially successful.

  “You need to stop smiling so much,” Maude whispered as they sized out a waistline.

  “I can’t help it. I’ve never been offered something so exciting.”

  “I agree. But you’re acting like the child who gets a pony on Christmas when all her siblings get a new pencil box.”

  Point taken. And yet, “Blast them if they find my excitement offensive. Maybe if they’d shown some initiative and had some talent they’d be going, too.”

  Maude’s eyebrows rose. “Too much truth, Annie. Rein it in.”

  “I’m sorry. But surely you’ve felt it, too. After all, they also chose you.”

  Maude angled her back to the others as she pinned a dart in the waist. “My mother used to tell me that of those who are given much, much is demanded. For whatever reason, you and I have been given some talent the others don’t have.” She shrugged. “Mother always said it’s my responsibility to use what I have.” She gave a slight nod toward the others. “Use your talent boldly when possible and discreetly when necessary.”

  Annie laughed. “That may be the best advice I’ve ever received.”

  A young man in a uniform stepped into the workroom. All eyes turned toward him. “Telegram for a Miss Annie Wood?”

  Annie raised her hand. “That’s me.”

  The women gathered close. “Telegrams are always bad news,” Dora said.

  Suzanne nodded. “We heard my uncle Jed died with a telegram.”

  Annie immediately thought of her parents. Were they all right? Yet it couldn’t be from them. They didn’t know where she was.

  Dora offered a snide opinion. “Maybe it’s some fancy Paris designer inviting you to dinner.”

  “Very funny,” Maude said. “Come on, Annie. Open it.”

  Annie removed the note from the envelope. She read it through and smiled. “It’s from a friend who’s traveling in Europe. Just wishing me a happy New Year.”

  The group of ladies deflated with disappointment. “That’s all?” Suzanne asked.