The Pattern Artist

by Moser, Nancy;

  Whether Maude wanted a hug or not, Annie embraced her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Paris!

  Madame LeFleur had so much luggage that she required her own carriage, leaving Maude and Annie on their own. Riding with Maude in the cab from the train station to the hotel reminded Annie of the same sort of ride she’d taken from the ship to the Friesens’ home in New York City. “To think that a few months ago I was a maid at Crompton Hall, and had never traveled more than a few miles beyond Summerfield.”

  “Now you’re a world traveler,” Maude said. “And an expert Pitch player. We’ll have to play on the ship going home.”

  “Sean will be with us then,” Annie said. “I can’t wait to—” She glanced at Maude. “Sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Being excited to see my beau.”

  Maude gave Annie a hard look. “There will be none of that. Remember how I said I want to share your joy? Don’t take that away from me, too.” She pointed out the window. “Look. You can see the Eiffel Tower.”

  Annie and Maude stood at the check-in desk of Le Grand Hotel. Maude handled the paperwork, allowing Annie to fully take in the magnificent lobby. Fluted white columns, arches, and an enormous skylight in the center. A gorgeous spiral staircase made her want to climb it just to say she did. The entire area was bathed in the scent of fresh flowers, for a gigantic arrangement of white blooms graced a center table in the entrance, greeting the guests.

  Annie could imagine Lady Newley staying in such a place, and Maude had told her that Napoleon’s wife, Empress Eugenie, had inaugurated the hotel forty years earlier. Annie stepped beside a potted tree so she could watch the grand and the fashionable pass by.

  Suddenly a man’s voice sounded from behind her and asked, “What are you doing, mademoiselle?”

  For a moment she feared she was in trouble. She turned around and saw … It was Sean! She flew into his arms.

  “Now that’s the kind of welcome I need.”

  They held each other until Annie noticed disapproving looks. She pulled away.

  “I’m glad you’ve arrived,” he said. “Was your voyage enjoyable?”

  “I learned to play Pitch.”

  “Are you any good?”

  “Maude thinks I am.”

  “Then you and I shall partner up on the trip home.” He drew her to a duo of chairs, and they leaned forward so their knees touched. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” She was glad to find it true. “How were the stores in Berlin, and London, and Vienna?”

  “Thriving. I just have one more to visit here in Paris. I thought maybe you and Maude would like to join me.”

  “We’d love to.” Maude strode forward holding two keys on large fobs. “Hello, Sean. Have you been here long?”

  He stood to greet her. “Just a few hours. I thought I’d visit the Butterick shop this afternoon. Perhaps at three? That would give you ladies a chance to unpack and settle in.”

  It was a date.

  “You need to rest, Annie,” Maude said as she unpacked the last of their suitcases.

  Annie shook her head, enjoying the view from their small balcony. Not all the floors provided such a luxury, but theirs, near the top of the building, within the roof itself … She felt heady with gratitude. “I can’t come inside. Not with this view. The opera house is across the street. I can nearly touch it.”

  Maude joined her on the balcony.

  “Look at the opulent detail of it,” Annie said.

  “The French are an opulent sort.”

  Annie gazed across the square where carriages and pedestrians intersected as they made their way from here to there. “These buildings have such odd roofs, not harsh and angled, but narrow and swooped upward.”

  “They’re called Mansard roofs. Again, very French.”

  She nodded, taking in the information. “This is vastly different from New York.”

  “Which is different from London, and different from Vienna. Each is unique.”

  “You have traveled to those places, too?”

  “In my youth.”

  The information added another layer to Annie’s view of Maude. “Did you grow up wealthy? I only ask, because to travel so much …”

  “Yes. Very. My father was a British diplomat. We saw the world.”

  “You don’t have an accent like I do.”

  “I’ve been in America a long while. Since I was twelve.”

  “What brought you there?”

  “My father died, and Mother and I moved to New York to live with her sister.”

  “I didn’t know you had family there.”

  Maude took in a deep breath. “We are estranged.”

  “May I ask why?”

  Maude hesitated then sighed. “Mother wanted grandchildren. Since I am unable to give her what she wants …”

  “Surely she didn’t turn her back on you.”

  “I turned my back on her. She’s suffered enough disappointment in her life.” With a blink and a turn she changed the subject. “Come now. We have an hour to rest before we meet up with Sean.”

  The trio stood across the street from the Butterick Pattern store on the Avenue of L’Opera, just a ten-minute stroll from their hotel.

  Annie was in awe. “I can’t believe there is a store dedicated to our patterns. In Paris. France.”

  “I told you about it, and the ones in the other cities. You knew I was making sales calls.”

  “I thought you were calling on sewing sections of department stores.”

  Maude adjusted a drawstring purse on her wrist. “The French love our patterns because we give them the essence of couture with simplified styles they can make at home.” She swept a hand toward the storefront. “Shall we?”

  They crossed the avenue, and Annie admired the mannequins in the windows wearing various dresses, blouses, and children’s clothes, all made from Butterick patterns. Sean opened the door for the ladies. Inside was an elegant space—one room—with white fluted columns and tall wainscoting. Edging the room were tall tables and stools. Some women were perusing pattern catalogs as clerks helped them choose.

  Another clerk approached. “Puis-je vous aider, monsieur?”

  Annie was surprised when Sean answered in French. The two chatted back and forth, and then Sean turned to the girls. “Madame Seville, Je peux vous présente Mademoiselle Wood and Mademoiselle Nascato. Ladies, Madame Seville.”

  “Bonjour,” the woman said.

  Annie knew that much. “Bonjour, madame.”

  Madame proceeded to show them how the shop worked. The customers chose patterns from catalogs then purchased them from a supply in the back.

  “It’s similar to the system we had at Macy’s, but larger.”

  “And more prestigious,” Maude said, “because it’s a stand-alone store, a destination.”

  Sean commenced with his business, talking with Madame, taking notes. Annie moved to a stool and looked through a catalog. The garment descriptions were in French. She assumed the ones in Berlin and Vienna were in German. “I’m so impressed. I had no idea I worked for such an international company.”

  “We sell more of our patterns here than anywhere in the world. We’ve even earned praise from European royalty.”

  Annie was dumbstruck. “To think that something we design could be worn all over Europe, and receive royal praise.”

  “We have to design it first. We see the fashion houses tomorrow.”

  Annie could hardly wait.

  That evening Madame LeFleur gave each of her workers an envelope. “Here is your stipend for ze meals during our visit.” She glanced at a mirror in the hotel lobby, adjusting the plume on her hat. “I have reservations at ze Café de la Paix, here at ze hotel, but you may choose as you wish. Ta-ta.”

  And she was off again.

  Annie looked in her envelope. “There is a lot of money here. Though, since it’s French money, I may be wrong.”

  “
You’re not wrong,” Maude said. “It’s a lot. Restaurants in this part of Paris are expensive.”

  Sean slipped his envelope in an inner coat pocket. “I have an idea. A brilliant idea.” He took Annie’s hand and Maude followed as they exited the hotel and ran across the square. He led them to a street vendor who offered long loaves of crusty bread and glass bottles of what looked like lemonade.

  “Let’s save our money, get some bread, and go sit on a hotel balcony and watch all the fancy people come to the opera.”

  “That sounds smashing,” Annie said.

  It turned out they could get ham on the bread. They gathered their street wares, and Sean led them into a pastry store where they bought berry tarts for dessert.

  They returned to Maude and Annie’s room. Their balcony was small, and not large enough for chairs, so they sat on its floor.

  “It’s a Parisian picnic,” Maude said.

  Annie took her first bite of the sandwich and moaned with delight. “The crust of the bread is perfect, and …” She opened the bread to see inside the sandwich. “There’s so much butter.”

  “Of course there’s so much butter,” Maude said. “Parisians love their butter.”

  “As do I,” Sean said, “love their butter. Love anyone’s butter.”

  “Somehow it tastes better because it’s Paris,” Annie said. She looked across the street where the opera house was lit like a beacon for tonight’s performance. She felt warm inside, as if she were glowing like a beacon from the inside out.

  They had just finished their tarts when the carriages and automobiles began to arrive. Liveried footmen held the doors as beautiful people wearing beautiful clothing stepped out and made their way up the steps of the opera, disappearing inside.

  Annie took hold of two rungs of the wrought-iron railing and peered through it, feeling very much like a child looking down on a parents’ party. She’d seen Miss Henrietta do such a thing even as a young adult. It was surreal: the sights, the sounds of gaiety and movement, the smells of the café wafting up from below, the crisp air of the spring evening. She closed her eyes. Thank You for this experience, God. I will never forget it.

  “You seem lost in thought,” Sean said.

  She opened her eyes and nodded, returning her attention to the spectacle before her. “How can this be real? How can I be here?”

  Sean ran a hand along her arm. “You are here. With me. With Maude. We all have a purpose here.”

  “We all appreciate being here,” Maude added. “It will never get old.”

  Annie looked at them in all seriousness. “Even when I am old, I will remember this night.”

  “Ah,” Sean said, with a mischievous look on his face. “But the night is not over. Come with me.”

  After getting their wraps, once again Sean led the girls out of the hotel. But this time he turned to the left. They walked past the grand entrance of the opera house, past the grand people going inside, and skimmed the side of the building, heading toward the back.

  “Where are we going?”

  They came upon a back entrance. Sean looked both ways then opened the door. “Go! Inside.”

  The girls didn’t have time to object. They came into a dark hallway but could hear voices calling to each other in French. Not genteel calls, but the calls of stagehands and actors backstage. They could hear the musicians warming up.

  “Are we allowed in here?” Annie asked.

  Even Maude looked apprehensive. “Sean, you go too far.”

  He stepped away as if scouting his next move. Apparently he found it, for he returned to them and said, “Not quite far enough. Not yet. Come with me.”

  He led them to a small space behind a curtain that was populated with extra music stands and stacked chairs. He freed three chairs. “Sit, mademoiselles.”

  The girls sat, and Sean sat with them. The space was small so they had to sit in a circle, with their knees touching. It was odd sitting in the dark, yet somehow the darkness heightened the experience. They could see a slit of light under the curtain.

  Suddenly the cacophony of music stopped, and applause began. Some words were said, and then the orchestra began to play the most astonishing music Annie had ever heard. She’d never experienced any sort of orchestra. The sound was glorious, as if God Himself were directing His angels to play His own composition.

  And then a new song began, and people began to sing with voices that soared and reached every corner of their hiding place, every corner of Annie’s soul.

  She began to cry.

  Sean leaned toward her. “Are you all right?”

  Since he couldn’t see her nod, she answered by kissing him on his cheek and whispering, “Thank you. Thank you for letting me have a glimpse of heaven.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The House of Paquin was a short walk from the hotel, on the Rue de la Paix. Sean explained that paix meant “peace,” though he pointed out that the Column Vendôme at the apex of the street was originally erected by Napoleon to commemorate some war victory.

  No matter. Peace followed Annie up the street and interwove its strands with happiness, contentment, and excitement. Yesterday spent with Maude and Sean, eating on the balcony, hearing the heavenly music of the opera … Her heart was full of thanksgiving.

  And excitement.

  “There it is,” Sean said. “The building with the peach-colored entrance.”

  The entrance was set apart from the gray stone on either side and had PAQUIN in gold letters above it. Faux fluted columns marked the door. Above the windows to the right and left were planters of spring flowers. There was a queue of women in front of the shop. “Are these ladies potential customers?”

  “Hardly,” Maude whispered as Madame presented her invitation to allow them entrance. “These are the women we design the patterns for—the ones inspired by what we see inside. They are here to see the wealthy patrons.”

  “But we’re not wealthy and we are going inside.”

  “If not for Madame LeFleur we’d be out here with the rest of them.”

  Annie noticed a few of the women whispering behind closed hands as their gaze lingered on Annie and Maude. She imagined they were assessing the girls’ lack of fashion and probably discussing why they were allowed entrance.

  Annie was glad when Madame motioned them inside.

  The space was elegant with paintings on the wall, gilded trim, and ornate chairs and settees. They let Madame take the lead, and once again Annie was impressed with her contacts and her way of fitting in as if she was one of the rich patrons, not just a pattern designer from New York.

  Suddenly Annie heard her name. “Annie! Annie Wood!” She turned around and saw Mrs. Sampson coming forward to greet her.

  “Mrs. Sampson,” she said as the woman kissed her cheeks. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “Of course you did. You sent me a telegram saying you’d be in Paris in the spring. Harold and I always try to catch the fashion shows in Paris. The chance to see you again made it a must.”

  “Galeries,” Madame said, coming to make her own greeting. “Zey prefer ze term ‘galeries’ razer zan ‘shows.’”

  “How French of them.” Mrs. Sampson extended her greeting to Maude and Sean. “So then. What other houses have you seen?”

  “This is our first,” Annie said.

  “See as many as you can. I do hope there are no hobble skirts in the mix.” Mrs. Sampson lowered her voice. “But now is the time to gain the knowledge of what’s being done so you can do your own designing. You are designing, yes?”

  “I am here to adapt the designs for Butterick, yes.”

  Mrs. Sampson let out a dramatic sigh then leaned even closer for Annie’s ears alone. “My offer stands. Harold and I will back you toward the creation of your own fashion company. In your telegram during the holiday, you mentioned speaking when we were both in Paris. We are here. It is time to talk.”

  When Annie had replied to Mrs. Sampson’s telegram, she’d
assumed she would have an answer for her. Unfortunately all she could say was, “I do appreciate all you are offering. But I’m not ready.”

  Mrs. Sampson shook her head. “Doors that open can be closed, Annie. Perhaps Harold and I were wrong in believing you were the one for our project?”

  She didn’t want them to think that! “I didn’t say I’d never … just that I wasn’t ready.”

  The woman’s left eyebrow rose, and Annie feared she had delayed too long.

  Yet Mrs. Sampson simply sighed and said, “Someday you will be. I am confident there is a ‘someday’ in your answer.”

  More confident than I.

  “When are you heading back to New York?” she asked Annie, including Sean and Maude in the conversation again.

  “We take a train to Cherbourg April tenth to board the ship,” Sean said.

  Mrs. Sampson clapped her hands. “As are we! Which ship are you taking?”

  Annie had to think a moment. “I believe it’s called the Titanic.”

  Mrs. Sampson grabbed her arm. “As are we! How wonderful. We can enjoy the entire passage together. A few of our friends—John Jacob Astor, and Mrs. J. J. Brown—are also boarding in Cherbourg. I would love for you to meet them, especially Molly, for she is even more of a character than I am.”

  Annie had mixed feelings about sharing a ship with Mrs. Sampson. She enjoyed her company very much, yet she hoped the Titanic was as immense as its name so she would have some space. As she’d said, she wasn’t ready to commit to the Sampsons’ idea.

  Then she thought of a way out. “Seeing each other on the Titanic might not be as easy as you hope, because I’m sure you are traveling first-class while the rest of us—” She stopped talking as she saw another woman she knew. Two women.

  “What’s wrong?” Mrs. Sampson asked, looking in the direction of Annie’s gaze.

  Annie glanced toward the door. Maybe she could avoid them if she slipped outside.