by Box Set
The room was vast, with many rows of sewing machines, just like Nate had described. The high windows allowed some daylight into the space, enough for us to make out what was in front of us without having to turn on the lights.
Many of the machines had fabric left in them, secured by the needle, as if the seamstress stopped where she was when the end of the day struck. There was a number of mannequins dotting the area with outfits draped on them. A closer inspection confirmed that the costumes were yet unfinished, partially sewn with some pieces pinned together.
“I could finish one of these,” I said.
“You can sew?”
“I took home economics.”
“So did I.”
I couldn’t hold in my surprise. “You did?”
“Guys need to know how to cook and sew, too,” he said. “Twenty-first century women don’t do it all for them anymore. Unfortunately.” He said that last word with a grin, and it gave me hope that maybe he was thawing out. That maybe he would forgive me.
Nate found a nearly complete pair of trousers in one of the machines, and we both set to sewing. The machines were cumbersome and inefficient, and it was hard to make clean, straight stitches. I broke thread more than once and struggled to rethread the needle in the dim daylight. The peddle action took a little getting used to, but it meant we could sew without power.
It had grown dark by the time we finished.
“There must be bathrooms,” I said. “We can change there.”
We found the rooms at the back, and I pulled a string from a bulb in the ceiling to create light. The room had two stalls, not nearly enough for the number of women who obviously worked here, but at least there was indoor plumbing.
The dress I’d completed was a light blue satin with a darker blue band that hung low across the hips. There was no waist to speak of so the seams from under the arms to the hems were almost a straight line. Thankfully, the sleeves had been hand-stitched in place as a guide and I just had to follow.
It wasn’t perfection, hanging a little crookedly, but it would do. I removed my hair tie and created a new low bun at the base of my neck.
My bare face didn’t fit in with this era, so I delved into a stray makeup bag, thankful to the girl who was probably kicking herself right now for leaving it at work on the weekend. I added dark smoky shadow, a black line of liner and mascara to my eyes. Red for my cheeks and lips and I was ready to rock this decade.
I met Nate in the hallway and he stopped short when he saw me, his jaw going slack. Then he grinned. “You look like a flapper.”
“I hope so.”
Nate was wearing the trousers with finished cuffs on the bottom. He was already wearing a button down shirt, which he’d tucked in.
“You look good,” I said.
“Well, we still need proper shoes and jackets,” he said.
I stared down at my sneakers. At least in 1863 a long dress could cover my shoes.
“I don’t suppose there’s any left behind in the mud room?” The workers had to hang up coats and leave boots somewhere, but they’d more than likely take them home, wouldn’t they?
Just then we heard the creak of a door.
“Quick, turn out the lights,” Nate whispered. I sprinted to the ladies room and pulled the string just as the light in the men’s room went out. Back in the hall, Nate reached for me and led me by the elbow into the dark corner where I pressed up against him. I felt Nate’s heart beat through my back and mine thudded in tandem. Was it the owner? Security? Perhaps the police drove by and saw a hint of light that escaped the bathrooms?
Whispered voices echoed through the foyer, bouncing off the tall ceilings.
“Oh, Roger, are you sure we won’t get caught?”
Robbery? They were pretty loud for thieves.
“Shh,” Roger said. Then sounds like kissing. And giggles. They weren’t here to rob the place, they were here to make out!
“There’s a bed in the nurse’s lounge.” More laughing. “Give me your coat,” he said. “You won’t be needing that.”
We stayed still in our dark corner until the giggling and smooching sounds disappeared and the door to the nurse’s lounge clicked shut.
We tiptoed softly to the foyer and without speaking, slipped into the coats that hung on the hooks on the wall and the boots that lay askew on the floor, and headed quietly out the front door.
Chapter Nineteen
“Where are we going?” I asked.
This was a strange scenario for me. I used to be the seasoned one, the one who did the teaching and the leading, not the one who was taught and led. In the 1860s, I was the expert, but here in the twenties, I was green and inexperienced in every way. I was familiar with Boston in the present and in the nineteenth century, but this version, though it had a few similarities to each, was changed enough that I felt lost.
“I’m not sure,” Nate said. “I wouldn’t mind eating, and we need to find a place to sleep.”
“Both of those things require money,” I said.
His lips tightened. “They do.”
So how did one make money on the fly in Boston, in March, 1929? I doubted there was a movie filming, so working as extras was out. And besides, I was no longer interested in acting gigs.
“We need to get downtown,” Nate said. We heard a tram approach, and his green eyes flickered with sentimentality. “You up for it again?”
I knew instantly that he was referring to the times when we hitched a ride on the back of buggies in the nineteenth century, or that time we had to run and hop a train.
“I am,” I said.
Nate crossed to the other side, and when the trolley passed, we both ran to catch a bumper. I held on tight, crouching low so the folks on the tram, especially the ticket guy, wouldn’t see us. It was growing darker but still light enough for some witnesses to shout and holler. I hoped they didn’t draw the attention of a traffic cop.
I kept my eyes set on Nate, waiting for his signal to jump. He mouthed, “Now,” and I lowered myself and broke into a run as my feet hit the ground to keep from tripping and face planting. I wasn’t graceful, but I avoided tearing my dress or skinning my knees, which was a bonus.
Nate waved for me to cut through an alley to the next street and I scampered after him. I was surprised at how much construction there was. Boston was a boomtown in 1929. It seemed like everyone had money to burn. If only they could see into the future like Nate and I could. Their optimistic outlook was soon to come crashing down.
I still had to talk to Nate about what had happened in Hollywood. He’d jumped into his leader/protector role he often took with me, but the softness was gone from his eyes when he looked at me.
“Nate, I need to get back to why I came to see you today.”
His paced picked up slightly. “I know why you came, Casey.”
I tugged on his sleeve. “Please, can we talk about it?”
“Go ahead and talk.” He didn’t slow, so I kept my strides long to keep up with him, which was a little tough in this tube dress. I hiked up one side above my knees.
“That latest picture, it’s not what it looks like.”
He scoffed and challenged me. “What did it look like?”
“It looks like Austin and I are flirting, but we weren’t. Well, maybe he was, but I was glaring at him and telling him to leave me alone. You just can’t see that in the photo.”
“Were you glaring at him in the one where you had your eyes closed and your lips attached to his?”
“I already explained that one to you, Nate. That was a stupid mistake. But these other photos, I don’t know, it’s like someone is trying to break us up.”
“Like King, maybe?”
“Yes, him, for sure, but he obviously wasn’t the one taking the photos.”
“He’s got someone in on the game.”
“I thought so too, but then I talked to him—”
Nate stopped still. “You talked to him? I thought you said you were
staying away from him?”
I didn’t remember if I said that or not, but it didn’t matter. Nate thought I did. “I was mad about the photos. I had to tell him to stop.”
He huffed. “Doesn’t look like he got the message.”
“He’s trying to break us up, Nate.”
I know he heard me, but he wouldn’t look me in the eye.
When Nate finally responded, he didn’t say what I was hoping he would. That what we had was too precious to let someone like Austin break us up. That we’d just put it all behind us and remember that we loved each other. Instead, he said, “We need to find you a new family, a 1929 version of the Watsons.”
I frowned. “It’s not that easy. I stumbled onto the Watson farm, and it took years to get to the place where they considered me one of their own.”
I choked on the realization that I probably would never see them again. They had become like a second family to me, especially Sara Watson, and as we made our way through the crowd of this Boston, I felt a new well of grief bubble up inside me.
Nate’s keen interest in finding me a new family made me worry that he was looking for a way to hand me off. Wash his hands of his presumed responsibility.
I had to think of something else to focus on before I had an emotional breakdown. We still had the problem of no money.
“Maybe we could get work in a restaurant, washing dishes or something”
Nate grunted, “It’s Sunday. Everything’s closed.”
“Everything can’t be closed,” I said. “Look at all the people out and about. They’re dressed like they’re going somewhere.”
Nate slowed to consider this. “Let’s follow them.”
We caught up to a group of six, three couples, all dressed similarly to the way Nate and I were dressed. We kept our distance and watched as they disappeared down a stairwell near the front entrance of a brownstone townhouse. We heard music escape as the door opened and the group went in. The door closed firmly and the noise disappeared.
“I don’t see any signs,” I said. “Must be a private party.”
“This is the prohibition era, right?” Nate said. “It could be a speakeasy.”
“A speakeasy?”
“A club that sells alcohol.”
I slowed. “Oh.”
“Drinking and distributing alcohol was illegal in the twenties. The law just made people want to imbibe more than ever.”
“We can’t go in,” I said. “We’re underage.”
“There’s no age limit, Casey. It’s illegal for all ages. But there’s probably a way to score some cash inside.”
Another group of four entered the stairwell. Nate pulled my arm and we stepped in behind them. Nate and I were both tall, and I had a ton of makeup on, so we must’ve looked old enough for the doorkeeper, because he didn’t do anything to stop us from entering.
I was shocked by how crowded it was. Men and women of all ages smoking and drinking and dancing—there was barely room to get by and find an empty seat. As it was, most of the girls sat on the laps of the guys they came with. Nate managed to snag an empty chair. He smirked and patted his thigh. I sat on his lap and wrapped an arm around his neck. It was almost like everything was okay between us.
The beautiful young people were dressed to the nines: girls with shimmering dresses, cascading pearls and feathers in their hair, and guys swaggering about with peacock confidence. Smoke swirled about their faces and their breath was dire. They were like a swarm of attractive dragons. I choked back a cough.
I was probably the only one who noticed. Before too long, I’d become scent blind like the rest of them.
The music was lively, loud and jazzy. Lots of brass instruments, eclectic chords and mesmerizing drum beats. I couldn’t stop my feet from tapping and my shoulders moved on their own accord.
“Let’s dance!” I shouted, and tugged Nate to his feet. Dancing was how our long and winding romance had begun, after all, back when I was still a freshman at what had become the Fall Dance to Remember.
Nate stiffened. “Casey, we need to be serious.”
“We can’t be serious all the time. We need to have some fun, too.”
I watched the dancers around us. I’d seen enough episodes of Dancing with the Stars to recognize the Charleston and the cha-cha. I flung my heels back and to the side with the beat and swiveled my hips until the layered fringes of my dress flew side to side. I laughed at the joy of it and Nate’s smile of amusement was a big reward. If I could change his mood, maybe I could change his mind about me.
When the song ended, I collapsed into Nate’s arms. “Admit it,” I said. “That was fun!”
“Yeah, it was, but now I’m dying of thirst and have no money to buy a drink.”
I frowned. Way to ruin the moment, Nate.
A waiter approached us with a tray filled with amber and clear liquid that I was quite certain was not juice or water. Nate shook his head and mouthed, no money.
The waiter’s gaze narrowed and he pointed to the door. “No sense takin’ up real estate then.”
Before we could respond, another body crashed into us, and the waiter spilled a couple of his drinks. He cussed and hurried back to the bar.
A girl who looked to be in her twenties with a sandy blond bob made with perfectly coiffed finger waves giggled at us. Her eyes lingered for a moment on Nate. She giggled again. “Excuse me, it’s just so busy.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “You probably saved us from an embarrassing toss out onto the street.”
“I heard. Hey, you’re quite the Oliver Twist. We’re short a chorus girl tonight and if you want to fill her spot, there’s ten clams in it for ya.”
I guessed Oliver Twist was slang for dancer and hoped clams meant dollars. I grinned and said, “Sure!”
“Hey, wait, Casey,” Nate said. “What kind of dancing is it, anyway?”
I nudged him. “It’ll be fine. This is the twenties. How bad can it be?”
“I’m Marlene,” the girl said. “Follow me. We’re up in fifteen.”
I left with Marlene before Nate could stop me, getting lost in the crowded dance floor and through an exit to the left of the small stage where the band played.
“You and your fella new to Boston?” Marlene asked.
“Yes, well, we’ve been here before but it’s been awhile.”
“Lots of kids come to the city to find jobs. There’s just no money in farming anymore.”
The dressing room had rows of mirrors lined with round light bulbs. Marlene handed me a skimpy, glittery costume, like a gymnast would wear, but with a large fan of feathers attached to the butt. “You’ll be in the back,” she said, “so just follow along. It’s mostly a lot of kicking our legs in the air.” She laughed. “Doesn’t take much to make the fellas happy and Mr. Vance thinks it’s the berries.”
I froze. “Mr. Vance?” I choked out.
Marlene’s smile faltered. “Do you know him?”
“Uh, no. Of course not. Just thought I’d heard the name before.”
“The Vance brothers are big eggs, so it’s no wonder you’ve heard of them.” There was a rap on the door and a dozen girls, me included, sprinted out to the now empty dance floor. The band started and the girls began to move their hips and kick their legs. I followed along as best as I could, but there was no doubt I was the awkward standout. I imagined our routine was sensational for the time, but it was nothing worse than what anyone could watch on TV any night of the week during family hour at home. It didn’t seem to matter. The crowd cheered, guys and girls alike.
Nate was the only one who didn’t seem to be having a good time. His eye were hooded and his arms were crossed tightly across his chest as he watched me.
I smiled back at him trying to communicate with my eyes that I was fine and having fun. The easiest ten dollars I’d ever make.
We were just ending what I was soon to learn was the final song when my eyes landed on another face. The man had slicked back hair and thick b
rows over penetrating eyes. Sheldon Vance. I could tell by the flash of recognition that passed behind his dark eyes that he remembered me. I wondered how he got out of jail. He probably wondered the same about me.
I stumbled with my final leg kick, catching the girl in front of me in the knee and sending her flying. She cried out. Sheldon Vance stepped forward.
It was time to run again.
Chapter Twenty
“Casey Donovan!”
Sheldon shouted my name out in public. I couldn’t believe he remembered it! I didn’t know what he wanted from me, but I wasn’t about to hang around to find out. I pushed through the crowded, hot room and motioned to Nate to head for the door. He saw Sheldon coming after me, and he shoved people aside until he reached me. Looking at me incredulously, he reached for my hand, but didn’t say a word. We flung ourselves out the door and up the cement steps to the street and ran.
Jumping around on stage in two-inch heels and a skimpy feather laden outfit was one thing. Dodging main road traffic, racing down shady side streets and through dark back alleys with a crime-boss-type guy from a mob family on said heels was another.
Dogs barked, horns honked, and we kept running. Nate was in front of me now, dragging me by the wrist. I did my best to keep up, but I was seriously worried I was going to sprain my ankle in these stupid shoes! Nate was a super-athlete with athletic legs and healthy lungs. My lungs felt like they were on fire. My heart beat like a bomb counting down, about to go off.
My ears rang with the sound of a gunshot, and I ducked instinctively, tripping on my heels. I cried out with the pain that exploded in my ankle. Nate pulled me behind a garbage bin and urged me to be quiet. I covered my mouth with my hands, biting down the pain, awash with a very real fear.
I was breathing too heavily. Too loudly. I focused on regulating my breath, breathing into my hands to keep from hyperventilating. In and out. Sheldon Vance had a gun. In and out. He was hunting us. Hunting me! In and out. I was so in over my head! In and out.
Footsteps!
Nate squeezed my arm, reminding me to stay still. Keep quiet. The footsteps grew nearer. And nearer. And nearer!