The Fashion Designer

by Nancy Moser

  “He’s insufferable.”

  Annie sat beside her. “He certainly could have been nicer about it.”

  “I always thought that money was mine.”

  “You didn’t know about the law?”

  “Perhaps I did, at one time.” She blew her nose. “It’s totally unfair. I have a notion to join a group of very vociferous women and march for our rights.” She scoffed. “As if I have any.” She turned to Annie. “I’m so sorry. I really wanted to give you that money.”

  “I know you did. And we both appreciate the generous offer, more than you know.”

  “Some good it did.”

  Annie put her arm around Vesta. “We’ll find another way.”

  “What way?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Vesta took a breath then nodded. “God’s way. Surely He has an answer.”

  Annie was depending on it.

  Vesta lay on the bed and waited for Richard to come to her bedroom to check on her. Yet as the mantel clock chimed the new hour, she awakened to the knowledge he wasn’t coming. That it had taken her so long to come to that realization indicated the depth of her mental agitation. He never sought her out after an argument, never consoled, never apologized. Why would she expect this time to be different?

  Because he didn’t just hurt me, he hurt Annie and Sean.

  Vesta had never shown interest in the money inherited from her grandparents. Until now. Until it could be used to fulfill a dream.

  She hadn’t had to. For in truth, Richard was an able provider. She wanted for nothing.

  That wasn’t true. She wanted for nothing of a material nature. Their home was comfortable yet stately. She had enough servants at her beck and call to cover every task. She wore beautiful clothes and ate delicious meals.

  And yet…

  With Sean and Sybil grown and gone, she was lonely. Richard’s focus had been, and would always be, on the store. A few years ago, when she had been brave enough to complain about the time he spent there, he’d aptly pointed out that without his hard work they could not afford the life they lived.

  But what kind of life was that?

  Vesta sat up in bed, adjusting the pillows behind her. She leaned into their softness and adjusted them again to give her more support.

  Support. That’s what she needed. Not just physical support but mental, emotional, and even spiritual encouragement. When was the last time she’d spoken to Richard about faith or prayer? It was disturbing to think back a month, a year, a decade, and realize they had last shared their faith when they were Sean’s age, when they were the ones starting a business and were in need of divine guidance and provision. With success had come spiritual apathy, or if not complete apathy, a passivity that bordered on taking God for granted. And—dare she say it—a certain level of expectedness and entitlement, as though they deserved their many blessings.

  The insight propelled her off the bed and to her knees. “I’m so sorry we have taken Your many gifts as if they are our due. As if they are our doing. I am ashamed. Thank You for all You have done for us. Be with Annie and Sean as they seek Your guidance and help. Help me help them. And help…” She hesitated, for stating her need so blatantly was difficult. But since God already knew what was in her heart and mind she might as well say it aloud. “And help Richard and I mend our marriage. I have been living blindly in an opaque bubble, moving from day to day with little purpose to benefit myself or others. I have let him bully me beyond submissiveness, to the point of oppression, because I am too weak or lazy to stand up for myself. Please help me do what You want me to do. Give me the strength—”

  There was a knock on the door. Vesta scrambled to her feet and smoothed her dress. Had Richard actually come to see her? “Yes?”

  But it was only her maid. “Mr. Culver says it’s time for dinner. But he wishes to see you in his study first.”

  “Thank you, Lola. I will be down presently.”

  “Do you wish to change for dinner?”

  “Not tonight.” He will take me as I am.

  She glanced in the mirror, smoothed her hair, took a deep breath, and went downstairs to meet with her husband. Along the way she tried to collect her thoughts but found them tumbling down the stairs around her.

  For the first time in her life, Vesta did not knock on the doorjamb before entering Richard’s lair but simply walked in. She meant it as a show of strength, but upon seeing his raised eyebrows at her action, she immediately wished she could back out and come in again.

  “Are you fully composed yet?” he asked.

  His words rubbed her wrong for they implied no compassionate interest, only annoyance. “I am here, aren’t I?”

  His other eyebrow rose. “Shall the church bells chime in celebration?”

  She did not respond.

  “You should not have run to your room like a petulant child who didn’t get her way.”

  All the revelation she’d received between the running away and this moment of standing before him dissipated in a breath. “I—I was disappointed I couldn’t help Annie and Sean.”

  He shook his head. “I will not rehash an old discussion. Their business is foolhardy—as shown by the loss of their patron and their desperate need for more funding.”

  She took a step toward his desk. “They had a misstep at the beginning, but now I feel they are truly—”

  “You feel?” He snickered. “What do you know of business and fashion design?”

  She was taken aback but only for a moment. She pointed in the direction of their store. “Did I not help birth our store from nothing? Was I not by your side stocking shelves, serving customers, making decisions?”

  “It was necessary at the beginning.”

  “I would go there now, every day with you. I am willing to help.”

  “I do not need your help.”

  The way he said it implied her help held no value whatsoever. “I have skills.”

  “You do.”

  A question surged. “Name one.”

  “What?”

  “Name one of my skills.” I dare you.

  He stood and turned off his desk lamp. “Another childish response.” He took on a child’s whine. “‘Tell me I’m pretty, Daddy. Tell me, tell me, please, please?’”

  The breath went out of her. “Your mocking wounds me.”

  “As your actions wound me.” He moved toward the door. “Come now. You’ve already scared Sean and Annie away from joining us for dinner. And you know how I hate cold food.”

  “Cold should know cold.”

  He stopped beside her. “What did you say?”

  The words came out before she could stop them. “You are a cold man, Richard. You have no feeling at all. You are cruel and spiteful and have no compassion for what others need.”

  He glared down at her. “Watch yourself, Vesta.”

  She stepped back and tried to keep her chin strong. “The children need our help. We have the means to give it. If they fail, so what? We will have helped them do their very best to achieve their dreams. By doing nothing, we doom their dream to failure.”

  He pointed at her. “You know nothing of business, logic, and money matters.”

  “As you know nothing of love, encouragement, and everything that really matters.”

  His face darkened, and his features contorted in a way she had never witnessed. With a swell of motion, he grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her out of the study, through the foyer, and up the stairs.

  “Stop it, Richard! Let go of me!”

  She nearly faltered on a step, tripping on her skirt, but his grip was so strong he yanked her through it, propelled her to the landing, and shoved her into her bedroom where she fell to the floor in a heap. He snatched the key that stood on the bureau and pointed it at her. “You will stay here until you come to your senses.”

  With that, he slammed the door. She heard the key in the lock.

  “No!” She ran to the door and found her fears confirmed
. She was locked in.

  Vesta beat her hands against the door. “Let me out! Richard! You can’t do this!”

  But he could do that. He had done that.

  Her legs gave out beneath her and Vesta fell into a puddle of tears.

  “I still can’t believe…Your father is the most insufferable, stubborn, mean—”

  Home from Brooklyn, Sean closed the door of their flat behind them. “Agreed. On all counts. But keep your voice down. We don’t need the neighbors to know our business.”

  Annie fell upon the window seat. “What business?” she huffed.

  Sean sat beside her. “What were my mother’s words regarding the matter?”

  She forced her thoughts to return to their time in Brooklyn. “God will have an answer.”

  “He will.”

  “When, Sean? When?”

  “When it’s time.”

  “We don’t have time. We have the two hundred dollars the Sampsons gave us, but that will only take us so far. I’m not sure where to go from this point. We’d hoped for orders. At least a few.”

  “But we didn’t truly expect them.” Sean put a hand on her knee. “You made the clothes you wanted to make but presented them to the wrong customers. The consequences are not a total surprise.”

  Annie didn’t like Sean’s choice of the word consequences, though she couldn’t argue it. “I should have thought of a more concrete plan of what to do in the aftermath of the soiree.”

  He laughed. “I am quite certain the words aftermath and soiree have never been used in the same sentence.”

  “Bully for me.”

  He took her hand. “It comes down to this, Annie-girl: we have to work hard and do our part, and trust God to do His.”

  Good words. A fine sentiment. But she had doubts. “If that’s so, I ask Him to work quickly. Please.”

  Sean pointed upward.

  Annie looked up and repeated her words as a prayer. “Work quickly, Father? Please?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Before Sean left for a Butterick sales call, he and the partners met in the workshop to hear more bad news. Annie wondered if they’d ever again meet for a happy announcement.

  “So, it’s a no,” Edna said, from the window seat. “No money from your father.”

  “None,” Sean said.

  Maude adjusted a hairpin and sat beside Edna. “But Vesta said she had an inheritance. She had money.”

  “Which became my father’s money when they married.”

  “That’s absurd,” Maude said.

  Annie shrugged. “It is. But it’s the law.”

  “Where is your mother?” Edna asked. “Do you think she’s all right? She’s usually here by now.”

  Annie had wondered the same thing and turned to Sean. “I hate to imagine it, but do you think your father has forbidden her from coming anymore?”

  “No, he wouldn’t…I’m sure…” He hesitated then took a fresh breath. “I’m not sure. It’s possible.”

  Annie had a horrible thought. “He’s never been violent toward her, has he?”

  Sean opened his mouth to answer then closed it. “Nothing extreme.”

  “Extreme according to whom?” Maude asked.

  “He doesn’t hit her, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” His face changed. “In fact, I don’t remember ever seeing him touch her in any way.”

  “Oh dear,” Annie said. “No touch could be as hurtful as a slap.”

  Edna nodded. “Every time my Ernie passed me, he’d reach out and touch my arm, my shoulder…” Her face turned wistful. “My cheek.”

  Sean put his hand on the back of Annie’s neck, making her ever so glad he wasn’t like his father.

  “So,” Maude said, “what totally unacceptable punishment do you think your father is subjecting your mother to, as we speak?”

  Sean turned his wedding band around on his finger. “I’ve lived away from home a long time, but I imagine he’s making her suffer his silence, while she desperately tries to make his world perfect to win back his affection.”

  Maude scoffed. “Such as it is.”

  Annie could see the pain and worry on his face. “Can you postpone your sales call until this afternoon and go check on her?”

  He bit his lip then stood. “I can. And perhaps I should.”

  Maude stood. “I’ll go with you. I’d love to give that nasty man a what-for.”

  Edna pulled her back to sitting. “We will stay here and follow you over the bridge with prayer.”

  While waiting to hear about Vesta, the ladies needed to focus on work. There were dresses to sew, a business to build.

  Maude, Annie, and Edna stood around the cutting table. It was time to talk patternmaking. This was Maude’s turn to shine.

  “I think our best course of action is making every dress in a large variety of sizes.”

  “So no custom-made dresses,” Edna clarified.

  “We can offer alterations but that’s all. The customers can try on the clothes right there in our shop.”

  “Shop?” Annie said. “Now we need a shop?”

  “We do.”

  This new burden was heavy. “How are we going to afford a shop?”

  Maude hesitated before answering. “I don’t know.”

  Annie bit her lip and stared ahead at nothing, her mind spinning with the logistics. She’d been so proud that they’d opened their own workshop. Now they needed a store that would need to be manned with clerks? Have displays and stock?

  “Annie?”

  She returned to the moment. “Isn’t there some other way we can get the clothes to our customers?”

  “No,” Maude said plainly. “Maybelle and all the other working women on this street, and in the entire city of New York, are not used to going to a dressmaker or a workshop to have their clothes custom-made. They go to a department store or order from Sears Roebuck.”

  “Most dresses are still made-to-order,” Edna pointed out.

  Maude rolled a tape measure around her hand. “I propose we offer women a ready-made dress. Immediately. Like Lane Bryant does.”

  Annie nodded. “I bought my first maternity dress there, right off the hanger.”

  “This changes everything,” Edna said. “We buy other items and take them home the same day. Why not designer dresses?”

  Maude clapped. “And so it will be! I will work on making patterns for all sizes of women—from Maybelle to Mrs. Tuttle. And then Ginny, Gert, and Edna will sew them.”

  Annie retrieved a new Sears catalog and paged to the dress section. “Here are the sizes they offer: thirty-two to forty-one inch bust, twenty-three to thirty-inch waist, and thirty-seven to forty-three inch length of skirt.”

  “But they can make special orders, yes?” Maude said.

  “Yes.” She looked at the page again. “For twenty percent more, and they take an additional ten to fourteen days’ time.”

  “If we truly want to be a ready-made shop, we need to offer more sizes than Sears,” Edna said.

  “I agree.”

  “But all variations of those sizes? That’s…” Edna counted on her fingers then gave up. “There are too many combinations of bust, waist, and length for us to handle.”

  “We could use the standardized sizes for Butterick patterns as another guide,” Maude suggested.

  Annie thought of another solution. “We have the measurements of our models, which represent a good cross section of customers. Perhaps hone it down to eight sizes?”

  “Eight sizes times twelve designs equals ninety-six dresses,” Edna said. “Is that enough to open a shop?”

  “I could design more variety,” Annie said.

  Maude shook her head. “Twelve designs is plenty to start, though I think we need two of each size.”

  “That’s 192 dresses,” Annie said.

  Maude let out a dramatic expulsion of air. “I think we also need to offer some basic dark skirts and pretty blouses for those women who need a uniform look for their j
obs.”

  Annie disagreed and pointed to the catalog. “Women can get those pieces in a catalog.”

  “Or at Macy’s,” Edna said. “As I said, Macy’s manufactures their own limited line.”

  “I think we need to focus on dresses,” Annie said. “Not fancy, but not a waist and skirt a woman could buy elsewhere.”

  “Agreed,” Maude and Edna said at the same time.

  Annie felt a stirring inside and put a hand to her midsection.

  “Annie? Are you all right?” Edna asked. “Is it the baby?”

  Annie laughed aloud. “Not this time. This time I think it’s a life of another kind. For a new idea has been born.”

  Vesta sat on the window seat in her room and watched Richard leave for the store. He’s leaving without letting me out?

  She banged against the window to get his attention like a moth trying to get free. She opened the sash and called out to him. “Richard? Let me out!”

  He merely shook his head and got in the car Baines had brought around. It drove away.

  Leaving her a prisoner.

  She heard the key in the lock. Lola entered, carrying a breakfast tray. “Good morning, ma’am.”

  It was the same greeting she received every morning. As though this morning were no different than any other?

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You barely ate anything from the dinner tray, ma’am. You need to eat.”

  I need to get out of here! With that goal in mind…“I will eat. Later. But for now, help me dress.”

  As they went about the process of her morning toilette, Vesta tried to develop a plan. Last night she’d asked Lola multiple times to leave the door unlocked, or to be a conspirator in setting her free, but the threat of her master’s wrath was enough to keep Lola’s loyalties grounded with Richard.

  Vesta had to do this on her own.

  The first step was one of preparation. When the opportunity did come to escape—as she prayed it would—Vesta would be dressed and ready to flee.

  Vesta heard a vehicle stop in front of the house. She ran to the window and gasped when she saw Sean alight. She called out the window, “Sean! Up here!”

  He stopped on the walkway to the house and peered up at her. “Hello, Mother. I’ve come to see why you didn’t come to work today.”