The Fashion Designer

by Nancy Moser

  “I don’t much care. The floor’s fine enough.”

  Annie wanted to offer her a place at their flat, but with Vesta there…Edna and Maude’s flat was a possibility, but—

  Henrietta raised a hand. “You could come stay with me. My flat’s not fancy, but I do have an empty sofa—such as it is.”

  Annie was surprised at the offer. Although Henrietta was a nice woman, by her station she wasn’t used to sharing a room with anyone, much less a simple working woman—who was being abused. Henrietta’s life had been sheltered.

  Until now.

  Gert looked to Annie, clearly wanting guidance. Annie could think of no reason to object.

  “That’s very generous of you, Henrietta. Are you sure?”

  A flash of doubt passed over Henrietta’s face, but she nodded. “I want to help in whatever way I can help. You are very welcome, Gert.”

  Gert’s face relaxed. “Thank you, Miss Henrietta. I am ever so grateful.” She looked to Annie. “I’m ready to work.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Gert nodded adamantly. “It’ll get me mind off me troubles.”

  It was awkward walking back to her flat after work with Gert in tow, but it felt good to think of someone else for a while. At least Gert was physically safe. And Gert would not ask Henrietta about her adventure at the bank or the amount she had deposited there.

  “I really appreciate you doing this for me, Miss Henrietta. I would have been fine sleeping in the sewing room.”

  “Nonsense. I have the room and am glad to share it.” As they passed street vendors, she thought about dinner. Now she had a guest. All she had at home were remnants of bread and cheese, the roast beef already eaten. She would have to splurge.

  She bought two cones of roasted chestnuts, four apples, and a large pail of some lovely smelling stew. She even remembered to buy matches and a few pieces of firewood.

  “Here, let me pay half.”

  “No need,” Henrietta said. “You are my guest.”

  “Then let me help in another way.” She walked into the bakery where Henrietta had been given the bread. Henrietta was down to the last part of the loaf. She followed Gert inside.

  “Hello again.” Henrietta smiled at Mr. Cody.

  But he only had eyes for Gert. “Did Frankie do that to you?” He came around the counter and lifted Gert’s face for a better look.

  “Of course he did, Da.”

  Da?

  “I shoulda killed ’im when he came looking for ya.”

  “He was here?”

  “Said you’d had a row and he was sorry. I shoulda known he’d gone too far and hurt you.”

  “You didn’t tell him where I work, did you? Cuz I’s never told ’im the where of it.”

  “I didn’t say a word. You’d told me not to.”

  So this has happened before. “Should you be contacting the police about him?” Henrietta asked. “Is he dangerous?”

  “More stupid than dangerous,” Gert said.

  “But he hit you, and since it isn’t the first time…”

  Gert pointed at a roll in a case, and her father handed it to her—and gave one to Henrietta too.

  Gert took a bite before answering. “Here’s the deal of it. I love ’im, and he loves me. He’s a good man most a the time. But when he drinks with his mates, he forgets that. I’ll go back to ’im. I always do.”

  “Not too fast on that,” her father said.

  “Not too fast.” She nodded toward Henrietta. “Da, this is my friend, Miss Henrietta Kidd.”

  He smiled. “Miss Kidd and I had the pleasure last evening. Did you enjoy your dinner?”

  “Very much so.” She looked to Gert. “Your father took pity on me and gave me the gift of some food. He saved me.”

  His face grew stern. “I want to save you, Gert. I’d like it better if you just left the louse. You can’t let him beat on you—”

  Gert raised a hand, stopping his words. “Trust me, Da. Please.”

  He shrugged as though they’d had this conversation before. “Where you staying?” Before she could answer, he pointed to the floor above the shop. “We could find a place for ya on the floor somewhere, or John-John could give up his portion of the bed.”

  “Thank you, Da, but no.” She explained to Henrietta. “I have six brothers and sisters, all younger than me.”

  Seven children in the family? “You have been mightily blessed,” she told Mr. Cody.

  “I agree with you—depending on the day.” He wrapped up some bread and rolls for them. “So where are ya staying?”

  “With Miss Henrietta,” Gert said. “Just down the street.”

  “How nice for both of you.”

  Henrietta hoped he was right.

  They accepted a gift of another loaf and some cheese, said their goodbyes, and then reached the flat. Suddenly Henrietta saw it for what it was: a rather pitiful place with run-down furniture. The sofa with the hole was smallish. It would not allow Gert to stretch out. Maybe Henrietta shouldn’t have offered.

  But Gert was gracious. “This is nice,” she said. “Very cozy.”

  “I’m sorry it’s so small.”

  “It’s not much smaller than the place I have with Frankie.” She gave Henrietta a sincere smile. “Your generosity and kindness have made it a palace.”

  Henrietta’s throat tightened. “Thank you for saying that.” She swept a hand toward the food. “Shall we dine?”

  Gert giggled. “We shall.”

  But when they took the cloth off the top of the stew tin, they saw that a thin layer of fat had congealed on the top.

  “Ew,” Henrietta said.

  “No worries. It just needs heating up.” After checking the cleanliness of the pot that hung over the wood and finding it acceptable, Gert poured the stew into it. Then she knelt and made a fire.

  Henrietta watched intently so she could repeat the process on her own. It wasn’t that hard. Just a bit of small pieces, with larger ones on top. Once the flame was steady, Gert swung the arm holding the pot over the heat.

  “There now,” she said, getting to her feet with a groan, “dinner will be ready soon. Show me around.”

  There wasn’t much to show. Just the bedroom and the mention that the communal bath was down the hall. Henrietta took one of the two pillows from the bed and the coverlet. “I hope these will suffice.”

  “It will be dandy.” Gert stirred the stew.

  Henrietta got out bowls and spoons and sliced the last of the bread, saving the new loaf for tomorrow. She wanted to know what had happened with Gert’s husband but didn’t want to be blatant about it. She settled for asking, “Tell me about yourself, Gert.”

  “I never shoulda married ’im.”

  The subject was officially open. “Because he beats you.”

  Surprisingly, Gert shrugged. “That’s but the half of it.”

  “There’s something worse than beating?”

  Gert put a fist to her chest as though needing it in such a position to accompany her answer. “He makes me feel wee small. In here.”

  Henrietta wasn’t sure what she meant.

  Gert continued. “I always thought love would make a heart grow, I mean not really. I knows that. But love should make a person feel like they’s more than they were before. Doncha think?”

  I do think. I very much think. Unexpected tears threatened.

  “You all right, miss?”

  She forced the tears away. “I agree with you completely.”

  Gert studied her a moment. “You’ve had occasion where the love weren’t enough?”

  “I have.”

  “Tell me about it—if you wants to.”

  Henrietta would have loved to, but this wasn’t about her. “We were talking about you.”

  Gert flipped a hand. “We’re talking about all women, if you asks me. All people. Tell me about your man.”

  It might be good to talk about him. “Hank and I were betrothed. The trousseau had been ordered
, the wedding dress designed.”

  “Trousseau,” Gert said with a laugh. “I did buy meself a new nightie before we tied the knot.”

  “I’m sorry,” Henrietta said. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “Think nothing of it,” Gert said. “You’s the daughter of a nobleman, and I’s the daughter of a baker. You’re English, and I’m American by way of Ireland. But we both want the same things, don’t we?”

  Henrietta was impressed with her thinking. “We do.”

  “We want love, a family, a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, and—”

  “And purpose.”

  “Purpose?”

  Henrietta took a stir of the stew then sat beside Gert on the sofa. “I’d never thought about it much until I met Annie. Did you know she used to be a housemaid in my family’s house?”

  “I knew she knew you, but no…. She’s come so far. And now, she’s yer boss.”

  “Exactly,” Henrietta said. “She rose above her circumstances because she felt there was more she was supposed to do with her life, something important. She had a purpose. Her journey made me question my own.”

  “So you didn’t feel a purpose with yer man?”

  “Not really. I’m sure we would have had a nice marriage and perhaps a lovely family, but I couldn’t see any reason to it. Perhaps if I’d been deeply in love we would have found our purpose together, but just like you, my heart felt small inside, and I realized if I didn’t stop the direction of my life, I might just shrivel and die.”

  Gert touched a finger to her nose. “That’s it, miss. That’s why I left Frankie today. Sure, the beatings are part of that decision to leave, but it was the inkling that my heart would shrivel and die that was the true reason for me leaving.”

  “We are the same.”

  “The same but different,” Gert said.

  “Not that different.”

  Gert smiled. “Yer right.” She got up and swung the pot off the fire. “A good rule of cooking is to cook it till it smells. Smells done to me.”

  Together they took up dinner and sat at the small table. “Bon appetit,” Henrietta said.

  Gert nodded but then bowed her head. “Father, thank You for this food and a place for me to stay. But above all, thank You for Miss Henrietta. Help us both find our purpose, whatever it may be.”

  Amen.

  Henrietta felt foolish, but there was no way around it. “Gert? Could you help me, please?”

  Gert was already dressed in her nightgown, her makeshift bed created on the sofa. She stepped into the bedroom doorway. “Whatcha need, miss?” Henrietta turned her back to the girl. “Buttons. I haven’t changed clothes in two days because I can’t get out of my dress.”

  They laughed about it, two women with more in common than not.

  Two friends.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Annie turned over for the umpteenth time. She faced Sean and watched him sleep. The moonlight made his fair skin glow like an angelic being. He was an angel to her, always there to help, always reminding her of how God worked in their life. Yesterday he’d pointed out how remarkable it was that God had brought Gert and Henrietta together. How God had turned Gert’s deplorable situation into something good.

  “In just over two weeks they’ve become fast friends.”

  Annie agreed, and yet…she suffered a twinge of jealousy about their special bond. Henrietta was her friend. It was a silly and selfish reaction, and she’d said her own set of private prayers to combat it. And yet, this was not the only duo who sparked envy.

  Edna and Maude were a tightly bound pair. Annie had known each one separately. If not for her, they would never have met.

  Vesta and Sean had become close since Vesta had moved in—again, Annie’s doing. Last evening she’d stopped hemming a sleeve and had watched them playing Whist, laughing and joking with each other.

  She’d helped all her friends and family find new bonds but in the process felt left out. She was friends with all but close to none.

  That wasn’t true. She returned her attention to Sean. She gently brushed back some hair that had swept over his brow, threatening his eyelids.

  He opened his eyes and they lay there looking at each other. “I love you,” he whispered.

  She kissed his nose. Then kissed some more. And more.

  Vesta awakened to the soft sounds of intimacy behind the bedroom door. She smiled, happy that Sean and Annie loved each other so much.

  Richard and I used to be like that.

  She turned her back to the door and snuggled under the blanket. In spite of everything, she missed him. Yes, Richard was controlling; yes, she had felt stifled and trapped. And yes, leaving had been the right thing to do.

  But why hadn’t he come after her? She’d been gone over three weeks. Twenty-three days to be exact. Other than showing up that first night—with his nightshirt tucked into his pants—he had not called, visited, or accepted her calls. Baines always promised to give Mr. Culver her messages, and she assumed he had. Which meant Richard had chosen to ignore her.

  Did he want her back? Did she want to go back?

  She opened her eyes and looked at the tufted back of the sofa. She couldn’t live the rest of her life here. Annie and Sean needed privacy. And soon there would be a baby. Yes, Vesta could help with its care—she ached to hold the baby in her arms—but…

  What about Richard? He would be a grandfather. Although he’d never shown much interest in Sean and Sybil as children, he did love them. But how would he love his grandchild when he was estranged?

  She clasped her hands beneath her chin. Father, heal our family. If I need to change, so be it. If Richard needs to change, show him the way. But bring us back together, whole again. And better for it.

  There was silence in the next room, and Vesta could imagine Annie and Sean, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

  And so she did the same in the arms of the Father.

  Annie awakened earlier than usual—five fifteen. Her mind swirled with to-dos and worries about the business. She knew that the only solution was to get up and go to the workshop. She needed time alone to sort it out.

  She quickly used the facilities and washed her face. Her hair was accomplished in a swirl and twist and pinned in a chignon at the nape of her neck. She paused when the baby also awakened, placing a hand upon her growing belly. “Good morning, sweet one,” she whispered.

  Suddenly she remembered last night, when she’d mourned the notion that she didn’t have anyone except Sean. That was not true. She had the baby. For nine months they were a pair. No one had what they had. Once the baby was born, Annie would have to share the child with others—would gladly do so—but for now…“Let’s go to work, little one.”

  She got dressed but didn’t put on shoes—the benefit of having the workshop in the same building. She tiptoed through the parlor.

  Vesta opened her eyes. “Morning?”

  “Not yet. Go back to sleep.”

  Her eyes closed. If only Annie could close her eyes and let others take charge. The weight of their success fell upon her shoulders as she walked upstairs. Once inside, the first thing she did was take out some paper and a pen. She was a list person and always felt better after she’d transferred thought to paper. She made a list of the twelve styles but found her notation for them clumsy: the green serge, the blue stripe, the rust-colored side drape. She looked at the list and found it functional but uninspiring. “I need to name the designs.”

  Suddenly the door of the workshop opened and Vesta came in, wearing a wrapper.

  “What are you doing here?” Annie asked.

  “I ask you the same question. You need your sleep. The baby needs you to be rested.”

  “If only I could.” She looked at the list.

  Vesta looked too. “The dresses?”

  “I just realized we need to name them, something we could call them in public, in advertising. Names that will raise them to an elevated, appealing level.”
<
br />   Vesta sat on a stool beside her. “What about…flowers?”

  “Flowers?”

  “Call them the Magnolia, the Rose, the Aster, etcetera.”

  “I love that idea!” Annie started a new column. “Name some flowers. We need twelve.”

  “The three I already mentioned, then…the Daisy, the Forget-me-not, the Lily…”

  Annie could barely keep up with Vesta’s listing. She counted them. “One more.”

  They sat in silence a moment then Vesta said, “The Bluebell for that blue chambray.”

  Annie added it to the list then set her pencil down. “This is marvelous, Vesta. You’ve eased my mind tremendously.”

  “I’m glad to be of help.” Her voice grew soft. “I feel I do far too little to earn my keep.”

  “Don’t be silly. You are invaluable. You do whatever needs to be done, and that’s extremely important.”

  Her shrug made Annie wonder if there was something else on her mind. “Do you miss Richard?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Do you want to go home?”

  She shrugged again. “Why hasn’t he come to fetch me? To check on me?”

  So that was it. “He knows you’re safe. He did come that first night.”

  “That was all I was worth? One attempt, then let me go?”

  It did seem rather pitiful. “He’s a proud man.”

  “Too proud to check on his wife?”

  “Who’s gone off to pursue her own aspirations?”

  Vesta moved to the window, crossed her arms, and looked out over the raw beginning of the new day. “Can’t I live out my aspirations and be his wife? I know I could do both. I worked here at the workshop and lived at home with him for over a month before our row. Why did he force me into making it all or nothing?”

  “You took the control away from him.”

  “So he locked me in my room?”

  It wasn’t surprising the incident haunted her. Yet Vesta had given no indication of still being upset. She worked with a smile and was usually cheerful.

  Wasn’t she?

  Or had Annie been too preoccupied with her own troubles to notice?

  Annie put a hand upon her arm. “I’m sorry I’ve been so focused on the business that I haven’t seen your pain.”