The Fashion Designer

by Nancy Moser

  She thought of the Sampsons and the fact that they had arranged for the men to be there. Eleanor had clout. And in his days as the founder of Sampson Fine Shoes, Mr. Sampson had supplied a plethora of advertising dollars to the papers. Surely the reporters wouldn’t do anything to offend them.

  Annie got dressed for church, made coffee, and began boiling some eggs for breakfast.

  She stopped when she heard footsteps in the hall. Sean entered, holding a stack of newspapers draped over his arm. Which could only mean…

  “They were good articles?”

  “We will need a larger workshop sooner rather than later. I got copies for everyone.”

  He spread one of each newspaper on the table for her to read.

  The descriptive words in the articles made her spirit soar. The words describing the fashion were delightful, flowing, comfortable, unfettered, and a comparatively mundane pretty. But the reporters didn’t stop there. They described the Unruffled shop as charming, welcoming, and the staff helpful and friendly. The prices were declared reasonable for all budgets.

  “They mentioned the accessories too.”

  Sean pointed to a specific line and read aloud. “‘Unruffled helps its customers create a complete ensemble by providing hats, shoes, and accessories in cooperation with nearby merchants. Upon visiting those other establishments, this reporter found examples of the dresses from Unruffled. This brilliant marketing move—to assist each other in helping the customer fulfill every fashion wish—is entirely commendable. When asked about the idea, Mrs. Harold Sampson (of Sampson Fine Shoes) stated that the idea originated with Annie Culver, the dress designer. We commend Mrs. Culver on her insight and progressive initiative.’”

  Annie’s throat grew tight. “Gracious.”

  Sean laughed. “Yes, they were.” He took her by the shoulders. “It’s working, Annie-girl. Everything you ever hoped for is coming to pass.”

  She drew him close, needing the beat of his heart to meld with her own—which was racing.

  Thank You, God!

  Although it was December the first, the weather spoke of autumn. The temperature was crisp, but the sun shone brightly, and the wind took a day off. It was a perfect day for an outing.

  Annie left church on Sean’s arm, feeling revitalized, refreshed, and very, very grateful. Her feelings were not simply attached to the business but to life in general. She had so much to be thankful for: friends, family, faith, and the growing baby inside her. When hymns had been sung the baby moved. Did the child hear what she heard? Did it feel her happiness? Her sadness? Her stress? If so, she owed the baby a calmer version of herself. God was with them all. Fear not.

  The couple walked down the Mall in Central Park alongside Henrietta, Maude, Edna, Vesta, and Richard. Steven was going to meet them at the fountain at one. They’d all found this unusual, yet no amount of prodding would get Steven to tell them the reason for his delay. It must be something important for him to miss going to church with them.

  “Why am I nervous?” Henrietta said as they walked. She put a hand to her stomach. “Steven’s insistence we meet him…I hope everything is all right.”

  “Did he hint it wasn’t?” Annie asked.

  “He assured me all was well.”

  “Perhaps it is,” Maude said. “But it is odd.”

  “I agree,” Edna added.

  Sean chuckled. “You women, always finding schemes in every action.”

  “Not schemes,” Henrietta said. “For that would imply something devious. Steven is not devious.”

  Edna nodded fervently. “He certainly is not. But he can be inventive. I remember he once surprised me for my birthday by having a neighbor play the guitar while Steven sang for me.”

  “He’s sentimental,” Vesta said. “I like that in a man.” She glanced at Richard.

  He patted her hand. “I’m trying, Vessie.”

  It warmed Annie’s heart to see them so close and hear their nicknames for one another. Obviously Richard had needed a little push to realize how much he loved his wife—and how much he needed to pay her some attention. She saw Sean looking in their direction too. He was smiling. It was comforting to see one’s parents love each other.

  “What song did he sing for your birthday?” Vesta asked Edna.

  “‘Beautiful Dreamer.’” She sighed. “He has a lovely tenor voice.”

  “He lied to me,” Henrietta said. “At the shop he implied he had an awful voice.”

  “We’ll have to ask him to sing for us one evening,” Maude said.

  They neared the Bethesda Fountain. Obviously their decision to have an outing was a popular choice. Dozens of people milled around the fountain and the area between the terrace steps and the edge of the lake.

  “If only the fountain wasn’t turned off for winter…” Annie said.

  “The angel is still beautiful,” Sean whispered. “But not as beautiful as—”

  “Ah!” Henrietta shouted.

  She’d stopped walking and was staring toward the far side of the fountain.

  “What’s wrong?” Annie asked.

  Henrietta didn’t answer but put her hands to her mouth.

  Then Annie saw a woman and man extend their arms in welcome.

  She recognized them.

  Henrietta’s mind stopped working. What she was seeing didn’t jibe with what was possible.

  But then her mother and father smiled and stretched out their arms to her.

  Her mind worked quickly to catch up. They’re here in New York. They’re not in England. They’re smiling. They’re not mad at me. They want me to run to them.

  And so she did.

  She ran into her mother’s arms first, clinging to her embrace, needing the solidity of her arms, her hands, and the familiar floral of her perfume to confirm this was real.

  “My turn,” her father said.

  His embrace was stronger still, his arms encircling her with their protective warmth.

  She closed her eyes, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Father,” she whispered.

  He released her, put a finger beneath her chin, and tilted it upward. “We were worried about you. We missed you.”

  Considering the way she had left, the reunion could have been filled with tension and anger. That it wasn’t, that they greeted her with love, was testament to their character. “I missed you too. So much.”

  Her mother studied her a moment. “You are slimmer. Are you eating well enough?”

  Henrietta smiled. “Enough yes, but differently. I’ve had to learn to fend for myself.”

  “You cook?” The surprise in her mother’s question implied such a task was commensurate with learning to do something truly astounding, like driving a motor car.

  Henrietta laughed. “Not well at all. But I manage. And I eat many meals with my friends.” She spotted them a few steps away, watching. She motioned them close. “Annie…”

  Annie came over, looking a bit anxious. She bobbed a curtsy. “My lord. My lady. How nice to see you.”

  “As it is nice to see you, Annie Wood,” Lord Newley said.

  Annie drew Sean close. “It’s Annie Culver now. This is my husband, Sean, and his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Culver.” She swept a hand toward each in turn then said, “This is Lord and Lady Newley of Crompton Hall.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Vesta said with a nod. Her husband said the same.

  Henrietta drew Edna and Maude close and introduced them.

  While accomplishing this, she kept looking for Steven. Where was he? For above all the others, she wanted him to meet her parents.

  Suddenly, she saw people in the crowd look toward the top of the terrace where a man stood with a guitar. And there, next to him, stood Steven.

  “There he is!” she said. “There’s Steven!” She waved.

  He waved back then nodded to the guitarist, who started playing. And then, Steven began to sing. “‘Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you.’”

  Everyone sto
pped where they were and listened.

  Steven walked down the steps toward her.

  “‘Let me hear you whisper that you love me too. Keep the love light glowing in your eyes so true. Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you.’”

  He began another verse, and all the people on the steps and in his path to the fountain parted, letting the duo pass.

  Henrietta didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She pressed her hands to her chest, her heart overflowing. By the last chorus, he stood directly in front of her, taking her hands in his.

  “‘Let me call you sweetheart,’” his voice cracked, but he finished the sentiment by speaking the words. “I’m in love with you.” Then he dropped to one knee. “My dearest Henrietta, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  Although she knew she was surrounded by a complement of friends, family, and strangers, when Henrietta said yes to her beloved Steven, all others faded away. She drew him into her arms and they kissed, sealing their vow.

  The applause and cheers shocked her out of her reverie, and she giggled and blushed, kissed him again, and giggled some more.

  Her friends surged forward to congratulate them while the guitarist took up a position by the fountain to entertain for the sake of entertaining—and earning a few cents, as he set his hat on the ground nearby.

  During the well-wishes Henrietta got separated from Steven but found him talking with her parents. She hadn’t even introduced them!

  She hurried to rectify the fact. “Steven, meet my father and mother and—”

  “We’ve already met Steven,” Mother said.

  “It’s because of him, we are here,” Father said.

  Henrietta didn’t understand.

  Mother linked her arm with Steven. “He wrote to us, introducing himself.”

  “How did you do that?” she asked. “I mean, how did you know where to send a letter?”

  “I looked at the address on a letter they’d sent you.”

  Henrietta remembered an odd moment when he’d fiddled with one of her letters from home. “I told everyone you weren’t a schemer, but you are.”

  He returned to her side. “I can scheme with the best of them for a good cause.”

  Father took over his wife’s arm. “He asked me for your hand.”

  Henrietta was moved. “You did?”

  “I wanted to do this properly. And I asked them to come here to see you, for I knew how much you missed them.”

  The logistics of his plan overwhelmed. To think he had managed it all without her knowledge.

  “We’ve been staying at my cousin’s,” her father said. “We arrived two days ago.”

  Steven continued the explanation. “Through many telegrams back and forth, we were hatching a way to surprise you.” He nodded toward Annie. “Annie’s idea of an outing today was perfect.” He looked to his own mother. “I contacted Mr. Mueller to play the guitar and…” He shrugged. “I’m just relieved it all fell into place.”

  Henrietta leaned her head against his shoulder. “You are the most marvelous man.”

  “And I will do my best to be a marvelous husband.”

  “I wish I could marry you now.”

  Another kiss confirmed that he agreed.

  Henrietta’s father raised a hand, gathering their small group close. “We have planned a celebratory dinner at Delmonico’s this evening. Eight sharp. We would like all of you to attend.”

  Sean raised a hand. “That sounds lovely, but…in such a posh restaurant, don’t we need tuxedos?”

  “And evening dresses?” Edna said.

  Henrietta’s parents exchanged a glance. “You are our guests. A suit or Sunday dress will be quite suitable,” Father said. “We have dined there with my cousin on many occasions. All will be well.”

  Henrietta knew if anyone could overturn a point of etiquette, it would be Father.

  “Please,” he said to all. “Come and join us.”

  Her parents in town, an engagement, and an engagement party?

  Henrietta’s cup overfloweth.

  Maude backed away from the group at the fountain as they chattered happily about Henrietta and Steven’s engagement and the reunion with her parents. And then Maude found herself walking away from the area, away from the Mall, away from…

  Their happiness?

  The heartlessness of her insight should have made her turn around and return to their celebration. But the brokenness of her own heart prevented such action. The struggle between how she should feel and how she did feel kept her walking away from them.

  She had no destination in mind but wrapped her arms tightly around herself, not against the chill of a December day but against the chill of her mood. In truth, her attitude frightened her. She was a woman who knew her own mind, who handled every situation with aplomb, who set goals and reached them. She was not emotional in the stereotypical Italian female way. She had never giggled in her life—not even as a young girl. She had never plotted to get a boy’s attention, worried overly about a new dress and whether it would attract male eyes, nor dreamt of a life as a wife and—

  She stopped walking as a memory surfaced, actually more than one memory of times in her girlhood bedroom, sitting by the window, gazing out to the people below, thinking about a future that did include her own home, her own spouse, her own children to raise. And love. I hoped for love once. I did.

  “Excuse me, miss…”

  A man stepped around her, causing Maude to resume walking. She spotted the sailboat pond ahead. Although it was winter, she hoped the mild weather had spurred young sailors to come out for the day. The diversion of the calm sails sliding by on the blue of the pond would do her good.

  Despite the distraction of choosing a destination, her memories returned. She had hoped for love and family and the usual goals of womanhood. But that had been in the before-time, before she had been violated and damaged forever physically. And mentally.

  I recovered. I moved on. I took the hand that was dealt to me and made a logical choice to remain single. It’s a magnanimous decision. Noble.

  Another designation intruded.

  Cowardly.

  She shook her head against the intrusive word. She was not a coward. She had faced all of it head on, alone. She had displayed fortitude and courage.

  You didn’t have to be alone, Maude.

  These inner words did not come from her own thoughts but in spite of them, like a shimmering thread weaving its way into homespun.

  God. She could have turned to Him. Should have turned to Him. Yet she’d been ashamed of the situation, even though she’d been the victim. She had argued against herself more than once, yet she had not been able to share her pain with the Lord. In fact, she’d run from Him, like a child trying to hide from her father.

  And then the full truth stepped forward. God was there for her then, and He was there for her now. She just needed to trust Him.

  Maude’s heart beat wildly in her chest, and her breathing grew heavy as her eyes stung with tears. Tears?

  She couldn’t break down in the middle of Central Park. She turned around to retreat, yet if she backtracked she would surely run into her friends. Friends who would help her.

  Even though she knew this was true, she shook her head against it. They were celebrating Henrietta and Steven’s engagement. Maude didn’t want to ruin it by intruding with her crisis of…

  Faith?

  Maude turned yet again and continued to the sail pond. She’d find a vacant bench and collect herself.

  She made a beeline for a long bench straight ahead and sat at the far end, turning her gaze to the right or left, in whichever way kept her face from being fully visible to those who strolled by.

  “Papa, look! It’s sailing!”

  She looked toward the little boy’s voice and saw him at the shore with an older girl who was clapping with delight as their sailboat caught a breeze and moved through the leaf-strewn water.

  Their father rushed t
o see. “Well done, Matteo!”

  Maude’s heart stopped beating. Her tears forgot to fall. Her mind discarded all thoughts as she focused on one very important fact. The man was Antonio Ricci.

  She stood, and by her action drew his glance. Then his gaze. Then his smile.

  His smile? The last time they’d spoken he’d accepted her apology but he’d refused her offer of friendship.

  He walked toward her, causing her heart to jump and restart its beating.

  “Maude.” He took her hands and kissed her cheeks. “How splendid to see you.”

  Somehow, she found her voice. “It’s splendid to see you too.”

  The little girl, who appeared to be nine or ten, joined him and nuzzled against his side. “This is my daughter, Angela. Gela, this is Miss Nascato.”

  Daughter?

  The girl smiled. “Are you that lady?”

  “Gela…”

  “What lady?”

  “The lady I heard Papa talk about.”

  Interesting. “I don’t know. What did he say about the lady?”

  “He said he thought you were right for us, but then you said you didn’t like children, and he was sad. Do you like children?”

  Antonio’s face had reddened. “I’m sorry. She speaks when she should remain silent.”

  “But it’s true, Papa. Is she the one?”

  “Well, yes, she is, but that doesn’t mean you should tell her that.”

  The girl’s face drooped.

  Maude touched her chin, gaining her gaze. “It’s all right. I am the lady he was talking about, but what he said about me isn’t quite true.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “It isn’t?” Antonio echoed.

  “I like children very much, but…” She tried to think of a way to say what needed to be said, in words appropriate for a child’s ears. “I was sad that I could never have my own children.”

  “You can’t? Why?”

  “Enough, Gela,” her father said. “Go check on your brother.”

  She shrugged and ran off.

  “I apologize for her bluntness. Most children speak their minds, but my Gela speaks far more than she should.”