She opened the door in response to the buzzer.
“Dot?”
I almost didn’t recognize her. She wore a simple skirt and sweater, minus the sparkly dresses, jangly jewelry, and kohl-rimmed eyes. She looked as beautiful as ever—in my opinion, even more without all the glitter and rouge—and younger somehow.
“Marjorie.” Her dark eyes reflected my surprise.
“I hope you don’t mind my dropping in out of the blue. I just wanted to return this.” I held out the key. She looked at it but didn’t take it. She slouched against the door, twisting the doorknob in her hand.
“I’m glad you’ve come, Marjie. Come in.” She stepped aside and motioned me toward the sofa. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you ever since—since that night. I’ve wanted to telephone, but Charlie said it was probably better to leave you alone for the time being. How are you?”
“I’m well,” I said. “Really well.” I chose my next words carefully. “I know you and Charlie have gotten together. So Louie’s out of the picture?”
“Completely.” Her voice trembled. “There are so many things I’ve wanted to say to you.”
I shook my head. “You don’t owe me any explanations.”
“Please let me talk.” Her pretty face crumpled. “Oh, Marjorie, I’ve been feeling so horrible. The entire fiasco was a terrible mistake, and it was all my fault. Can you ever forgive me?”
My heart melted as I embraced her. “Dot, it wasn’t your fault. I chose to do what I did that night. I was the one who drank too much, who practically stole a dress, who disgraced my family and myself, and worst of all, God. It was the best thing for everyone that I just go back home where I belong. I’ve only come here to finish up some business and return your key. I’m staying at the Y.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She straightened and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “You’re staying right here. Your room is waiting for you, exactly how you left it. I haven’t touched a thing.”
I took off my hat. We could sort out the lodging question later. By the time she’d made us both some tea, I’d worked up the nerve to talk openly about the night at the speakeasy.
“It was terrible of me to sneak out on you like that,” I confessed. “I just felt so humiliated, I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone, not even you.”
“And I felt so rotten, too. After all, I was the one who got us into that mess in the first place.” She sipped her tea. “I’ve made a few changes.”
“I can see that. New duds?”
She nodded. “Yes, but more important, I’m not seeing Louie anymore. Not singing at the club, either. No cigarettes, no booze. That life is over for me.”
“I’m glad. But why?”
Her slender shoulders drooped. “There was something about that night,” she said, shaking her head. “Seeing you, sweet little Marjorie Corrigan, dangling from a tree branch, one step ahead of the cops—” She winced.
“That must have been a sight to behold.”
“Well, it made me realize that’s no kind of place for you,” she continued. “Or for me. You helped me see I deserve something better.”
“But what about your singing career?”
She shrugged. “I love to sing. But in the end, the fame, the glitter . . . it’s not worth it,” she said. “Not if you have to sell your soul to get it. You showed me that. You and Charlie. You both made me want to change, to be the kind of girl you’d both be proud of.”
“Dot, you don’t have to change for us.”
“Yes, I do. I want to.” Her mouth tilted into a smile. “I really admire you, you know. Beneath that Pollyanna exterior, you’re a genuinely good person.”
“I’m not. I’ve never felt less good in my entire life.”
“Yes, you are. And I want what you have.”
“The only thing I have, Dot, is faith in God. He’s all any of us ever needs. Including you.”
She gave a harsh laugh. “What does your Bible say about a girl like me? Nothing good, I imagine.”
“Oh, Dot. There’s nothing good in any of us. That’s why we need a Savior.”
She glanced away. “You really believe that stuff, don’t you?”
“With all my heart.”
“Yeah. So does Charlie.”
“Yes. And so can you.”
After a pause she said, “I don’t know, Marjorie.”
“Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
“I will.” She sat up straighter. “There’s something I do know for sure, though. No more singing in nightclubs for me. From now on I’m just a plain old clerk selling hats in a department store.”
“You’re neither plain nor old. And you’re not just a hat girl in a department store.” Echoing Mrs. Cross, I said, “You’re a purveyor of elegant headwear at Marshall Field & Company. And nobody does it better than you.”
The next afternoon I took the streetcar to Field’s, fighting every urge to walk straight up to the Store for Men to find Peter and beg his forgiveness, but first things first. Instead I stomped down to the loading dock and asked around until I located Kurt Steuben. I found him on his break, smoking a cigarette in the alley with a couple of other men.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I said. “May I speak to Kurt alone?” The men exchanged glances, then stubbed out their cigarettes and went back inside the dock. I stood as straight and tall as I could.
“So you’re back?” Kurt drawled. “I thought you were gone for good.”
“I’m back,” I said. I read him the riot act for making a pass at Helen on the Fourth of July.
“What on earth were you thinking?” I seethed. “She’s sixteen years old.”
“I should have known she’d be a cold fish like her sister.”
The next thing I knew, I’d slapped him right across the face. Hard.
“Hey!” he shouted, rubbing his face, which bore an expression of shock. I may have looked like I wasn’t tough enough to squash a spider, but I had a pretty strong right hook when provoked.
“I have a good mind to tell your supervisor what you’ve done,” I threatened. Inside I knew I probably wouldn’t bring up such a personal matter at the workplace. Helen wouldn’t have wanted me to. But I would if I had to—if Kurt pushed me hard enough. Surely Marshall Field & Company wouldn’t want to keep such a lecherous fiend on the payroll, if they knew what he tried to do with young girls.
Kurt’s eyes narrowed. “You say one word to anybody, about anything, and you’ll be sorry.”
“You don’t scare me,” I said. I turned on my heel and strode away. But once I was out of his sight, it took quite a while before I was able to stop shaking.
When I’d calmed down, I went to Ladies’ Nightwear to say hello to Mrs. Cross and to ask her forgiveness for running out on my job and leaving her in the lurch. But when I got there, Mrs. Cross was nowhere to be found.
“She retired at the end of August,” Miss Ryan told me. “I’m in charge of the department now.”
“I see.”
“I hope you’re not here to try to get your old job back,” she said. “You may have been Mrs. Cross’s favorite, but you certainly weren’t mine. Field’s doesn’t look kindly on employees who quit without notice.”
“I’m not here for a job. I just wanted to say hello to Mrs. Cross.” I’d been her favorite? I never would have guessed.
My determination to face Peter wavered. Maybe another day would be better. I headed to the main floor and was almost out the door when I heard my name.
“Miss Corrigan, is it?” I glanced up to see a bearded man, who extended his hand. “Arthur Fraser. I made your acquaintance at the Selfridge reception.”
All at once I recalled the friendly man.
“Why, yes. We had a discussion about paintings, if I remember correctly.”
“That’s right. You’re a hard person to track down.”
“I no longer work here.”
“So I’m told. The only address the Personnel Department had w
as for the YWCA, but when they inquired they were told you no longer lived there.”
“You’ve been looking for me?”
“The display department is desperately short-staffed, and we’ve had a terrible time finding a qualified person. Mr. Simpson commended your display work, and I believe you told me you had an interest in becoming a trimmer.”
“Yes?”
“I’m wondering if you’d consider working for me as an apprentice window dresser.”
He continued talking, something about hard work and long hours, but I barely heard him through the ringing in my ears. Me. An apprentice window dresser at Marshall Field & Company. It was enough to make a girl faint.
But not this girl. I simply drew myself up, smiled, and said with great confidence, “Yes, Mr. Fraser. I’d be happy to discuss the position with you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The next morning I met with Mr. Fraser, who outlined the terms of the job. “Miss Corrigan, I’m eager to add a trained artistic eye to my team. You’ll have to start at the bottom, of course, and gain more experience. Long hours, hard work. But I have no doubt that, with your talent, you’ll rise through the ranks quickly.”
I knew working on Arthur Fraser’s team would mean working with the best in the business. But was I prepared to work at Field’s again? “It’s a very tempting offer, Mr. Fraser. I promise to think about it.”
“Don’t think about it too long, Miss Corrigan,” he said. “Soon we’ll need to start on the Christmas windows.”
As I was leaving the store, I ran into Ruthie.
“Marjorie, I’m so glad to see you. I heard you were coming back.” The moccasin trail had certainly wasted no time.
I explained the new job, adding, “I haven’t decided whether to accept it yet.”
“Why not? Sounds like the work is right up your alley, and you can resume helping at the settlement house.”
I shook my head. “No, Ruthie, I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story,” I said, not knowing how detailed a version Ruthie had heard. The truth was, I didn’t think a girl like me had any right to be working with impressionable children. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Everyone’s been asking about you since the Fourth of July. We’ve started working on a Christmas concert. After our stirring performance on the Fourth, we’ve been invited to sing at Orchestra Hall during the holidays.”
“Ruthie, that’s so exciting!”
“So we need help. Loads of help. Oh, Marjorie, please think about it. The children adore you, you know. We start rehearsing tonight.”
I agreed to think about it. I should have remembered that, in Ruthie’s view, “thinking about it” was tantamount to saying yes.
Sure enough, I found myself back at the settlement house that evening, brainstorming costume ideas. I delighted in seeing the children again, and my young friend Gabriella latched on to me as if I’d never been gone.
“I’m to sing a solo,” she announced with pride.
“That’s quite an honor,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll sing beautifully.”
“I hope so. I’m a little nervous.”
“That’s natural. Just do your best. Sing your heart out as you normally do, and you’ll do fine.”
“I only wish I had a pretty dress to wear to the concert,” she said. “Not some old patched hand-me-down of my sister’s.”
In Gabriella’s family, spending money on a new dress was out of the question. “Never mind, sweetie. What matters is that you sing your very best. That’s what the audience wants to hear. Whether or not you have the perfect dress won’t matter, in the long run.”
Hearing myself, I cringed. Where had that little gem of wisdom been when I needed it most?
Gabriella nodded. “I know. ‘The Lord looks on the heart.’” Parroting a verse I’d repeated often to the children, she looked at me wistfully. “But still.”
“I know.” Pretty dresses were important to young girls, and it was no use trying to convince them otherwise. Older girls, too. Even though I had little extra money to buy her a new dress, I vowed to ferret through the clearance racks in Field’s basement to see if I could find a suitable bargain.
I telephoned Pop and Frances about Mr. Fraser’s job offer and received their blessing in return. Now that my engagement to Richard was no more, there was nothing to tether me to Kerryville except my job at Corrigan’s Dry Goods, and Pop was the first to encourage me in my new position.
Working for Mr. Fraser turned out to be tough but rewarding. We “trimmers” did a lot of our work after hours, in order to not mess up the sales floor during the shopping day. So I frequently found myself working a different schedule than most of the staff, which suited me fine. Even during normal hours I was sequestered in a basement workshop, not out on the selling floor. I saw less of my friends, but the longer I could put off running into Peter Bachmann, the better. My heart longed to see him, but my head knew better. I had no idea what I’d say to him.
Meanwhile, despite scouring the racks in Field’s basement and other discount retailers, I’d had no luck finding a suitable dress for Gabriella that I could afford. One evening in October, after a particularly trying concert rehearsal, I came home and ranted to Dot about it.
“She’s such a sweet girl, and I know she’ll look beautiful in whatever she wears,” I said, “but she’s growing so fast that it’s hard for her mother to keep her supplied with everyday clothes, much less a special-occasion frock she’ll wear maybe once or twice. Still, it would mean so much to her. I’d love to buy her one, but I’m strapped.”
Dot nodded. “When I stopped singing at Louie’s, I gave all my costumes away to charity,” she said sadly. “They held such bad memories, I didn’t want them around anymore. But now I regret not saving even one. With your skill with a needle and thread, I’m sure you could have made it over for your young friend.”
I thought of the violet dress I’d refashioned for Helen for Spring Fling. I wondered if it might fit Gabriella, and whether Helen would be willing to lend it for the occasion. It was really a springtime dress, not particularly suitable for Christmas. Still, if I could only—
A lightning bolt flashed through my brain. I snapped my fingers. “Dot, you’re brilliant.”
“What’d I say?”
All at once I knew what to do. I went into my bedroom, rummaged through the bottom drawer of the dresser, and pulled out a length of crumpled blue satin.
Working backstage at Field’s freed me from some of the strictest rules regarding my appearance. Likely as not to be covered in paint and sawdust by the end of my shift, I was able to let my guard down somewhat—to wear older clothes and not worry so much about making a polished appearance to impress a supervisor or anyone else.
I relished this new freedom, sometimes not even bothering to apply powder or lipstick. So it shouldn’t have surprised me that—on a Saturday afternoon when I had not only let my grooming standards slip, but had flung them forcibly to the ground and stomped on them—I ran smack into Peter Bachmann in the employee lounge.
“Marjorie!” he said with delight. “I’d heard you were back. Congratulations on the new position. I know you’ll make a terrific success of it.”
Heart thumping, I thanked him and tried to slink away, hoping he wouldn’t notice my arms were blue to the elbows from painting a night-sky backdrop for the Christmas windows.
“Can I convince you to have dinner with me tonight?” he said, as if he’d never seen me standing in a torn dress outside a speakeasy, liquor on my breath, like some sort of floozy, especially after my self-righteous anti-liquor proclamation. While I would have preferred for the earth to crack open and swallow me whole, resistance to his endearing crinkly-eyed smile was futile.
“All right, but I’ll need to freshen up first.”
“We could go to that German place you like so much. I hear they’re running some Oktoberfest specials.”
/> At closing time I did my best to repair my appearance. We walked over to the Berghoff, chatting of inconsequential things. It wasn’t until after we’d ordered that he pinned me under his gaze.
“How have you been, Marjorie?”
“All right, I guess.”
“And your family?”
“They’re fine.”
He leaned toward me across the table. “I’ve missed you. You have no idea how much.”
A delicious shiver touched my spine. I broke our gaze and looked down at my wrist, where a faint line of blue pigment showed above the hem of my glove. Don’t, I pleaded silently. Don’t be kind. One kind word and I’ll fall hopelessly in love with you, and we both know that’s a mistake.
Safer to stick to business. “How are things going in the Store for Men?”
He sat back. “It’s been a hard day. I need to send a huge order of silk neckties to a sports team on the West Coast. The coach wants them for his players to wear at some big promotional event. Unfortunately the shipment can’t go out until Monday, which cuts it really close.”
“Why can’t they ship it tomorrow?”
He twisted his mouth. “No shipments on Sundays.”
“Sure there are,” I said. I told him about seeing trucks being loaded with cartons of hair tonic late on a Saturday night. “I’m sure Kurt said they had to do it then, because the shipment needed to go out early on Sunday morning. So it’s not out of the question. You should talk to the shipping manager and see if he’ll make an exception for you.”
“Hair tonic?” Peter snorted. “You mean to tell me that some customer was having a hair tonic emergency?”
“Some huge customer,” I said. “Truckloads of the stuff. Kurt said it was part of the charity drive.”
“Charity drive?” He grinned. “I think you were just dreaming. Or delirious, after too much time around glue and paint fumes.”
“I know what I saw,” I said, secretly miffed he didn’t believe me. “Besides, this happened pre-fumes. I was still working in Ladies’ Nightwear.”
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