by Pam Lewis
Dressmaker/laundress wanted.
Room and board included.
Call at 131 Riverside Drive, Apartment 2,
between three and four o’clock P.M.
* * *
* Coney Island, the Bowery, Brooklyn, Harlem, Greenwich, Flushing, Staten Island
17
THE ONLY SPACE large enough was the parlor floor. Minke moved the couch and chair out of the way to make room for what she was about to do, took off her dress, and, wearing only her petticoat, laid out the dress. It was like a giant tent made of black wool and smelling of sweat, smoke, and grease.
Elly lay on a blanket at her side, examining her fingers in the shaft of sunlight that filled the room.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Fenna sank onto the couch, her pale eyes dull.
Minke didn’t answer.
“Cassian has found a patient,” Fenna said. “There will be money.”
Minke took a razor and carefully sliced each stitch along the side seam of the dress.
“What are you doing?”
“Making a better-fitting dress.”
“But I’m going to need it for later. When I’m big.” Fenna stuck out her lower lip, the same little pout she’d had since she was a child.
“It’s my dress,” Minke said. “I made it.” She opened the dress and spread out the two halves. Then she began cutting the stitches that joined the top to the skirt. It was coarsely made and came apart easily—the arms from the top, the cuffs, the pockets, the plackets, everything carefully laid flat. She soon had all the pieces of black wool spread before her like a puzzle.
“I’ll tell Sander.”
“Go ahead,” Minke said.
It took all of the afternoon to cut down each piece, pin the pieces together, hold it up to herself for fit, unpin, and repin, until it was right. That evening she washed each piece of the dress in cold water in a basin. The water got filthy as the wool let go of all the smoke and dirt and grime it had sucked in through the months. She hung the pieces over the radiator to dry. All night the wet wool gave off a lovely clean odor that reminded her of home.
By the light of dawn, she began sewing the pieces together. It took hours. And when she finished her dress, she took Elly’s sling apart and turned the fabric so the bright parts, those not faded by sun and dirt, would show on the outside. Fenna crabbed to Sander about what Minke was doing. When he didn’t intervene, a screaming fight broke out between them. The door slammed at one point. Sander was off to the tavern or to wherever he gambled. Minke no longer cared. But when Cassian came back, she stopped her work. “I understand you have a patient,” she said.
His color was better. He’d spent days on the streets looking for work, too. He’d found the new patient, he explained, at a bar that sold drinks to men like him. “You know what I mean,” he said in English. Cassian spoke to her only in English so Fenna and Sander would not know what they said. “They treat me like the second coming of Christ. I’m a miracle.” He laughed. “And what is all this, may I ask?”
She slid the dress on, buttoned up the front. “Mooi,” he said, slipping into the Dutch for “beautiful.” The new dress fit her slim waist and came down to her ankles. She combed out her blond curls, braided them into the familiar coronet, and slung Elly onto her hip. “I plan to come home with a job,” she said.
SHE WALKED TO Riverside Drive, the posh part of the city. Women passed in pairs pushing large, expensive prams, and Minke held tightly to Elly in her beribboned sling. The contents were what mattered, not the vehicle.
The building was gray stone with a canopy over the door and a man in uniform who took her name, pressed a buzzer, and saw her up in an elevator.
She’d been practicing assiduously with Cassian, putting special care into certain words. She must say the, not se, and was, not vas. “I come about the position advertised in the newspaper,” she would say. “I am a seamstress. I have made this dress myself since only yesterday.”
Which was exactly what she said to the woman who opened the door to her.
The woman wore a gray dress with a high collar. She was petite and old. Perhaps Mama’s age, which meant at least forty. The woman smiled at her. She had a whitely powdered face, a circle of rouge high on each cheek, and red lipstick. She asked if she might peek into the sling, and Minke opened it slightly so she could see Elly, who lay peering up with her wide brown eyes. The woman raised her eyes to Minke’s for a long moment. “I’d like to have my sister here,” she said at last, and rang a little bell that stood on a nearby table.
A second woman appeared, like the first but stouter. She wore half-glasses and peered at Minke over the tops.
“Do come in,” the first one said.
The room Minke was shown to was large, with heavy velvet drapes over the windows and shining wooden floors. The sisters sat side by side on a divan. The larger of the two indicated a chair for Minke.
“We’re the Misses Wiley,” the small one said. “I’m Miss Anne Wiley, and my sister is Miss Amanda Wiley. You will call us Miss Anne and Miss Amanda. It’s much simpler, don’t you agree?”
Minke nodded. Miss Anne spoke as if they had already hired her, although that was impossible.
“Tell us about yourself,” Miss Anne said sweetly.
Minke hadn’t expected this. Cassian had prepared her to show off her skills. He’d expected them to test her with a small sewing project. She didn’t know what to say to such fine women with their lovely apartment and good manners. How could she ever admit that her husband had become a drunk and a gambler, that he’d impregnated her own sister, that the family, once sound, was desperate?
“I believe I heard you say you made the dress you’re wearing.” Miss Anne said, helping her. “Tell us about it.”
That was all she needed. She explained in the best English she could muster, standing and showing the sisters, the way she’d sewn up the sides, how she’d had to cut it down. Her fingers trembled from nerves. She explained the placket, which was complicated and difficult to describe in English. “And all since yesterday,” she said. “Because I could not have arrived in the dress the way it was. Oh, it looked terrible,” she said before realizing she’d perhaps made a mistake in admitting that and, out of nerves, launched into a description of the ship from Argentina, the cramped quarters and cold nights.
Miss Anne interrupted. “But I thought you were a Dutch girl.”
The whole fiery story came flowing out of her in broken English; then she lapsed into Dutch, then corrected herself. She might as well tell it all and take her chances. She spoke of Elisabeth’s death in Amsterdam, her marriage, the excitement of being onboard the ship to Comodoro and Comodoro itself. And the obras and the gauchos and crossing rivers on horseback, even the shrunken heads of Frederik Dietz! She couldn’t stop the words from coming, egged on by Miss Anne’s small noises of encouragement. The two sisters sometimes glanced at each other, but Minke couldn’t read what was passing between them. She sensed approval from Miss Anne, at least.
She explained about the beating Cassian, Dr. Tredegar, had had because he was a homosexual. The sisters didn’t bat an eye. “He was terribly injured. His leg will never be the same again. But he’s a doctor. He delivered both my babies!”
As if on cue, Elly awakened, squirming and making small chirping sounds. The sisters both laughed, and the spell was broken. “And what of your husband?” Miss Amanda inquired.
Minke drew a small, quick breath. She’d already said everything else; there was no turning back now. “He betrayed me, and now I’ve left him.”
The sisters were a pair of dolls, composed if slightly startled. Finally Miss Anne spoke. “May I hold her, please?”
Minke drew the child from the warmth of her sling. It was safe in there, like the pouch of a kangaroo. “My only regret at never marrying,” Miss Anne said, taking the child and swaying back and forth with her.
“Amanda?” Miss Anne cocked an eyebrow at her sister. Miss Amanda frowned.
“It sounds like the truth to me. But we don’t like surprises. You’ve told us everything, yes?”
Minke swallowed. “Yes.”
“Well, then,” Miss Anne said. “Here are the job responsibilities we are seeking.”
She lay out the guidelines for perhaps the easiest job Minke could imagine. It involved living in rooms off the kitchen. On the ground floor of the building were several rooms, one of which belonged to the sisters and their brother, Louis, but more about him in a minute. The downstairs room would be hers for the mending and sewing. She was free to take in other work so long as she got theirs done on time. There was a mountain of mending to be done, as well as some dressmaking. In addition, Minke was to do the Wileys’ personal laundry in the kitchen. The sheets and clothing were taken elsewhere. A housekeeper named Mrs. Bowen came in to do the cleaning and prepare the meals. So there was no need of those services. “We don’t see the baby as being an immediate problem,” Miss Anne said in conclusion, “but you must understand that if you are unable to manage your work and the tending of the child, we must let you go.”
“Does this mean you’ll hire me?” Minke said, astonished.
“It does,” said Miss Amanda.
“I never expected—”
“That’s what I like in you,” said Miss Anne.
“I suppose you’ll need to go and pack your things,” Miss Amanda said.
“I have little.”
“And inform your friend, that doctor, of your whereabouts.”
HOW COULD SHE be so lucky? She practically danced home. The apartment was its gloomy self. Sander was asleep on the couch in the parlor. She crept down the hall to where Cassian had carved out a space for himself in the area by the back door. He, too, was asleep on his mattress there. She didn’t bother looking for Fenna. Cassian was the one she wanted. She shook him awake.
“I have the job!” she whispered so as not to wake the others. He had been sleeping in his clothing, a worn velvet jacket. Once she was established in her little sewing room, she would do to his clothes what she’d done to her dress. She told him everything. “I’m leaving,” she said. “I won’t stay and be shamed. I need to think of Elly.”
He sat up. “Didn’t I say you were strong?”
She wrote down the address on a slip of paper and pressed it into Cassian’s hand. “Don’t let Sander or Fenna know where I am.”
In the morning she rose, bathed, fed and changed Elly. When she was ready to leave, she threw open the door to Fenna’s room. Sander and Fenna looked like an enormous mound under the blanket, a great hulking moving thing. “Sander.” He started like a frightened child who’d been caught stealing. She remained calm. “We won’t be back,” she said. “We’re leaving.”
“Who?”
“Elly and I.”
“Where?”
Fenna lumbered from the bed. “You can’t,” she said. “You need to work. We have to stay together. Everybody says that. As soon as the family breaks apart, there’s no hope.”
“I’m not the one breaking apart the family, Fenna. Anyway, I have work,” Minke said. She hadn’t meant to say anything, but she’d slipped.
“Where? How much?”
“Goodbye, Fenna.”
“I’ll find out,” Fenna shouted after her. “We’re a family.”
“I wish Mama could hear you say that,” Minke called back over her shoulder. “We’re not a family at all.”
“You can’t take Elly. She’s Sander’s.”
Minke couldn’t resist. She came back to the room. “Sander?”
He threw the blanket back, exposing his naked chest.
“Is that true? You want to keep Elly?”
Sander shut his eyes wearily.
“See? He has no interest in Elly. He’ll have no interest in your baby, Fenna. I pity you.”
“You can’t just leave and not tell us where you’re going,” Fenna shouted after her, and for a moment Minke felt sorry for her sister, for her desperation. But only for the briefest moment. She closed the door behind her.
18
MISS AMANDA LET Minke in by the service door off the kitchen. Because it was a Saturday, two things would be different from normal. First, the weekend was the housekeeper’s time off, so Minke would not meet Mrs. Bowen until Monday. That meant Minke would cook for herself. Once the tour of the apartment and small sewing room downstairs was complete, she could make a good breakfast. She’d eaten so little for so long and was depleted enough by Elly’s needs that the idea of food made her salivate. Miss Amanda showed her the kitchen with its icebox full of eggs, milk, and vegetables. The coal cookstove, the soapstone laundry sink and mangle. A larder, filled to the brim with canned goods and boxes of delicious-looking biscuits. Her quarters off the kitchen consisted of two rooms bigger than those in Sander’s apartment, each with a window that overlooked the alley and a stable next door. In one of the rooms was a single bed and a bureau. In the other room were a couch and two chairs. Dividing the two rooms was a narrow tiled space that held the toilet, small sink, and tub. Incredibly, it was all hers.
Miss Amanda was all business as she led the way down the service stairs to the ground floor and a darkened hallway with doors on either side. The third door on the right was to the sewing room. It was flooded with light from two high windows. A treadle sewing machine stood in the center, and beside it was a large basket of notions, scissors, thread, and needles. Minke touched everything with her slender fingers. Lovely equipment. Miss Amanda showed her the pile of mending to be done. Most of it, she explained, was clothing that had to be taken in for their brother, Louis. And that was the other oddity. Louis was in residence, as it was a Saturday, his day off from work. He looked forward to meeting her and having a fitting right away. There had been many hapless seamstresses, and he had high hopes for Minke. “My brother is a very important man,” she said. “You will be very respectful of him. And I’ll have you know I’m not so won over as is my sister. I expect you to prove yourself here.”
Minke’s heart sank like a stone. If others before her had failed, who was she to succeed? She had the skills of the self-taught. She had made the best sampler in her class at school. Mama had taught her everything else she knew. But this was New York, not Enkhuizen. The sewing in a place like this, for people like this, must be far more sophisticated.
She was given a key to the sewing room, but for the time being, Miss Amanda said she would enter through the service door to the building and come up the service stairs. It was premature to give her a key to the apartment.
“I understand,” Minke said. She would have done it that way herself.
“Come, then,” Miss Amanda said, “and meet Louis.”
Minke followed Miss Amanda’s long black skirts back up the stairs, through the kitchen, the dining room, and the foyer, which she now saw was hung with tapestries and decorated with things that must have come from all over the world and reminded her of the exotic items in Sander and Elisabeth’s house in Amsterdam. Just before the living room, they passed a large mirror, and Minke startled to a stop. The girl she saw there was such a shock. She went in close, the better to see herself. Her face was so much thinner! She had fine high cheekbones, and her skin was brown from the sun and wind of the ship. Her blue eyes seemed to shine brighter than she remembered. Her eyelashes were bleached from the sun to a white-blond, and her hair, too. She almost fainted when it came to her, when she understood why the resemblance had practically taken the wind out of her.
She was Zef.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Miss Amanda stood waiting for her with an expression of incredulity that Minke would stop to stare at herself in the mirror.
There was no explaining. “I’m so sorry,” Minke said.
The next door gave onto a hallway and more rooms—an apartment in itself, much like the public library with its bookshelves and shiny wooden furniture. At the last door, Miss Amanda knocked. A man appeared. He was short and plump, with a massive head and an
engaging smile. He held out a hand to Minke. “My sisters have told me about you. Come in, come in.” In the room was a large desk of carved wood and several leather chairs. He indicated one of the chairs. Miss Amanda parked herself at the door. He spread his arms out wide. “I’m a difficult man to fit. I’m vain as well. Don’t laugh. I like my clothing to fit perfectly.”
She was trying to evaluate the fit of his trousers and vest. The sleeves of his shirt were a bit too long and the cuffs too loose. She felt encouraged; it was something she could fix. And the trouser seams were wavy. Oh yes. She was better than the last seamstress. “I believe I can do that.”
He nodded, indicated her sling. “What’s that you have there?”
The sisters must not have told him about Elly. “My baby,” she said, opening it slightly so he could see the sleeping child.
He reared back a little. “My sisters surprise me every day.” He addressed Miss Amanda. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d take a woman with a baby. Anne, of course, but not you.”
“She’ll be no trouble,” Minke said quickly. “I promise you. She’s a good baby.”
“We know nothing of babies in this household,” Mr. Wiley said.
“And we don’t wish to learn,” Miss Amanda added.
“I understand you’d like me to begin making some alterations today,” Minke said. She was so afraid the Wileys would find a reason to change their minds. She was on very thin ice, and everything she said seemed to make Miss Amanda even more skeptical.
“Indeed,” he said. “We’ll see how you do. I’ll come fetch you in an hour. How is that?”
Miss Anne hovered in the kitchen. She’d found a stack of clean rags Minke could use for Elly’s diapers. She showed Minke where she would find things for her lunch. Mrs. Bowen would be in on Monday, she said. The kitchen was Mrs. Bowen’s domain, and it was best to keep it orderly.