Liddie realized how desperately she missed her sister. There was nothing Amelia could do to change things. But Liddie realized she had a choice. She could hold on to her stubborn sense of what life should have been like and lose her sister entirely. Or she could accept reality and have her sister back, even with the thousand miles between them.
She went to her dressing table and took out paper and a pencil. Dear Amelia, she wrote. I miss you. A half hour later, she signed her name at the bottom of the tear-stained sheet.
When she looked up from the desk, she saw the tin of candy still on the bed. She ate a piece of creamy-white, air-filled divinity. Then she took the tin across the hall and knocked on Minnie’s door.
January 1, 1914
Happy New Year, Joe!
I am glad you see humor in a town called Forget. I laughed out loud at your story about the lost dog that had to run away for three days before it was out of sight. Can the Canadian prairie really be so flat? I try to imagine what you see when you stand outside your door in the morning. I want you to tell me every detail.
Even though I am still in Iowa, my world has expanded. Aunt Kate said when women have the right to vote, we’ll be able to do anything. One of Mrs. Tinker’s customers implied that I have to work, as though that’s a shameful thing. Her comment annoyed me. I want to work, and yet when someone casts working in a negative light, I rebel. What do you think of that?
Mama probably wrote that Vern got a brace of rabbits. My mouth waters thinking of rabbit gravy and biscuits.
It snowed early, then it turned so cold. I spend my evenings doing needlework or playing whist with Minnie and other boarders. Have you made new friends?
Your friend, Liddie
Chapter 11
“You’re Mrs. Tinker’s new girl. Right?”
Startled by the disembodied male voice, Liddie looked up, her hand hovering above the Jane Austen books on the library shelf. Through the rack, she saw blue eyes peering at her out of a flushed face. “Pardon?” she said.
“You work for Mrs. Tinker, don’t you?” He spoke louder.
“Yes. I do,” she whispered, glancing toward the reference desk. The librarian, who brooked no loud talk, glared at her before returning to her work.
“You’re new in town,” he said.
She’d lived in Maquoketa for almost four months and had ceased to think of herself as new. “I’ve been here awhile.”
“I’ve seen you coming out of Fisher’s.”
“Oh.” He’d been watching her! She tugged Pride and Prejudice free of the books crowding it, opened to the first page, and tried to read. She could feel him still watching her. She flushed, mildly uncomfortable and strangely excited that a man had singled her out. She made a show of being engrossed in the book. No strange man had ever spoken to her before, and she didn’t know quite what to do.
“I’ve seen you a few times,” he added.
Liddie took a step back. The man—actually a boy, she saw now, probably no older than her—had come around the end of the stack and stood right in front of her. He was not quite as tall as she, sturdily built, with copper-colored hair that intensified his ruddy complexion.
“Shhh!”
Liddie glanced at the librarian, who frowned, her finger to her lips.
“What are you reading?” He took the book from her hands and glanced at the cover. “Jane Austen.” He flipped through a few pages and snapped the book closed. “Never read her.”
“I like her stories.” She reached for the book.
Grinning, he held it up and away, beyond her reach. She’d once seen an older boy playing keep-away with a girl at school. The girl had laughed, seeming to enjoy the game, but it irked Liddie. She thought it childish and she let her hands drop to her sides.
A look of disappointment replaced the grin. “I’m Harley Ellers.” He emphasized his last name as he put the book back on the shelf. “My dad runs the Decker House,” he added, as though he expected Liddie to be impressed. “Would you like to have a soda, Liddie? We can go to the Decker.”
He knew her name! He’d been watching her and asking about her. She guessed she ought to be flattered. She also thought it awfully bold of him to ask. She stalled. “How do you know my name?”
“I get around.”
How brash. Did he think she was fool enough to walk off with someone she’d just met?
“Thank you,” she said. “But I’m meeting someone.” It seemed a safe thing to say. And appropriate.
“Oh really? Who?”
How cheeky. Now she was trapped. She’d come to the library that afternoon after work because she’d nothing else to do. She had promised herself she’d be back at the boardinghouse before dark but lost track of time as she wandered between the stacks, imagining herself in all the places she read about.
“I told Mrs. Prescott I’d help her set the table,” Liddie blurted without thinking.
“The boardinghouse?” he asked. “I’ll walk you there, then.”
“That’s kind of you to offer, but no.” Liddie didn’t want to appear rude, so she added, “Mrs. Prescott doesn’t allow men.”
“I could walk you to the door.”
“Really. No.”
“In the dark? Won’t you be afraid?”
“I’m not afraid of the dark.” She laughed. “Don’t be silly.”
The boy studied her. “All right. Another time.”
“Perhaps.”
He stuck out his hand. “It was nice to meet you.” Before letting go of her hand, he added, “Be careful walking home. You never know in the dark.” He sauntered away.
Arrogant, Liddie thought. She pulled out Pride and Prejudice again.
When she had checked out her book and the heavy library doors had closed behind her, she glanced up and down the street before descending the steps. A vague sense of unease troubled her. Even the gaslights along the street looked sinister. Don’t be silly, she scolded herself. She’d never been uncomfortable before, walking alone in Maquoketa. Yet she hurried home, watching every bush and tree along the way.
“So he was clumsy,” Minnie said when Liddie told her about Harley. “He wanted to meet you. That’s all.”
“Well, it felt funny. And now I feel uncomfortable.”
“You might at least have a soda with him.”
Liddie considered the idea as she buttoned the collar of her blouse. “You don’t know that I’ll ever see him again,” she said.
“I think you will.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t like him all that well.”
“You didn’t give him a chance. Not really. And you never know.”
June 6, 1914
Dear Amelia,
I am glad to hear Hope has finally grown into the dress I made for her. I’m used to making dresses much bigger or much smaller than that one. I bet Fred was proud to take his two girls into Lusk! How fun that you and Fred are dancing again.
Mama says not to worry, many men don’t take to babies. Babies and diapers are women’s work. She says Papa wasn’t at all disappointed he had a girl first, but many men think their oldest ought to be a boy. She says Fred will come around.
Have you decided who you will vote for in the election? Amelia, I just cannot believe that you get to vote! Aunt Kate and I are cheering you on. Maybe someday I will be able to mark a ballot, too.
I suppose you have your garden in. Do things grow in Wyoming as they do here? Write again soon.
Your sister, Liddie
Chapter 12
Maquoketa was far from a society town, but as the county seat, it did have an active social scene that was most apparent during the holiday season. As early as midsummer, women began appearing at Mrs. Tinker’s door with pages—torn from magazines, often sent by friends who lived in larger cities—showing dresses that were the latest fashi
on.
Ultimately, however, most women relied on Mrs. Tinker to suggest a style or fabric, knowing she would choose something flattering that no one else would be wearing.
Gladys Caither’s husband, Ben, was president of First National Bank, and the couple hosted one of the best parties of the season. Mrs. Caither dressed meticulously with an excellent sense of style. When she arrived for her appointment the first Thursday in August, she brought her twelve-year-old daughter, Anna, with her.
“This is the first year Anna will be attending the party with the adults.” Mrs. Caither briefly touched her daughter’s shoulder.
“How wonderful!” Mrs. Tinker smiled. “Are you excited?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Anna said. An attractive girl, Anna was slim like her mother, with honey-blond hair and soft brown eyes.
“Shall we have tea while we talk about what you have in mind?” Mrs. Tinker asked.
“That would be lovely.”
Liddie brought in the tray of freshly brewed tea and biscuits. Gladys Caither invariably wanted tea, which was why her appointments were scheduled for midafternoon with nothing else afterward.
“Hello, Mrs. Caither. It’s good to see you,” Liddie said. She set the tray on the parlor table and began pouring tea in the delicate porcelain cups, which were painted with tiny red roses.
Liddie admired how regally Mrs. Caither sat in the wingback chair, and she knew a corset contributed to the effect. Girls as young as Anna wore corsets, and Liddie had once eagerly anticipated the time when her mother would let her wear one. But when Amelia let her try on one of hers, she found she could hardly breathe, let alone bend over. From that moment, in a move completely at odds with her interest in fashionable clothing, she had refused to put one on again.
“Would you like tea, Anna?” Liddie asked the girl sitting motionless on the edge of her chair.
“Yes, please?” Anna looked to her mother.
Given the way Mrs. Caither watched her daughter, Liddie wondered if this cup of tea was a first for the girl. Liddie took care to ensure the cup and saucer were steady in Anna’s hands before she let go. She could not imagine coming to a seamstress with her mother to have a dress made just for her, just for a holiday party. But she could imagine being so young and trying to act so old.
“Look, Mama.” Anna tugged her mother’s sleeve and pointed. “Look at the doll dresses.”
“It’s not polite to point, dear.” Mrs. Caither brought Anna’s hand down as she looked to the workroom wall where the doll dresses hung. “Why, Ernestine,” she said. “Have you broadened your services to include doll clothes?”
“That’s Liddie’s work. She does excellent needlework, and she’s shown a talent for color and design,” Mrs. Tinker responded. “Liddie, why don’t you get the dresses and show them to Anna?”
“They aren’t—” Liddie began to protest.
“I know Anna would like to see them,” Mrs. Tinker interrupted. Though her voice was pleasant, a firm undertone reminded Liddie of the debacle on her first day.
“Yes, ma’am.” Abashed, Liddie went to unpin the dresses she’d all but forgotten were there.
She’d been working at the shop for eight months when Mrs. Tinker engaged her in a discussion of her sewing interests. She was flattered when her employer suggested she might become a dressmaker if she were to continue to pursue sewing after her apprenticeship. It was then that Liddie told her about the doll dresses, and Mrs. Tinker insisted upon seeing them. When she placed the two little dresses on Mrs. Tinker’s sewing table, Liddie felt as though she had laid her heart down with them.
Mrs. Tinker examined each dress inside and out, first at her worktable and then in the better light by the window. She was quiet for so long Liddie’s skin began to itch. Then she basked in Mrs. Tinker’s final words: “You should be proud.”
At Mrs. Tinker’s urging, Liddie put the doll dresses up on the corkboard, more pleased with them than she’d ever been before. She had returned to her work that day with a rush of energy.
Now, weeks later, instead of a rush of energy, she felt only embarrassment to be showing doll clothes that now seemed juvenile. And to an important client like Mrs. Caither. Reluctantly, she handed the dresses to the child.
Anna held them up. “Oh, Mama, aren’t they beautiful? I wonder if they’d fit my doll?” Her attempts to appear older disappeared, and she gazed at her mother in a pleading way that Liddie imagined secured countless gifts.
Mrs. Caither asked Liddie, “Would you sell them?”
“I made them for a neighbor and only borrowed them to show Mrs. Tinker. I promised to give them back.”
As Anna’s face fell, Mrs. Tinker jumped in. “I have an idea. If your mother agrees, Anna, Liddie could make your holiday dress. And then, if she has time, she could make a copy of your dress for your doll. What do you think of that?”
Anna’s face lit up.
Liddie opened her mouth and then closed it. Had she heard correctly? She would make Anna’s holiday dress?
Gladys Caither looked as though she had swallowed a plum pit.
Mrs. Tinker laid a hand on Mrs. Caither’s arm as she said, “Liddie, why don’t you take Anna into the workroom and have her tell you what she has in mind for a holiday dress? Show her some of the new fabric bolts.”
As Liddie led Anna into the workroom, she saw Mrs. Tinker refill Mrs. Caither’s teacup and engage her in deep conversation.
Liddie pushed through the glass doors at Fisher’s a few minutes before Minnie’s quitting time. She was bursting to tell her about the afternoon with Mrs. Caither and about Anna’s dress. She spotted her friend in front of the cabinet that held drawers of ladies’ gloves, where an elderly woman was working a pair of above-the-elbow gloves up her arms. Liddie caught Minnie’s eye and waved. Minnie nodded discreetly toward the woman.
Liddie rolled her eyes and mouthed, “I’ll wait.” She pointed toward the sewing notions aisle. Once there, she moved from buttons to scissors to lace, hardly seeing any of it.
When Minnie appeared at Liddie’s elbow, she had her bag in hand. “Why are you so excited?” she asked.
“I have so much to tell you. This has been a most unbelievable day.”
Liddie’s words tumbled out so fast that Minnie laughed out loud. “You sound like me! Let’s get outside before someone wants something from me.”
Out on the street, Liddie grabbed Minnie’s hands. “I’m going to make a holiday dress.” She beamed.
Minnie looked puzzled. “You sew dresses all the time.”
“Yes, I sew what Mrs. Tinker tells me to. For this dress, I’ll do everything. Design it. Choose the fabric. Sew it. Do the fittings. Everything, Minnie, ev-er-y-thing.” Liddie’s eyes flashed as she dragged the syllables out. “And it’s for Anna Caither, for their big party.”
“A dress for Anna Caither? For the Caithers’ holiday party?” Minnie pursed her lips in disbelief. Mrs. Caither’s desire for the best was legendary. “And Mrs. Caither said yes?”
“Not at once. Mrs. Tinker had to do some convincing.” Liddie shook her head in disbelief. “Minnie, I am stunned that she would even suggest such a thing.”
“She really believes in you, Liddie. Ever since you finished your apprenticeship, she’s been giving you more and more to do.” Minnie clapped her hands. “I’m so excited for you.”
Liddie wriggled with delight. “There’s more. I’m going to Chicago.”
“Really?” Minnie stepped back. “When? Why?”
“In two weeks. Mrs. Tinker was going anyway and says now that I’m doing dresses of my own, I need to see what’s available in the cities.” Liddie’s face took on a dazed expression. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
“This deserves a celebration. Come on, I’m buying.” Minnie pulled Liddie toward Becker’s Bakery. “You have to start at the beginnin
g and tell it all. And what do you mean by dresses?”
“Mrs. Tinker says I can go with her to the Caithers’ party, so I need a dress, too.”
August 30, 1914
Dear Joe,
Mrs. Tinker and I are back from Chicago. Even in my dreams, I didn’t imagine the city could be so glorious. We walked down streets where every store was full of fancy dresses. I felt like I was inside a magazine—or a dream. There were more dresses in those store windows than I thought could be in the whole world.
I also found soft flannel to make a dress for Amelia’s baby. Mama says she has half a mind to get on the train and go visit. I doubt she’ll go, but she is worried about Amelia being alone with little Hope. Fred hired on at a neighboring ranch and is gone for days.
It embarrasses me to admit it, but there was a time when I didn’t write to Amelia. My silence hurt her, I’m sure, but I think I hurt myself more. You told me that Amelia needed me. I wish I’d listened to you.
I’m glad you’ve found new card partners. Vern doesn’t get a game together nearly so much since you left. He is finding other things to occupy his time. He came to town just to see my friend Minnie. They sat on the porch swing at Mrs. Prescott’s and talked for an hour. Can you imagine Vern talking for an hour? Oh, to have been a fly on the wall!
I’m glad you liked the towel. I was thinking of your mother when I embroidered the roses. Please use it. If it wears out, I’ll make another.
Though Christmas is months away, I’ll sleep with visions of sugarplums in my head. All because of those silly doll dresses. Please write again soon.
Your friend, Liddie
Holding the letter closer to the kerosene lamp, Liddie reread the lines she’d dashed off in a rush. It pleased her that he’d put her towel on his table as a centerpiece. He had mentioned his neighbors visited. By now, he might have a girlfriend, too. A woman would notice such a touch. She began to think of what she might make him for a Christmas present. She wanted those women to know he had people who cared for him.
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