Chapter 20 #2
Maggie nodded even as her spirits sank. The dedication of the Columbian Exposition was, she knew, not until the end of October.
Clearly, Mrs. Wyatt felt no rush to prepare her ensemble, which meant no money.
She swallowed the acidic taste of her disappointment, telling herself this was still a step forward. She had a commission. Possibly.
“Very good, madam,” she said. “I will communicate with her directly.”
Mrs. Wyatt met her gaze in the mirror once more, a small smile curving her mouth. “I like you,” she stated abruptly. “It took a certain boldness, to come here like this. Why, you can’t be much more than twenty?”
“I’m twenty,” Maggie admitted, blushing. She hadn’t fooled Mrs. Wyatt with her airs, but at least she hadn’t earned her disapproval.
“Twenty!” Mrs. Wyatt exclaimed with a laugh.
“Goodness, so young. Well, do be in touch once you’ve spoken to Strickland.
” She held out her hand, and once again Maggie touched her fingertips, unsure what it was exactly she was meant to do.
“Until then,” Mrs. Wyatt said, and it was clearly a dismissal.
Back out on the street, Maggie let out a shaky breath and then decided a cup of tea and a piece of cake were in order.
She couldn’t really afford such a treat, but she still felt the need to celebrate.
She had her second commission, even if she wouldn’t be paid for another month or more.
She was still on her way to a better future, step by painstaking step.
As Maggie sat in a tearoom back near State Street, sipping a cup of tea and eating a slice of lemon cake, she let herself begin to dream about a future where she took commissions, maybe even had a workroom, a modest and discreet establishment, in the Loop.
She’d have cards engraved—Margaret O’Halloran, Milliner—and they would become coveted items, given only to the worthy few.
Or, perhaps, she reflected, she would be a milliner for everyone—grand lady and shopgirl alike, offering fashion and beauty to both the rich and poor.
She smiled, liking that idea, picturing it take shape in her mind.
She sipped her tea slowly, savoring the moment, wanting to postpone the time when she would have to return to the boarding house in Englewood, to Mrs. O’Malley’s disapproval and Brendan’s cheerful diffidence, the charade they continued to participate in even as it wore dangerously and depressingly thin.
Soon, she told herself, she would be able to afford rooms of her own… a business of her own… a life of her own.
Still, by the time Maggie was on the streetcar back to Englewood, replete with tea and cake, the doubts were already creeping in once more.
How would she manage for the next month without her wages from Field’s?
Maggie knew Brendan would willingly pay her rent out of his own wages, but she was loath to be beholden to him more than she already was.
Since starting work at Field’s, she’d been able to pay her own way, giving Brendan half the rent every week, which he then passed onto Mrs. O’Malley, another tedious aspect to their marriage masquerade.
Allowing him to pay the whole amount felt like a big step backwards, and yet she didn’t know what else to do, at least until Mrs. Wyatt paid her for the hat she’d yet to design, and who even knew when that would happen?
Her thoughts were still circling as she opened the front door to the boarding house in the early afternoon, belatedly realizing she’d have to give some excuse to Mrs. O’Malley as to why she was home at such an hour.
No doubt her landlady would be pleased she was unemployed, Maggie thought ruefully.
Now she would have more time to devote to her wifely duties.
“Ah, Mrs. O’Donoghue.” Mrs. O’Malley’s voice was rife with disapproval as she came into the hall, her hands planted on her hips, her face twisted into a scowl. “You had a caller today.” The word was laden with censorious import.
“A caller?” Maggie repeated warily. Her landlady really did not sound pleased by this fact, and she couldn’t imagine who would call on her here in Englewood.
“Yes, a young man. He wanted to give you an invitation to a party.” Her mouth puckered like she’d just swallowed a lemon.
“A party?” Maggie repeated, still nonplussed by this information. The only person she could imagine inviting her to a party was Theo Stein, and surely, despite their dinner at Palmer House, they traveled in too different worlds for that.
“Here it is.” Mrs. O’Malley thrust the heavy white card toward her and Maggie took it, reading the few lines written there with growing excitement and wonder.
It was a note from Mrs. Stein, who had recently returned to the city, and she was inviting Maggie to an afternoon tea party where she hoped to introduce “Chicago’s up-and-coming milliner” to her closest friends and acquaintances.
Theo must have delivered the invitation, Maggie thought.
A tea party to introduce her! This really could be her chance, far more than her desperate conversation with Mrs. Wyatt, successful as that had been.
“Thank you, Mrs. O’Malley,” Maggie said crisply, blithely determined to ignore the other woman’s deepening scowl. She waved the card at her. “This is from my old friend and employer, Mrs. Rebecca Stein. She’s invited me to a tea party—on Prairie Avenue.”
Mrs. O’Malley’s mouth dropped. “On Prairie Avenue!” she exclaimed, and Maggie’s smile widened.
“Yes, Prairie Avenue,” she repeated, tucking the card in her bag. “Excuse me, but I will go answer her directly.” And without waiting for a reply, a spring in her step, she headed up to her bedroom.
She might have been fired from Field’s today, but it felt as if her new life had finally begun.