Chapter 27
“But perhaps the most astonishing spectacle of ladies’ fashion on the Day of Dedication was the sight of several prominent women’s hats, all designed, quite cleverly, with inspiration from our glorious city’s most acclaimed skyscrapers.
Such a bold and yet subtle nod to these notable buildings did not go unnoticed by some of our city’s most worthy women, who are sure to inquire about this new milliner’s surprising designs. ”
Having read the review in an important-sounding, stentorian voice, Brendan lowered the women’s pages of the Chicago Tribune, his eyes dancing above the newspaper.
“And that’s just the beginning of the article!”
“I don’t know if I like the word ‘spectacle,’” Maggie mused, laughing.
In truth, she was thrilled that she’d received any mention at all.
Her hats had been noticed, and while some people, according to the article in the Tribune, had considered them excessive and even, as she’d dreaded, absurd, the foremost newspaper of the city had categorically declared them a triumph.
Better yet, a note had come this morning from Mrs. Stein declaring the same and asking her to call on her directly.
Maggie knew it all might still come to naught, but for the moment she let herself feel ebullient.
It seemed her gamble had paid off, and her risk had been worth it.
She would have to write Tovah and tell her about their success.
“I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you, you know,” Maggie told Brendan seriously as he folded the paper and put it aside.
“If not for you, I’d still be sitting in that chair, staring out the window and watching the world go by.
” She shook her head, the memory of O’Malley’s attack still fresh in her mind, all these weeks later.
Some nights, she still woke up with her heart racing, her lips parted in a silent scream.
“We all need the help of our friends sometimes,” Brendan replied, and Maggie nodded soberly.
“That’s true, and… you’ve been such a good friend to me, Brendan.” She swallowed painfully, not wanting to taint the unalloyed happiness of the moment, but also knowing what she needed to say. “The truth is,” she confessed, “I don’t feel I’ve always been a good friend to you.”
“What?” Brendan looked genuinely surprised, his eyebrows rising as he stepped back to look at her. “Maggie, you have.”
She shook her head. “I’ve been so tangled up with my own concerns, I haven’t really considered anyone else’s. When I think of you slogging through the days in that pickling room—”
“And I could think of you, working your fingers to the bone with needle and thread back in New York, or sweeping steps at those grand houses,” Brendan returned gently. “We’ve worked hard to get where we are, and we’ve helped each other. It hasn’t been one-sided, whatever you think.”
Maggie nodded, accepting, because she had worked hard, but still she knew it wasn’t the same. “I’m indebted to you in so many ways—” she began, and Brendan let out a soft laugh.
“Which you hate,” he said quietly. “I know—”
“No,” Maggie protested quickly. “I don’t hate it. Not anymore. Not like that. I’m grateful. So grateful. And I’m sorry I resented you for helping me. It was unkind and ungenerous of me, and—”
“Oh, Maggie.” Brendan shook his head, his smile tender, although he did not take her hands to draw her to him as he once might have.
“No apologies are needed.” His smile turned teasing as he added jovially, “But if you become the most famous milliner in all of America, you must buy me a steak dinner at the Palmer House. Tit for tat!”
Briefly, Maggie thought of the dinner she’d had at that esteemed hotel with Theo Stein. It felt like a very long time ago now; she had not seen him since that disastrous kiss, and she told herself she was glad. It had been all too apparent that he’d been trifling with her, just as she’d suspected.
“The Palmer House it is, then,” she told Brendan in an equally jovial tone. She suspected she would have a much better time there with Brendan O’Donaghue than she’d had with Theo Stein.
A short while later, Maggie was stepping onto Sixty-Third Street to take the streetcar to Prairie Avenue and call on Mrs. Stein.
She was glad to avoid running into Dr. Holmes; despite Brendan’s insistence that their landlord was simply a man who enjoyed his airs, Maggie preferred not to interact with him.
Something about the penetrating alertness of his bright blue gaze, the expansiveness of his gestures, the way he seemed to be assessing and deciding something she had no inkling of…
It was fanciful, no doubt, but when she was in his company, she felt like a hapless fly being sized up by a spider, the sticky threads of its web tangling all around her.
“Mrs. Stein is expecting you,” the maid McCullough told her dolefully when Maggie knocked on the front door of her house.
She seemed displeased that Maggie had clearly risen in stature.
Once more, Maggie had hesitated about going around to the servants’ entrance, and then she’d told herself that someone whose designs were hailed by the Chicago Tribune did not need to slink in through the kitchen door.
The maid, it seemed, had not appreciated her bravado.
“Maggie!” Mrs. Stein flung both hands out as she turned from her dressing table as Maggie stepped into her boudoir.
“I’m so pleased you came. I’ve been waiting and waiting for you, desperate to celebrate your triumph.
Isn’t it marvelous? I told McCullough to fetch us champagne. We must have a toast!”
Maggie blinked, shocked by this tidal wave of enthusiasm. She’d expected Mrs. Stein to be pleased, but her benefactress seemed positively ebullient.
“I expect the other ladies are surprised by the success,” Maggie remarked wryly as she took off her gloves.
“Were the hats amusing, as you all hoped?” She hadn’t meant to allow an edge to enter her voice, but one must have, because Mrs. Stein dropped her hands, her mouth turning down as her forehead furrowed and her eyes drooped with sympathy.
“Oh, my dear, is that what you think? That we were… making fun of you?”
Maggie hesitated as she carefully folded her gloves, her gaze lowered. “Not… precisely,” she said at last.
Mrs. Stein sighed. “I can see how it would seem like that,” she said after a moment.
“With all this talk of ridiculousness and amusement.” She leaned forward, her eyes alight.
“But don’t you see, Maggie,” she said, “that we all think we’re ridiculous?
I grew up the daughter of a butcher, elbow-deep in blood and guts!
” She held up her arms, now pale and smooth, with a laugh.
“Nearly all the women you met at my party are the same,” she continued.
“Mrs. Deloitte grew up on a farm in Indiana, and Mrs. Wyatt is the daughter of a traveling salesman. Every last one of us has humble beginnings, just as you do, and the only difference between us is we had the fortune to marry well. Which you might do one day too, my dear!” She let out a rich chuckle as she leaned back in her chair.
“But, in the meantime,” she continued ruefully, “my friends and I are chasing fashion and elegance when we’re most used to wearing wincey or stuff!
If there was a joke, my dear, you were in on it, I assure you. ”
Mrs. Stein opened the drawer of her dressing table and retrieved an envelope that she handed to Maggie.
“And perhaps this will soothe your ruffled feathers. All the other ladies have agreed to pay the same, and I have absolutely no doubt that you will soon be receiving more commissions than you know what to do with. Your success is practically assured!”
Maggie shook her head in wonder, overwhelmed by how swiftly her fortunes had changed—and thanks, in large part, to the kindness of her benefactress.
She might have prickled on the initial motivations of the women who had worn her hats, but she appreciated Mrs. Stein’s willingness to put her forward, as well as her candor.
“I have you to thank for any success I experience,” she said, and Mrs. Stein waved such gratitude away.
“You have your own skill to thank for it,” she said briskly, “although I confess I played a small part. Now, champagne!”
A rather sulky McCullough entered with a bottle of champagne and two coupes on a tray, while Maggie slid the envelope into her pocket.
“And now a toast,” Mrs. Stein announced as the maid poured the champagne. “To Maggie O’Halloran, soon to be the most famous milliner in all of Chicago!”
Half an hour later, outside the Stein mansion, Maggie, her head spinning from the champagne, slid the crisp bills from the envelope.
Twenty whole dollars, more than she’d ever been paid before.
And if five other women were paying the same…
she would have one hundred and twenty dollars!
It felt like an unfathomable amount, an absolute fortune, and more than she had ever conceived of having in her possession before, opening up doors and doors of possibility and promise.
Of course, Maggie acknowledged, she had expenses and bills, far too many after all she’d spent on making the six hats.
But even after paying back Brendan for rent and food, she would still have enough to afford a week’s rent on new lodgings, and when the commissions Mrs. Stein had seemed so certain of started coming in, Maggie would make sure she was paid a deposit upfront.
With a spring in her step, she headed for home, her mind full of prospects and possibilities. She was so intent on her daydreams that she was barely aware of her surroundings as she stepped from the streetcar onto Sixty-Third Street.
It wasn’t until she’d reached the door of Dr. Holmes’ building, a familiar sense of dread dampening her excitement as she thought of returning to those dreary rooms, the suffocating presence of Dr. Holmes even when Maggie didn’t encounter him, that she heard her name being called.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Maggie O’Halloran, the lady of the hour! May I take your photo, miss?”
Startled, Maggie looked up to see none other than Theo Stein loitering in front of the door to the drugstore, laughing as he pretended to take her picture.