Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
A fter finishing the unpacking and lingering for tea and cookies—a rare treat for the Baileys, Elsie escorted her family down the stairs, feeling an odd mix of excitement to start her new life and sadness that she wouldn’t be seeing them for a while—maybe as short as three weeks, but depending on weather, perhaps longer.
As they reached the front doors, Ma clutched Elsie’s arm and pulled her to a stop.
Pa looked back at them with a questioning raise of his eyebrows.
With her free hand, Ma motioned for Pa to go on outside with Ricky and Mary. “I’ve a few things to say to Elsie.”
Elsie’s stomach tightened, wondering what was coming. “Bye Pa. Bye Ricky. Bye Mary.”
“Bye, Elsie,” her brother and sister chorused, before clattering down the stairs.
Her father hesitated, and then came back up. “I now feel more comfortable with you staying with Miss Taylor. So, depend on us coming into town for church in four weeks, barring bad weather. We’ll see about other Sundays but don’t look for us.”
For the first time in her memory, he leaned to press a kiss to Elsie’s forehead. “You’ll be missed, Daughter.”
Before Elsie could get words past the sudden lump in her throat, Pa clomped down the rest of the stairway and out the door.
Ma turned to face her. “Learning the dressmaking trade and bringing in some money to help out your family is all well and good. And the extras will surely be appreciated. But remember, you must be on the lookout for a husband.”
Elsie reared back indignant. A husband! I don’t want a husband! “Why, Ma?” She tried to moderate her tone, but some sharpness still edged through.
“You don’t want to dwindle into a lonely spinster.”
“You wanted me to find a husband because you couldn’t afford to keep me.”
Her mother’s thin cheeks flushed.
“But now I can keep myself . There’s no need to hurry into a marriage.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Ma said slowly, as if thinking. “You do have extra time to look around and pick out a worthy man. Give him a chance to court you, make sure he’s suitable—hard working, a good provider, temperate, will treat you well.”
Rebellious words wanted to boil up. But Elsie dared not risk angering her mother to the point of losing her newfound position. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Probably best that you’re a little older before you start having babies. Carrying them, birthing them, nursing them, is hard on a woman’s body.” What lingered unsaid was the memory of the women they’d known who’d died in childbirth.
“And losing those babies is hard on the heart,” Elsie said softly, conscious of the usually- unacknowledged grief her mother carried for the loss of her two infants.
“Yes.” Ma gave a decisive nod. “No need to rush.” She patted Elsie’s shoulder in an unusual expression of affection. “You’ll be missed, Daughter. But work hard for Miss Taylor and do well.”
“I’ll make you proud, Ma. I promise.”
Her mother’s smile warmed. “Don’t you think I know some of those highfaluting dreams you’ve carried in your head? They’re coming true. So, make the most of this opportunity.”
Wondering, Elsie tilted her head. “Did your dreams come true?”
“In all the main ways—a good husband, children, our own home on our own land.” Ma let out a sigh. “But…at times, it’s been harder than I expected. Let’s just say when you’re a child, you don’t understand about real life. Oh…growing up, I worked hard, of course, like you and Ricky and Mary do now. I lost a little brother due to a foolish accident. But still, I was a child. I didn’t realize the responsibilities there would be on my shoulders, sometimes ones almost too heavy to bear. That there will be… situations you can’t control, no matter how hard you work or fervently you pray.”
The unaccustomed vulnerability of her usual stoic mother made Elsie speechless. All she could do was reach for her mother’s work-roughened hand and squeeze. I had no idea all this was inside her.
Ma squeezed back, before releasing her. With another shoulder pat, she stepped through the doors and marched away, thin back ramrod straight.
Elsie stared after her, torn between feeling pleasure at her mother’s warmth and now knowing that she was going to miss her family even more.
Before going back to Miss Taylor’s apartment, Elsie stopped to use the bathroom, first running a hand over the smooth white tile, and then turning on the cold water faucet and dipping her fingers under the trickle, marveling at the ease of having water whenever she wished. Please, please may this job work out!
Then, remembering she needed to get back to her new employer, she quickly used the toilet, washed her hands, and left the bathroom.
Miss Taylor awaited her in the hall. “I desperately need a nap. But first, let me show you the shop in more detail. Then, if you don’t mind working on the Sabbath, I have some hand sewing you can do while I sleep. That is if you don’t need to rest.”
Elsie was so full of energy, she could barely sit still. “Oh, no, Miss Taylor. I won’t mind working at all.”
“Let’s go to the shop, then.” The dressmaker paused at the door. “No need to lock up since I’ll lock the main doors downstairs and no one else is here.”
Locking the door wouldn’t have occurred to Elsie. I have a lot to learn about living in town.
Near the doorway hung a pegboard with three pegs, and a carved and painted flower on each side holding brass keys. “This was my housewarming gift from Pepe and Lucia Sanchez. Do you know them? They work for my father. They did so much to help me get ready to open. There’s another one like this in the back room of the shop.”
Elsie knew Pepe, of course. The man worked at the livery and his wide, cheerful smile always welcomed her family to town. But she hadn’t met Lucia.
Miss Taylor didn’t wait for an answer, touching the first set of keys. “This one is for the shop and the outer door downstairs.” She brushed over the second one. “This is for my… our apartment.” She tapped the third key. “This is for the bathroom. I don’t usually lock the door while the business is open in case a customer needs to use it. I’ll have to ask Mr. Gordon for a second set of keys for you. Just make sure you always replace them as soon as you come inside. There’s nothing worse than being in a hurry and having to search all over for the keys.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Miss Taylor picked up the ring of shop and front door keys and spread them on her palm. “See the differences?”
Elsie leaned to study them before touching one. “This one is thicker here.”
“That’s for the front door.” She smiled. “You’re probably not used to locking doors.”
“No, ma’am.” Elsie took the keys, holding tightly to the one Miss Taylor had selected. “In our house, we can bar our door from the inside, but that’s about it.”
“Might as well practice.” She ushered Elsie out and shut the door. “Go down to the first floor and after insertion in the lock, turn the key to the left.”
Ahead of her employer, Elsie started down the stairs.
“And, Elsie,” Miss Taylor called after her. “Calling me ma’am makes me feel old. Constance will do.”
Stopping, Elsie pivoted and wobbled, grabbing the railing for balance. “Oh, no. I couldn’t be so bold.”
“How about we compromise at Miss Constance unless we are in public when you address me as Miss Taylor?”
“Yes, ma’—uh, Miss Constance.” At the big door, she hesitated, looking at the keyhole. The Smithsons’ home had a proper knob and lock. She’d once seen Mrs. Smithson use a key. I can do this.
Gingerly, Elsie poked the key into the lock as far as it would go. She turned the key to the left, and, when nothing happened, she jiggled it a bit. Still nothing. She tried again. With a click, the key moved.
Elsie let out a sigh of relief. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath. To be sure, she turned the doorknob, relieved when it didn’t budge, and shifted toward Miss Taylor, who patiently waited in the hallway behind her.
The dressmaker nodded in approval. “Now you have it.” She tilted her head toward the shop door and went inside.
Elsie followed, feeling like a fluffy duckling paddling after her mama duck in unfamiliar waters. She still wanted to examine and savor everything in the shop and promised herself she’d do so in the future.
Miss Taylor —so she’d continue to respectfully think of her employer, even as she addressed the dressmaker as Miss Constance —led Elsie toward the back of the room, and then through the closed door into a second space. She gestured to a screened corner. “Dressing area. The other screen hides odds and ends.” She tapped a long table. “For measuring and cutting fabric.”
Elsie touched the measuring stick lining the side of the table. Another ran across the foot. “How clever.” She looked around noting the sewing machine sitting near the window, a comfortable chair next to it. A large clock ticked on the wall. She could imagine sitting in the chair when doing handwork.
“You have another sewing machine!” Elsie said reverently. One was only a dream. But two!
Miss Taylor walked over and spun the wheel. “This was my Aunt Hannah’s. She was a dressmaker, too, and brought me up in the trade. Have you used a sewing machine before?”
“We don’t have one. But our neighbor Mrs. Smithson does. When one of her daughters and a daughter-in-law were…” Elsie hesitated, knowing that there were ladylike rules around discussing unborn babies—ridiculous rules to her mind about something so natural.
“ Enceinte ?” Miss Taylor guessed. “Expecting?”
“Yes! But what is that word?”
“It is a French word for pregnant—ah, expecting a baby. I’ve rather recently returned from living in Italy for three years and have also traveled to some other countries. Continental Europeans aren’t as prudish as the British and Americans.”
Elsie felt her eyes growing big. She couldn’t even imagine living in Italy.
Miss Taylor laughed. “At another time, I’ll show you my drawings and photographs. But back to our current conversation. I was about to tell you that the French are not so puritanical.”
Elsie stared at her, not at all understanding Miss Constance’s point.
“The United States has many, ah, restrictive ideas about babies and how, ah, they come to be made, that stem from our Puritan founders. Great Britain’s restrictive values have been shaped by the late Prince Albert and from him to Queen Victoria, who, unbelievably, had a rather racy past before her marriage—at least in comparison to the arbitrator of propriety the queen became afterward.”
“Did you ever meet the queen, Miss Constance?”
“Oh, heavens, no. I barely spent time in England. Besides, reclusive Queen Victoria would never be interested in a lowly American dressmaker.”
Elsie didn’t think Miss Taylor was lowly at all .
“So, back to my lecture. A French word is used by educated and upper-class people to pretend they aren’t saying what they are saying.” Miss Taylor chuckled again. “If my convoluted explanation makes any sense.”
Elsie had never heard the word convoluted before, but she could guess at Miss Taylor’s meaning. “Mrs. Smithson’s daughter and daughter-in-law were both en-cei-n-te ?—”
Miss Taylor nodded.
“ Enceinte. ” Elsie said the word with more assurance and then continued her story. “Since there were two babies coming at the same time, Mrs. Smithson wanted more baby garments and diapers and such. She taught me to use her sewing machine, and I helped her make them.” Elsie let out a sigh. “Such a magical invention!”
With a laugh and a headshake, Miss Taylor said, “Wait until you spend long hours bent over one, your neck and shoulders growing tight and sore and your eyes gritty. Won’t seem so magical then.”
“Same for long hours bent over a piece of material, stitching with a needle and thread. Only with a sewing machine, you accomplish far more.”
“True. The fact that you already are familiar with working a sewing machine will save us a lot of time. We’ll start simple, hems and such, until you become more proficient.”
Elsie hoped she’d live up to Miss Taylor’s standards. It had been a year since she’d used Mrs. Smithson’s machine.
Miss Constance tilted her head toward the door. “Let me take you through a quick inventory of the shop—something I must do anyway. Sundays, I sell so much and answer so many questions, that my thoughts are awhirl. Afterwards, I must make a list of what was sold and what stock I need to replenish, while everything’s still relatively fresh in my mind.”
Seeing a tired expression cross her new employer’s face made Elsie forget her place as the lowly assistant. “Are you happy, Miss Constance? With your new shop being so busy and all?”
“I’m ecstatic.”
Another word I don’t know. “Ecstatic is good, right?
“Very good. The word means a combination of joyful and excited.” She directed a happy glance around her shop. “I’m also exhausted…overwhelmed. I’ve made my dream of my own shop come true. Yet, I’ve been so focused on all I needed to do for the opening that I haven’t done anything else but attend church services. I’ve spent scant time with my two new friends. I know my father would like to see me more. He’s given me a horse, and I’ve barely visited her, let alone gone for a ride.”
“Your own horse, how wonderful,” Elsie said on an envious breath. “Oh, Miss Taylor, you must find time to ride her.”
“I’m thinking business will slow after most women in the community have taken the opportunity to replenish their wardrobes with what they need or want. But, in the meantime, you can see why I desperately need an assistant.”
A feeling of pride made Elsie straighten, vowing to do everything she could to make her employer’s life easier.
Miss Taylor waved a hand toward two racks of shirtwaists in various colors and another of dark skirts, some with a little trimming, but most plain. “Here I have readymade garments. The first rack holds completed wear. The second rack is also readymade, although not altogether finished. Shirtwaists and skirts, which a woman can take home to customize the final details. The sizes go from larger on the left to smaller on the right.”
Elsie nodded her understanding.
Pulling a skirt from the rack, Miss Taylor flipped it to the back. “See, this seam is open, as is the waist.”
Elsie ventured to touch the lightweight wool fabric. So soft.
Miss Taylor pulled up the skirt to show the unfinished hem. “All a woman needs to do is pin the back material to her size, sew up the seam, and add buttons and buttonholes to the waist or more likely, use hooks. Then she can hem the bottom according to her height. Those are simple tasks anyone can do.”
“Yes, I see.” Elsie gazed at the dressmaker in admiration.
Miss Taylor returned the skirt to the rack and pulled out a pale shirtwaist with lace on the bodice. “These are harder because of the fit in the shoulders. Luckily, since the shirtwaists, or waist , to give the ladylike slang description, are made to be tucked inside skirts, and often worn with a sash or belt—" she pinched her side “—so some extra material won’t matter.” She handed the shirtwaist to Elsie. “See how the cuffs detach?”
Elsie bent closer to inspect the sleeves before nodding.
“Practical for cleaning. But I’m keeping the insides unfinished so a woman with longer arms won’t have her wrists exposed.”
Self-consciously, Elsie tugged on the too-short cuffs of her dress. Not that pulling them will make them any longer.
“Now, I’m sure you’ve observed the differences for yourself. But let me just point out a few things about the main two styles of shirtwaist. This one—” she held up a white waist “—tailored, practical, almost masculine, perfect for looking professional. Also, of course, less expensive than this one.” She touched the pink lace on the neck of a different shirtwaist. “More austere, with few or little frills. Having one of these in your wardrobe will be important for working in the shop, running errands, or if we ever must travel to outfit one of our more prosperous customers and her family.” Miss Taylor patted Elsie’s shoulder. “Pick out a shirtwaist and skirt for yourself.”
Elsie gasped. “Really?”
The dressmaker frowned at Elsie’s waist. “Yes. But I suppose we need to start with a corset.”
Suddenly self-conscious about her lack of a small, tightly laced waist, Elsie placed a hand on her stomach. “Ma judged that a corset wasn’t practical for farm work and said we had dozens of more sensible needs for the money.”
“That makes sense for a farm girl. But now you’re a shop girl. You’ll need one. I must tell you that getting used to the restriction….” She scrunched a face. “Let’s just say the tightness isn’t pleasant. But…” her tone brightened, “then one day, you’ll notice you’ve gotten used to wearing one—at least, most of the time.”
“Yes, ma’am.” A corset, just like a grownup lady! One that would give her figure more definition.
Elsie let out a happy sigh. Her foot tapped, as if wanting to dance in place, and she hastily made herself remain still.
The movement drew Miss Taylor’s attention to Elsie’s shoes, respectably blackened, but so workworn. “Oh, dear. We don’t carry shoes.”
“Don’t worry,” Elsie chirped. “The mercantile has plenty.” Hadn’t she spent several stolen minutes in the past, stroking the shiny leather of a pair just her size?
“But perhaps carrying shoes in the shop is something to think about in the future.” Miss Taylor glanced around as if deciding where a rack of shoes would go.
“Mrs. Cobb won’t like that,” Elsie warned.
“I haven’t gotten the impression that Mrs. Cobb likes very much.”
“Rich customers, probably,” Elsie said wryly.
Miss Taylor laughed. “ Every businessowner likes wealthy customers, especially those who purchase a lot and pay cash. I guess Mrs. Cobb and I do have something in common, after all.”
“ One thing in common.” Elsie lifted her skirt a few inches and pointed the toes of one foot to expose more of her ugly shoe. “But these will have to do until Pa has his boots.”
“You’re a good daughter.” Miss Taylor tapped Elsie’s forehead with a finger. “I think most girls your age, as impoverished as you’ve been, and not just in material goods, wouldn’t put their own wants aside for someone else’s.”
For once, Elsie didn’t know what to say, and guilt made her stomach sink. She wasn’t as good as Miss Taylor made her out to be, for she desperately wanted new shoes. I want boots for Pa even more , she consoled herself. Pa needs boots. I just want new shoes.
Once again, Miss Taylor seemed to understand. “It’s more admirable to give up or postpone something you dearly want for the sake of others. Nothing to be guilty about, my dear.” Her green eyes sparkled. “Now, let’s fit you out. Select one of the plain shirtwaists and a dark skirt, a tie, and a sash. Those will look practical and professional.” She reached up to touch Elsie’s bun. “We have some in brown that will match your pretty eyes and hair.”
Elsie’s chest swelled with pleasure. Compliments were few and far between in her family and never for appearance lest the idea encourage vanity. “Thank you, Miss Constance,” she stammered. “I’m ever so appreciative.”
“While you’re looking—” Miss Taylor gestured toward the wardrobe “—I’ll select a corset, drawers, a nightgown, and a camisole. A hat we will save for later. There will be no need for one in the next few days. Then it will be time for luncheon.”
Elsie’s stomach rumbled. Embarrassed, she placed her hand over her midsection.
“Any minute, mine’s going to grumble, too. We’re getting later than I’m used to eating.” Miss Taylor smiled and waved toward the ceiling. “But I’m so grateful for your family’s help with my boxes and furniture that I don’t mind being hungry a bit longer.” She gestured briskly toward the rack, and then moved across the room to open the doors of a wardrobe and pull out a drawer to reveal corsets.
Torn between wanting to watch and picking out new clothing, Elsie settled on the serious business of deciding on a shirtwaist.