Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
A few days later, Elsie worked the sewing machine in the back room of the shop, shortening the hem of a black skirt. By now, having done ten of these, she wasn’t hunched over trying to finish each piece perfectly. More comfortable with her work, she could sit straighter and let her mind wander a bit, like to a certain handsome man, while still maintaining a straight line.
Since moving to town, Elsie was happier than she’d ever been. She never dreamed such a life could be hers: fine surroundings, her own bedroom, indoor plumbing, and the kindest employer. Thank goodness, Miss Taylor, although an exacting dressmaker and shop owner, had more than a full store of patience. She took the time to explain every step of whatever piece of work she set Elsie to crafting.
Best of all, Elsie was steadily working off her debt to her employer. She couldn’t wait to start saving to buy Pa’s boots.
If, at times, she missed her family and the farm, well, that was the price she had to pay to fulfill her dreams. Truth to be told, though, without Ma’s constant looking over her shoulder, trying to mold her into the perfect daughter and future wife, with Pa, silently, right alongside her, something inside Elsie, still too nebulous to name, began to blossom.
Miss Taylor hurried into the back room, her green eyes sparkling. “Elsie, dear. I have an opportunity for you.”
Curious, Elsie lifted her foot off the pedal.
“Mrs. Sanders, whom you met at church last week, purchased the lace handkerchief with the violet you embroidered. She’s requested you add her initials, which I told her will cost an extra ten cents. But she’s also wondering if you’d be willing to do some more embroidery work for her. If you consent, you can do the embroidery after hours and keep half the money we are charging for the service.”
Elsie loved to embroider. And to be paid ! “Oh, Miss Constance!”
“I take that is a yes ?” Miss Taylor tilted her head toward the door. “Come along, let’s find out what Mrs. Sanders has in mind.”
In the exterior room of the shop, Elizabeth Sanders, an elegant, blond beauty, stood next to the bolts of material, fingering one of blue silk.
“That one will match your eyes, Elizabeth.” Miss Taylor moved to stand next to their customer. “Your husband will be smitten when he sees you in a gown made of it. Or perhaps I should say more smitten .”
Elizabeth laughed. “I hardly need another dress. Living on a ranch does circumscribe one’s need for pretty apparel. But—” she tapped her cheek “—sometimes I need to remind myself that I’m not just a ranch wife.”
“We’ll look through the fashion magazines, and you can pick the style you’d like.”
“No need. Remember the gown you wore to church three weeks ago?”
Miss Taylor nodded.
“That style, only with lace trim, will suit me just fine. You have my measurements.” She turned to face Elsie and held out a handkerchief. “Can you copy this style of initials, although with an S instead of an H?”
Feeling nervous, Elsie accepted the delicate fabric, the lace edge fraying, and studied the design. Looks fanciful but really is simple. “May I keep this to use as a pattern?”
Mrs. Sanders gave a graceful wave. “I have plenty. But it seemed wasteful to buy too many new ones initialed with my married name. I’ve been waiting until the old ones have finally started to wear out. So, I’ll take ten.”
She picked up a small, white dress from the countertop. “I’ve also been making this for my daughter. But since I’m not a dressmaker, it’s taken me forever. And, of course, by the time I finished, Carol had grown , the disobliging girl, and then I had to let out the seams.” Mrs. Sanders’s fond expression belied her words. “I should have thought to place rocks on her head to stop her from shooting up.”
“That’s what my ma says!” Elsie exclaimed.
Miss Taylor chuckled. “I don’t think that works, Elizabeth.”
Mrs. Sanders let out a sigh. “I know. But I so enjoy being a mother, and Carol’s growing up too fast. I can’t believe she’s three and a half.” She tapped the dress. “Now, I want a row of violets along the hem, sleeves, and collar. What do you think, Elsie?”
Elsie laughed. “I can do the dress before the handkerchiefs, to finish before Carol grows more.”
“Oh, good. No need for rocks,” Mrs. Sanders teased. She spaced her thumb and forefinger on the hem of the little dress. “This far apart, I think.”
Elsie reached for the fabric measurer. “An inch and a half,” she murmured. “Let me see how many violets.” She measured and counted. “Twenty-four.” She touched the dress’s narrow cuffs. “I presume you’ll want them smaller and closer together?” She measured to show what she thought would work best. “Four or five?” She glanced up at Mrs. Sanders.
The woman’s blue eyes sparkled. “Five. And now that I think of it, I’d like a row across the front on the sash. Same size as the hem.”
Elsie had to clench her jaw to keep her mouth from falling open at the amount of money the woman was freely tossing out.
“And, how about for the collar, three on each side in gradual sizes,” Elsie pointed as she spoke. “The biggest one being on this part of the collar.”
Girlishly, Mrs. Sanders clapped her hands together in front of her. “Oh, this dress will be so unique and beautiful. Not that unique fashion matters in Sweetwater Springs. But I’ll write and describe the dress to my sister-in-law. Fashion is one of the few areas we can amiably discuss.”
“Elizabeth.” Miss Taylor’s tone held disbelief. “That’s fifty violets, which will be five dollars! And another dollar for the handkerchiefs.”
Mrs. Sanders’s gaze flicked down to Elsie’s worn shoes and back up to her face. She glanced at the dressmaker. “Constance, you did tell me that you are splitting that sum with Elsie?”
Miss Taylor huffed. “I wouldn’t have the time or patience for that kind of embroidery. By the time I finished the project, you’d need to resort to those rocks.”
Elizabeth cast Miss Taylor a triumphant smile. “Then five dollars is perfect.”
Her mind boggled. Elsie couldn’t reconcile a woman who used old handkerchiefs so as not to be wasteful, but then would spend five dollars on embroidery for a child’s dress—a child who lived on a ranch, no less, and would soon outgrow the outfit. “I could finish these in two weeks,” she stammered.
Mrs. Sanders patted Elsie’s shoulder. “I’ll pick them up the Sunday after that time.” She reached to tap the bolt of blue silk. “And this, whenever you finish it.” With a gay wave, Mrs. Sanders sailed out of the shop.
Miss Taylor and Elsie stared at each other, and then started to laugh.
“Ow.” Elsie put a hand on her stomach. “This corset makes laughing hurt .” Quickly, she lowered her hand, lest Miss Taylor remind her the gesture wasn’t ladylike.
“Remember what I told you about wealthy customers? Mrs. Sanders is as kind as she is wealthy.”
“She noticed my old shoes.”
“I think your shoes were as much a selling factor as your pretty violets. Mrs. Sanders wanted a way to help you without denting your pride.” She touched Elsie’s arm. “I suggest, as a quiet way to please her, you move buying new shoes to the top of your list.”
“Two and a half weeks should make me close to paying you back.” Elsie had to hold herself still, lest she start bouncing from excitement. “With the embroidery money, I can buy new shoes.”
Four weeks after Elsie started working for Miss Taylor, the Sunday of her family’s visit finally arrived, and she couldn’t wait to see them. All dressed up for church in the pink outfit that was still too tight around the waist—although she’d let out the seams two inches to their fullest extent—she waited impatiently for her employer to finish getting ready.
She had so much to tell and show them—all Miss Taylor had taught her, the wedding dress they’d started designing for Maggie Baxter, Banker Livingston’s fiancé, how she’d dined at the fancy Bellaire-Norton mansion and made a new friend in Felicity Woodbury, who worked at the hotel. Dr. Angus’s courtship of Miss Taylor, her ever-growing list of French words for Mary. And, best of all, her friendship with Hank Canfield.
So many experiences packed into such a short time.
Her thoughts lingered on Hank, and she gave a little bounce, thinking about how much she enjoyed the man’s company. They’d had another outing to Hank’s home for a Sunday picnic, joined by Torin and Jewel. Twice, Hank had ridden to town midweek and coaxed Miss Taylor into letting Elsie take an hour off work, so the two could go to Sugarplum Dreams for hot chocolate, petit fours , and interesting conversation.
A warning skittered across Elsie’s mind, pulling her feet into a more decorous pace. I can’t tell them about Hank. They’ll have thoughts of us marrying.
As they left the Gordon building, Elsie strolled alongside Miss Taylor, conscious of the need to repress her bouncy spirits and glide like a swan. I’ll see my family soon enough.
But she must not have been very successful, for her employer cast her an amused glance. “I can tell you’re excited to see your family.”
“Oh, Miss Constance, I’m trying so hard not to bounce.”
The smile turned into a laugh. “And you’re succeeding. But happiness is radiating from you, Elsie. I can tell from your expression and energy.”
Elsie pulled her expression into a frown, trying to show a more solemn Sunday morning face.
Still smiling, Miss Taylor shook her head. “Elsie, just be your special, irrepressible self. The Bible does tell us to ‘make a joyful noise unto the Lord,’” she quoted Psalm ninety-eight. “And to ‘fill your heart with gladness,’” she added another snippet.
“Well,” Elsie sighed and slowed her pace a bit. “I’m trying to believe you about my energy, Miss Constance. Really, I am. But I’m not sure Ma and Pa will agree, and I don’t want to start off our time together with Ma scolding me or giving me that behave yourself look she’s so good at.”
Miss Taylor chuckled. “I think by necessity, all mothers are good at that behave yourself look. Aunts, too.”
By this time, they’d walked close enough to the church crowd to make out individuals, and Elsie searched for her family but didn’t see them waiting. She squinted down the street, hoping to see them, but their familiar figures weren’t in sight. That’s odd. They’re always early.
They paused, watching the flow of people swirl around them to greet the ministers and their wives and then stream into the church. A breeze wafted the scent of Miss Taylor’s rose perfume Elsie’s way and blew a tendril of hair across her face. She absentmindedly tucked the strand behind her ear.
They waited for what seemed like an interminable while but was, in reality, probably only fifteen minutes. From time to time, a woman stopped to tell Miss Taylor she’d be going to the shop after the service.
Normally, Elsie would engage in the conversations. But today, she was too distracted by watching for her family. There was no ordinary reason they shouldn’t be here. The weather was fine, the dirt roads firm. I hope no one’s sick. Guilt pricked, remembering the few times Ma was ill and Elsie took over caring for their family. What if they need me, and I’m not there?
She even missed Hank ambling in her direction until he was about ten feet away. His grin and tip of his hat to her barely brought forth an answering smile.
Hank paused, as if to talk, and then Mrs. Norton addressed him, and he stopped to give her his attention. Enough people moved between them, so with a wry smile her way, he went with the flow into the church.
The church bell rang, making Elsie’s stomach tighten. Where are they?
Miss Taylor tapped Elsie’s arm. “I’ll go inside and save you a space. You can either sit with me or with your family, if they come.”
Both sets of ministers and their wives left their positions and walked up the stairs and into the church. The lingering members of the congregation trailed after.
Knowing she couldn’t delay any longer and, with no one around to see, Elsie tossed aside ladylike conventions, gathered her skirts and raced to the stairs, and up the steps. Only before entering, did she lower her skirts and smooth to a sedate pace, trying to regulate her breathing as much as the hellish corset allowed.
The music of the first hymn started, and the voices of the congregation swelled with song.
After walking up the aisle, with one final glance behind her, Elsie slipped into the space next to Miss Taylor, trying to stifle her uneasiness.
Ma promised they’d be here. More possible reasons for their absence raced through her mind, from the positive—the harvest had ripened early, to the worst imaginable—a fire destroying their farm or a plague wiping out her whole family.
She couldn’t bear the thought, so she wrenched her mind away from catastrophes and scolded herself into better thinking. Probably just relatively minor problems. Maybe the wagon wheel broke or one of the horses went lame. Or merely, one of the creeks they had to cross had risen too high. The last idea seemed improbable—too late in the year for snowmelt, and no storms had blown in during the last week. She tried to make herself stop imagining the worst and, instead, sent up a prayer for their safety. The act of praying eased her anxiousness a bit.
All through the service, Elsie tried to hide her disappointment about her family not being at church and to pay attention to Reverend Joshua’s sermon on the Beatitude, Blessed are the meek…. Certainly, trying to be meek was an attitude she strove for, but, according to her parents, didn’t always succeed. Even singing her favorite hymn, “Lift High the Cross,” didn’t raise her dragging spirits.
During the hymn, Miss Taylor gave her a concerned sideways glance, no doubt guessing from the lack of her usual volume how worried Elsie was.
Once the service ended, Elsie rose and turned to scan the congregation, her fears hitting harder when she didn’t see the Baileys among the press of people.
When Elsie exited the church and searched the crowd, finally she saw her family standing together, obviously waiting for her. Relief hit so hard, her chest hurt. Unable to take a deep breath because of her corset, dizzy grayness sparkled across her vision. Her body wavered, and her legs shook. She had a moment of panic. I’m going down.
A firm arm grasped her around her waist. “Gotcha, Elsie.”
Hank, thank goodness!
“Hold her up, Mr. Canfield,” Miss Taylor ordered. “I’ll apply my smelling salts.”
A bitter odor stung Elsie’s nose, and her vision cleared, even if her legs still wobbled and her whole body felt weak.
With anxious expressions, her family hurried forward to cluster around,
“Elsie!” Her mother’s sharp tone belied the relief in her eyes.
“What’s wrong with her?” The concern in her father’s voice would have touched her if she didn’t feel like her head was still hazy.
Miss Taylor placed a hand on Elsie’s arm. “My guess is that when she didn’t see you all in church, she worried herself sick. And your daughter’s not yet experienced enough to manage sudden emotion while, ah…” she glanced at Elsie’s midsection “— fashionably dressed.”
Hank’s arm stayed strong around Elsie’s waist.
Not caring of the proprieties, she leaned against him, inhaling his familiar smell of bay rum soap and horse.
“Should I fetch Dr. Angus?” he asked, tightening his arm.
Oh, no, not Dr. Angus. His views about tight corsets were all too well known, and Elsie had no desire to be scolded in his Scottish brogue, which thickened when he became frustrated. Especially since my parents might agree.
“No need,” Miss Taylor said briskly. “Elsie will be fine.” She tilted her head in the direction of the shop. “But I’d appreciate if you could help her across the street and to our apartment, preferably before Dr. Angus spots her predicament.”
Elsie couldn’t help but smile, knowing how those two sparked off each other. Miss Taylor has no wish for another confrontation with Dr. Angus, either.
“If you, sir, would take that arm.” Her father grasped Elsie’s elbow. “I’ll support her from this side.”
“Hank Canfield, Mr. Bailey. I’m a friend of your daughter’s.”
Elsie wasn’t too woozy to miss the speculative glance Ma shot him. Hopefully, she won’t get any matrimonial ideas. She made herself straighten away from Hank.
“Let’s move along,” Ma said briskly, with a sweep of her hand. “We’ve attracted far too much attention.”
Elsie glanced to the right to see the curious and concerned gazes directed her way and quickly looked away again.
“You look so pretty, Elsie.” Mary cast an admiring glance at the pink gown. “Just like a fashionable lady.”
Elsie braced for Ma to say something disparaging about pretty and fashionable .
But her mother remained silent.
With Pa holding onto one elbow and Hank the other, Elsie traversed the street, trying to act as normal as possible while still feeling weak and a bit silly. But the closer she came to the Gordon Building, the stronger she felt, although she wasn’t about to say so. Having Hank and Pa’s attentiveness felt too good to shake off.
Why, I’ve experienced my first swoon. Just like a heroine in a novel. The thought perked her up. Now, I’m truly a fashionable lady.