eleven

While I waited to hear if there was a place for me, I sewed during the day, or helped Barbara, who grew more tired each day. A few times I walked past Schaeffer’s Tailor Shop to see what the boy was doing. Most of the time he was staring out the window. I wondered if he hated sewing as much as I did.

One afternoon I returned from my walk, went into the hall, and began to pin the pattern to the fabric the Uncle had left for me.

Hideous, the whole thing: pattern, thread, and brown fabric.

Horrible thick material. Who would buy such a jacket? And what would they pay?

As the sun poured in through the side window, I sat there cutting, changing, then marking in darts with tailor’s chalk, to give a little shape to this poor piece of work.

And all the while I thought about that pattern Katharina had sent me. The hat dipping down over the eyes, the lace. How it would look in church on Sunday. And another thought. The boy in the tailor shop. He had been in church last Sunday.

I couldn’t make a hat from straw, but something kept tugging at my brain. I stood up and stretched, wiping my hands on the sides of my skirt. There wasn’t a breath of air in that hall. Not a breath of air in Brooklyn. And poor Barbara was downstairs on the steps trying to keep Maria happy.

I wandered into the kitchen and poured another cup of water from the pitcher.

And then that little tug at my brain pulled everything into focus. Instead of straw I could use . . .

What could I use?

A piece of cardboard, perhaps, covered with . . .

Not one piece of fabric in the hall was possible. The Uncle had no idea of style.

I pictured Mama bent over the trunk before I left, her hair falling over her eyes as she tucked the pink fabric around the insides. “At least this,” she had said, patting the edge of the trunk, and sewing it carefully. A pink hat would be perfect with the new cotton dress. I could do without a lining in my trunk very well.

And then I was moving through the kitchen, opening drawers, going back to my bedroom, searching for . . .

And there it was, the bottom drawer of my dresser. I stood there thinking about it, Mama frowning in my mind, Katharina’s horrified face.

The bottom drawer wasn’t made of wood; it was nothing but a thick piece of cardboard.

What would the Uncle say to my hacking the cardboard away from the wood?

What would poor patient Barbara think?

Even so, I was back at the machine pulling out the large scissors, scissors that certainly would need sharpening after I was through with them.

Another picture of Mama in my head, saying, “A tailor is only as good as his scissors and thread.”

But never mind that. I stabbed at the inside of the drawer, the dresser groaning and trembling as if it were alive.

When I was finished, I knelt on the floor to draw a circle on the heavy piece of cardboard, then cut it out. I plopped it over my head and stood up to see myself in the dresser mirror.

I could cover this with the pink lining, cut petals from the pink fabric, and dye them a deep rose.

I dropped the circle on the dresser, thinking it was a wonderful plan, a perfect plan, and while I was congratulating myself, there was a tremendous bang on the door. The health department men were there, coming into the house, down the hall, looking into the kitchen, the bedroom, to make sure we harbored no one sick with smallpox.

I drew myself up. “We are healthy,” I said. “Don’t you worry about that.”

And later, to make a perfect day, the Uncle came home and told me that Aunt Ida had a place for me at Mrs. Koch’s house. I was to replace a helper who had left for the West.

14 July 1871

Dear Dina,

I write this on your birthday, dear sister. We have not forgotten you! I think of you all the time, but I have given up the idea of coming to America. Don’t feel sad for me, Dina; it was just a childhood dream. I have taken down the picture of the Fifth Avenue Hotel and Madison Square and have given it to Friedrich. Perhaps he will go to America someday.

But now the really important news. With Mama’s permission, Krist has given me a ring. We will be married in September. Such a few words, but my heart is beating with excitement as I write them. You can see now why it’s possible to give up my lovely dream.

Hugs and kisses,
Katharina

Dina dear,

I add this quickly so Katharina won’t see. Do you remember the lace handkerchief you made for me? With your permission I will add Katharina’s initials and yours for her to carry on her wedding day. She is so happy, Dina, smiling often, singing. And I approve of her choice. Krist is a good man, loyal and upstanding.

Happy birthday and love,
M.