8 

On Friday afternoon, Sarah shed her uniform in favor of a straightforward dark printed cotton skirt and white blouse. The events of the previous evening rattled in her head, but the pieces refused to fall into a sequence that made sense. Sarah cared little about the political outcome of the convention except that it might affect Brad’s attentions. Serena Cuthbert could hardly have made a memorable impression in a crowded Coliseum where Brad’s interests were fixed on the stage. He had said he would like to see her again, but perhaps he was merely being polite. If William Jennings Bryan were nominated—something that could happen at any moment—Brad might forget all about Serena Cuthbert. Sarah only had five weeks before the Bannings would be back from the lake. After that, it would be far more difficult to arrange Serena’s social life.

Sarah corralled her hair under a navy blue hat with white trim and inspected the resulting effect in a mirror. She doubted Brad had sent a message to Serena Cuthbert at the Lexington Hotel yet. Being seen going into the hotel lobby too often would only raise suspicions in the minds of Kenny and anyone else who might happen to spot her. Besides, it would not do for Serena to appear as overeager as Sarah felt. She resolved to make herself wait until Monday before inquiring at the hotel desk.

In the meantime she had to keep her word to Simon Tewell, although why she had ever promised she would teach this class was beyond her. She had not wanted to go to St. Andrew’s in the first place, and she certainly did not relish going back—and so soon. Simon had wasted no time in arranging the first class only four days after their conversation. A telephone call on Friday morning had left her little option but to oblige that same afternoon.

He was afraid she would back out if she had time to think about it, she told herself. It was the truth. She had promised him one class on basic stitches. She would do it and be done with the whole business. Sarah smoothed the front of her skirt and descended the servants’ stairs.

Mrs. Fletcher looked up from her breadboard when Sarah entered the kitchen.

“You look quite smart,” the cook said.

Sarah straightened her hat. “It’s nothing special.”

Mrs. Fletcher leaned into the dough she was kneading. “You’re doing something worthwhile, you know.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows.

“Teaching those girls to sew,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “It’s a good thing.”

“It’s just a class on stitches. Anyone could do it.”

“Obviously he wants you to do it.”

Sarah touched her hat for a final adjustment. “I’d better go.”

“I’ll have supper for you when you get back. Leo is at the convention again tonight.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher.”

Sarah slipped out through the female servants’ entrance, and walked up Prairie Avenue to Eighteenth and over to Michigan to catch the streetcar.

Lillie turned her head to the left and to the right as she examined her reflection in the small mirror in the brougham. She would have preferred the open carriage, but her mother insisted she not risk having wind destroy her hairstyle while she made afternoon calls. As the driver pulled into traffic, Lillie leaned forward to the black leather carriage case and extracted the visiting list her mother had prepared. She was not sure what the point was for these calls. These women had called on Edith Wagner, not Lillie, and few of them had sons or daughters whom it was important for Lillie to meet. But her mother had given her an enthusiastic talk about putting a friendly face on her father’s company for the sake of her own future and sent Lillie out with the list.

She put a check mark next to the name of the woman whose home she had left moments ago just north of Washington Park off Grand Boulevard. Lillie had two more calls to make, but they were to the north, closer to Prairie Avenue. She settled in to the brougham’s sway as the horse trotted west and the driver scouted the best route to turn north.

Lillie could not help wondering what had happened between Serena and Brad the previous evening and chastised herself for not making a firm plan to see Serena and hear all about the outing. They should have arranged to have lunch or tea together. Lillie did not even know when Serena might be free again. Serena had mentioned she was hardly ever home in her suite but had promised to let Lillie know when she was available.

Lillie traced a finger along the bottom of the visit list. If only she had the independence of Serena Cuthbert.

Sarah approached the red door, but instead of reaching for the bellpull, she turned the knob. She heard an excited squeal from the dining hall where some of the children must have gathered for a few minutes of games—although Sarah knew from experience they would have assigned chores awaiting them and their diversion would soon be interrupted.

Glancing down the hall toward the classroom assigned to her, Sarah turned in the other direction. She would have to let Simon know she had arrived so he could unlock the door. Then she would find out what supplies he had been able to arrange. She had asked only for simple cotton cloth—even the dreaded muslin. Contrasting cloth and thread would be the easiest way for Sarah to see the girls’ practice stitches and assess what corrections were required.

A couple of younger children scuttled past her, and the stern voice of a teacher reminded them to walk, not run. Sarah did not recognize the teacher. While on the whole the orphanage remained the same, bits and pieces of it had shifted, and this was enough to keep Sarah slightly off balance as she went looking for Simon. The offices had been newly designed shortly before she left, and she had not quite gotten used to them.

A baby squalled, not an uncommon sound in an orphanage, but Sarah realized the noise had come from one of the offices, and instinctively she leaned her head forward to peer in the door.

“Hello, Sarah.” Lucy Banning Edwards was behind her desk in the volunteers’ office, leaning to one side to lift an infant from a basket. The child soothed instantly.

“Hello, Mrs. Edwards,” Sarah said politely. “The baby seems well.”

Lucy came to dinner at her parents’ house regularly on Thursday evenings. She did not always bring her adopted son, Ben, and the baby, but when she did, she insisted on having the children with her in the dining room. Despite being raised on Prairie Avenue, Lucy made her own rules. At first Flora had scrunched her face in consternation, but Ben was polite and had learned not to prattle at the dinner table. The baby tended to get passed between Lucy, Will, Flora, and Violet Newcomb. No one took seriously any longer Flora’s ceremonial protests about having children at the table.

Sarah had first seen Stella Edwards when she was two months old. How long ago had that been? The baby must be four or five months old by now, Sarah reasoned.

“Stella is doing marvelously.” Lucy settled the child in her lap. The baby immediately reached for something on the desk. “She likes to help her mother with the piles of papers.”

Sarah moved her mouth in the motion of a smile she did not feel.

“I keep her with me as much as I can,” Lucy said. “Between my work here and my course at the university, I lose track of whether I’m coming or going.”

“I had not heard if you were taking a university course this term,” Sarah said.

“One or two classes at a time. Someday I’ll have a degree. Benny is here today too,” Lucy said casually. “He has some notion about attending your sewing class, but I told him it’s only for the older girls.”

“I might see him in the hall, ma’am,” Sarah said.

Will and Lucy Edwards had adopted Benny out of the orphanage almost as soon as they’d returned from their honeymoon in Europe and set up housekeeping three years ago. He had attached himself to both of them long before that.

“How old is he now, ma’am?” Sarah asked.

“Almost ten. I can hardly believe it.”

Benny had a home. Parents. A baby sister. He would not be put out to service when he turned sixteen. Sarah could not help the envy that made her heart wince.

“I’ve been thinking I might organize a group of women to sew clothing for some of the younger children.” Lucy gave her daughter a knuckle to gnaw on.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah responded automatically.

“Every little girl deserves a dress that is her own,” Lucy continued. “Maybe one of the girls in your class will learn to do the wonders you do with old gowns. No one would ever guess your creations were not straight off the bolt. You can’t imagine the conversation you stir up when we get a glimpse of what you’ve done. If you give her the slightest opening, Mary Catherine does go on about it.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” In Sarah’s opinion, Mary Catherine, the kitchen maid, could learn a thing or two from Ben about not prattling on.

“Mr. Tewell tells me he’s hoping you will come on a regular basis.”

“He has asked me to,” Sarah acknowledged guardedly.

“I imagine you’re worried what my parents would think,” Lucy said. “I’m more than happy to speak to them on your behalf. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement without adverse effects for you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Edwards,” Sarah said, “but I’m not certain. Teaching a class seems a bit much for me.”

“Please think about it, Sarah. It could be one of the most important things you do.”

Sarah glanced toward Simon’s office.

“I suppose you need to see Mr. Tewell,” Lucy said.

Sarah nodded. “He said the room would be locked.”

“I won’t delay you. The girls are eager. I hope you enjoy the class.”

Lillie saw the sign and urgently signaled the driver, who slowed and turned his head slightly for instructions.

“Please stop here for a moment,” Lillie said.

“St. Andrew’s Orphanage,” the sign said. Lillie had heard of this institution. Though new to Chicago and Prairie Avenue, her parents had already been approached about making a financial contribution. They had been assured St. Andrew’s was an upstanding institution and many of the wealthiest families supported it. A number of them even took in teenagers from the orphanage to train as servants. Hundreds of children lived at St. Andrew’s. Thousands must have passed through its halls in the years since it opened.

But what really went on inside? So far Lillie had not run into anyone who had actually gone through the doors of St. Andrew’s. She wondered what would happen if she went to the red door, tugged the bellpull, and asked to speak to the director.

The small clock in the carriage case confronted her. She still had two calls to make and limited time to accomplish them before she was expected home. In surrender, Lillie pulled a calling card from the case and signaled the driver to continue to the next address.

Jane bent over her swatch of dark calico and pushed her yellow thread through two layers.

“That’s right,” Sarah said, “nice and straight. Now stick the needle up from the bottom and make sure it’s coming up right where you want it to be. If you need to, you can move it before you pull the thread through. Make sure your stitch is not too long.”

Sarah glanced around the table to see if any of the other girls needed encouragement. She had demonstrated a straight stitch, a backstitch, and a hem stitch, then set them free to experiment for themselves while she looked over their shoulders. Eleven girls formed a long oval around the table. At one end of the room a cupboard stood open, revealing a rainbow of fabrics on the shelves along with two baskets of threads. Simon had kept his word to make sure she had supplies, but this was far more than she needed for one session on basic stitches.

“When do we get to use those fabrics?” Jane asked, looking at the cupboard as well.

The question caught Sarah off guard. “We’re just learning basic stitches,” she said. “Plain cottons are best to practice on.”

“Can I at least feel the others?” Jane pleaded. “They look so shiny.”

Sarah nodded. Simon really should not have raised anyone’s hopes this way.

Jane scooted her chair back and padded across the room. Sarah tried to turn her attention back to the girls at the table, but her eyes kept lifting to Jane as the girl stroked the blue satin and green crepe.

What in the world was Simon thinking?

Jane looked at Sarah expectantly. “If we practice our stitches all week, can we try some of this next time?”

Despite her resolve that there would not be a next time, Sarah nodded.