10

Violet headed down to the warren of offices and workspaces hidden in the basement of the Willard. Staffers were scurrying about amongst the clatter of deliveries, whooshing sounds of new electric washing machines, and shouts of supervisors ordering their employees about.

A harried-looking woman wearing her hair in a severe bun and a pinched nose stopped Violet before she ventured far. “I am Mrs. Ruttle. May I help you, young lady?”

“Yes, yes,” Violet stammered. She held out Mona’s dress. “I need a sewing machine to mend my mistress’ dress, please.”

“We have several seamstresses who can help you. How bad is the rip?”

Violet clutched the dress tightly against her waist. “Thank you, but I prefer to do it myself. My mistress doesn’t like anyone handling her clothes but me.”

The woman looked Violet up and down before snapping her fingers at one of the maids loading up her cart. “Hilda, come here.”

“Yes, Mrs. Ruttle?”

“Take this young woman to the sewing division and show her a machine.” Hilda looked curiously at Violet. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Violet said.

“As soon as you finish, young woman, you should leave this area immediately. Guests are not permitted at this level of the hotel. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am, and thank you again.”

Mrs. Ruttle looked Violet up and down again sizing her up. Pleased at Violet’s politeness, she waved the two young girls away and went about her business.

Since Hilda was near her own age, Violet felt emboldened to speak. “Is she your boss?”

Hilda nodded while walking swiftly down a green painted corridor.

“Is she a good boss?”

“Why would you want to know that, miss?”

Violet shrugged. “We both work for women. I was just making conversation. It’s lonely sometimes, you know? I don’t know anyone here my own age.”

Hilda’s eyes softened. “Sorry, miss. The staff has to be careful talking to the guests. We can be fired for any minor indiscretion.”

Ah oh. Violet’s heart sank. How was she going to get any information now?

Hilda offered, “Yes, Mrs. Ruttle is a good boss. A little rough sometimes, but very fair. She has girls from all over the country working for her—Irish, Polish, Slovenians, Jews, blacks, and she plays no favorites. Besides training us, she teaches us hygiene and helps us get our teeth fixed. You can’t work at the Willard without smelling sweet and having a nice smile. Most girls work here for two years, get trained, and then hire out to posh homes.”

Feeling a bit more confident, Violet blurted out, “I work for Mona Moon.”

“The lady with the white hair?”

Violet nodded.

“I hear she rented out the entire fourth floor.”

“Just the west side of the fourth floor.”

“She must be awfully rich.”

“One of the richest.”

“What’s she like?”

“She’s like Mrs. Ruttle I suspect. Tough, but nice.”

“I like bosses like that. You know where you stand.”

Violet agreed. “Exactly.”

Hilda stopped and opened a door. “Here we are.” She showed Violet into a room where six sewing machines were neatly spaced out in a row against the back wall. Several were being used by seamstresses hired by the hotel. “You’ll find the thread you need in the cupboard over there.”

“Thank you.”

“We girls need to stick together.”

“Hey, wait a minute, I’m free after I finish this dress. How about I take you to lunch? I want to go to the Lincoln Memorial but I have no idea of how to get there.”

Hilda’s eyes brightened. “You would take me to tea?”

“Why not? A thank you for your kindness, especially if you join me for the Lincoln Memorial. I don’t want to go by myself.”

“I do have a nice hat I could wear.” Hilda thought for a moment. “I get off at three. Can you wait until then?”

“A perfect time for tea!”

“I know a little place for us serving girls. Not too fancy, but respectable and clean. They serve the nicest little cakes.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll wait for you out on the sidewalk in front of the hotel.”

“Can you wait by the drugstore around the corner? I don’t want to get into trouble with the management.”

Violet winked. “I’ll be there.”

“See ya, then.”

“Bye.” Violet selected a machine and, working the floor pedals, sewed Mona’s dress with black thread already spooled into the machine, all the while fervently hoping this contact with Hilda would work out. Otherwise an entire day would be wasted.