Two days later, Clara stood beside her mother as they waited inside the front door of the boardinghouse. Each carried a small tapestry bag that contained scissors, thread, needles, punches, hooks, and a few scraps of fabric, as well as other sewing necessities.
Her mother kept her nose only inches from the front door glass. The moment the carriage arrived, she reached for the door handle. “Come along, Clara. We don’t want to keep the driver waiting.”
Clara’s shoes clattered on the wooden steps as she hurried behind her mother. No one could ever accuse Leta McBride of being late for an appointment. No matter the circumstances, she prided herself on being punctual. The driver swung down from his perch and opened the door. Within minutes the carriage jerked into motion.
“I am sorry, Clara. I shouldn’t have agreed to a six o’clock appointment.” She reached inside her bag and withdrew a paper-wrapped jelly sandwich. “It isn’t much, but I hope it will help keep your hunger at bay until we get home tonight.”
“You mean if we get home tonight, don’t you?” Clara unwrapped the sandwich and smiled at her mother. “Thank you. I know you have little control over your working hours. Still, I feel as if these ladies take advantage. If they want you as their seamstress, they should be willing to accommodate you instead of insisting you be ready at their beck and call.”
“I’m unwilling to take that chance. We need the money my sewing brings in, and I’m sure there are other seamstresses who would be willing to work late at night.” Her mother bowed her head. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come along and help me. I know you’re tired.”
Clara sighed. “I’m more than happy to help you, but that doesn’t change the fact that your clients should be more considerate of your needs.”
Her mother’s lips curved in a weak smile. “She sent a carriage.”
Clara chuckled. “You’re right. I’m delighted we don’t have to walk. Forgive me for complaining, but I worry you don’t get enough rest.”
Her mother patted Clara’s hand. “I worry the same about you. I suppose it’s the way of things right now, isn’t it? One day, when the war is over, things will return to normal.”
Clara wanted to believe that was true, but she wondered if the country could ever be the same. Would families be able to reunite, and could the North and South once again coexist? While she knew the war would eventually come to an end, the healing afterward was sure to be a long and arduous process. In truth, she questioned whether the wounds could ever mend.
She finished her sandwich, folded the piece of paper, and tucked it into her reticule. “You haven’t yet told me about the gown you’ve been so feverishly working on over the past week.”
“There are three gowns and—”
“Three? Really, Mother? Three?” Clara’s mouth gaped.
“Before you chide me, please listen. There is an important ball next week. As you know, I’ve been creating a gown for Mrs. Seward. And without my knowledge or consent, Mrs. Seward told Mrs. Chase she was certain I’d be delighted to make her a gown, as well.” She shrugged and met Clara’s eyes. “What was I to do? Mrs. Chase had already purchased the fabric and was depending upon me.”
Clara held up two fingers. “That’s two. When did number three enter the picture—or should I say, sewing room?”
Her mother grimaced. “Only two days ago. However, her dress is partially completed. Mrs. Seward pleaded with me to help Mrs. Blair. She’s the postmaster general’s wife, and they had already accepted their invitation to the ball. Apparently, Mrs. Blair’s seamstress is very ill and isn’t expected to recover.” Her mother blew out a breath. “How could I refuse?”
“I do understand, Mother, but there’s only so much that can be accomplished in a short period of time. And while I’m willing to help, I can’t offer much assistance except in the evenings.”
“I know, my dear. I’m pleased to have you with me this evening. I haven’t met Mrs. Blair, and Mrs. Seward mentioned she’s a bit high-strung. I’m not sure what that might entail, but I thought you might be able to work with her while I continue with Mrs. Seward and Mrs. Chase.”
“All three of them are going to be present?”
Her mother nodded while Clara envisioned the melee that would surely follow. Three women vying for the attention of her mother, and each determined to have a gown that would outshine the others. She could think of nothing more disastrous, yet she held her tongue.
When the carriage had come to a halt, the driver soon yanked open the door and assisted them down. He tipped his hat as Clara descended. “Shall I wait, miss?”
Clara chuckled and shook her head. “Not unless you intend upon sleeping in the carriage.” That said, she hurried after her mother.
Moments later, a maid opened the door and greeted Clara’s mother with a bright smile. “Good evening, Mrs. McBride. It’s good to see you again. The ladies are eagerly awaiting your arrival.” She glanced at Clara. “And who is this you’ve brought with you?”
“My daughter, Clara. She’s going to assist me this evening. She’s an excellent seamstress.” Her mother turned. “Clara, this is Mildred, Mrs. Seward’s maid.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mildred.”
The spindly woman adjusted her apron and nodded. “If you’re half the seamstress your mama is, those ladies are gonna be mighty pleased to see you, Miss Clara.” She waved them toward the stairway. “They’re upstairs in Mrs. Seward’s rooms.”
Clara followed behind Mildred and her mother while taking in her surroundings. She had an excellent view of the sitting room as they ascended the stairs. While it appeared to be well appointed, the room wasn’t as large as she’d expected. She’d anticipated huge rooms where the Sewards would host large dinners and dances. The rooms she observed wouldn’t hold more than ten or twelve guests. Then again, perhaps all the Washington politicians hosted their parties somewhere other than in their homes.
Mildred opened the double doors leading into Mrs. Seward’s private rooms with a flourish, then stepped aside to permit them entry. “Your seamstresses have arrived, Mrs. Seward.”
Mrs. Seward stood and stepped forward to greet them. She moved with an extended gracefulness that seemed a perfect match for her elongated neck, thin nose, and lofty height. Though far from a beauty, her striking blue eyes and warm smile enhanced her appearance. “Good evening, Leta.” She set her gaze on Clara. “This must be your daughter, Clara.” She graced Clara with a brilliant smile. “Welcome to my home. I’m grateful you could accompany your mother. She tells me you’re an accomplished seamstress.”
The other two ladies rose from their seats and approached, obviously eager to hear how they would fare in the assignment of seamstresses. Mrs. Seward made the introductions and then turned her attention to Mrs. Blair. “Clara is going to help with your gown, Mary. I thought the two of you could use the small sitting room off to the right. I’m sure Clara will want to have a fitting.”
Mrs. Seward made it clear Leta would work on her gown before beginning any work on Mrs. Chase’s frock. “Of course, if Clara finishes with Mary, she can come and assist with your dress, Sarah.”
Mrs. Chase appeared less than pleased by the comment. “I’m willing to wait until Leta completes your fitting.”
Clara pretended she didn’t hear the comment. If they didn’t want to accept her help, so be it. However, at least one of them would go without a new gown for the party. There was no way her mother could complete all three in time.
Mrs. Blair drew near and gestured to a chair across the room. “That’s what the seamstress completed before falling ill. I covered it with a sheet to protect the fabric.” She sighed. “Although she presented several recommendations, I’m not certain her talents were as strong as she professed. I should have checked the references before hiring her, but I was a bit desperate.”
“We’ll sort it out once I get a good look at the dress.” Clara offered a reassuring smile. “I’ll fetch it and meet you in the sitting room in a few moments.”
Clara crossed the room, picked up the dress, and sent her mother a worried look before she stepped into the small sitting room. While Mrs. Blair watched, Clara spread the gown across the settee and removed the sheet. She swallowed hard to keep from gasping. Mrs. Blair stepped closer as Clara lifted the dress by the shoulder seams. It appeared the bodice was intended to be slightly pointed in the center, with a bertha cut low off the shoulders and short puffed sleeves with lace falls. Even without a fitting, Clara could see that the point of the bodice was off-center, which would mean reworking the blue crepe and removing the delicate lace that already appeared overworked.
Fortunately, the skirt was merely basted to the bodice, and none of the flouncing or bows had been attached. In truth, it would have been easier to begin anew with the piece of fabric, ribbons, and lace. She turned and caught sight of Mrs. Blair. Pain was grafted on the older woman’s pale face.
Mrs. Blair reached for Clara’s arm and dropped into a chair upholstered in a yellow silk print. “It’s horrid. What am I to do? My husband will never agree to more money for fabric.”
Clara’s stomach twisted. The despair in Mrs. Blair’s voice was painful. While Clara wanted to assure the woman everything would be fine, she wasn’t certain she possessed the talent necessary to re-create the gown. But if she didn’t say something quickly, she feared Mrs. Blair would swoon. Whatever would this woman do if faced with a genuine disaster? Thoughts of her mother’s strength when she’d learned her husband had died at Bull Run had been a testament to Leta McBride’s faith in God and her ability to face hardship. Even now, with the whereabouts of Clara’s brother unknown, her mother remained steadfast and continued to place her trust in God.
Mrs. Blair withdrew a lace-edged handkerchief from her waist and blotted her eyes. “This is the worst day of my life.”
Clara tightened her lips in a thin line. After hearing the woman’s comment, Clara’s earlier sympathy waned a bit. She wanted to tell Mrs. Blair that she was most fortunate if a ruined gown was the most difficult dilemma she’d ever faced in life. But Clara knew when to keep her lips sealed. To say anything that might be construed as insensitive or judgmental could mean the end of her mother’s employment with the socially elite ladies of Washington. Besides, Clara’s mother had previously related a few stories about her clients and their melodramatic behavior over insignificant matters. Clara wanted to believe Mrs. Blair merely had a penchant for histrionics.
“I don’t believe the gown is a total loss, Mrs. Blair. If the stitching is carefully removed, I believe the bodice can be repaired. I may need to take one gore out of the skirt and use the fabric for the bodice if the crepe frays when I remove the lace.”
“Oh, thank you for that good news.” The matron snapped open her fan and waved it back and forth. “I am so relieved. I knew—”
Clara held up her palm to stay the woman. “While the gown can be repaired, I fear it’s going to take a great deal of time. Time that neither my mother nor I can offer. As you know, my mother must complete the gowns for both Mrs. Seward and Mrs. Chase before the ball, and I work at the laboratory every day. Sewing each evening wouldn’t permit me the necessary time to complete the dress. Perhaps you or one of the other ladies knows of another seamstress?”
Mrs. Blair shook her head. “None that’s suitable.” She hesitated a moment. “What’s this laboratory you spoke of?” The older woman appeared confused as Clara described her work making cartridges. “And they have women working in the Arsenal where the soldiers are being trained?”
Clara nodded. “Yes. The laboratory buildings are in one section of the Arsenal. Since so many men were needed to fight for the Union, women were hired to take their places in the laboratory.”
“I see.” She tapped her fan on the side table. “Wait here a moment.”
Clara sat down and stared at the gown. They were wasting valuable time, but perhaps Mrs. Blair was going to see if she could simply borrow a gown from one of the other ladies. If so, there was no need to begin work on this one.
A short time later, Mrs. Blair returned with her shoulders held high and a look of triumph on her face. “Our problem has been solved by Secretary Seward.”
Clara forced a wan smile and stared at the woman. She wasn’t certain how Secretary Seward could do anything to help—unless he had hidden talents with a needle and thread. “I don’t understand, Mrs. Blair. How is he going to help?”
“Frances went downstairs and interrupted her husband’s meeting to have a little chat on my behalf.” She arched her neck and patted her hair. “Secretary Seward has agreed to have you released from your duties at the laboratory in the Arsenal.”
Clara’s mouth dropped open, and she gave a slight shake of her head. “No, that can’t be possible. Colonel Furman is in charge of the Arsenal, and Lieutenant Brady oversees the cartridge section. I believe both men will advise Secretary Seward that it’s impossible for me to be away from my duties. It is imperative that the laboratory be fully staffed.”
“Now, don’t you fret, my dear. If there’s a need for someone to take your place making those cartridges, I’ll have my maid fill in for you until my dress is finished.” Mrs. Blair sat and looked up at Clara. “I asked Mrs. Seward’s maid to bring us tea. I think we should have a few moments to relax now that our problem has been resolved.”
Clara longed to explain that a maid couldn’t substitute for her at the laboratory, but Mrs. Blair would only argue or attempt to find another solution. Rather than try to change the woman’s mind, Clara would let Colonel Furman or Joseph explain that she was needed at the laboratory. In the meantime, she’d do her best to re-create the gown during her evenings.
When the maid arrived with tea, Clara declined and continued her efforts to remove the embellishments from the bodice. “You go right ahead, Mrs. Blair. I’d prefer to keep working. I’m hopeful that if all goes well, I can adjust the point of the bodice without being required to refashion it. But I can’t be sure until I remove this lace.”
“As you wish, my dear, but there’s no need to hurry now that you’ll have your days free.” She poured herself a cup of tea and returned to the chair covered in a lemon-yellow print. “Tell me about yourself, Clara. I detest silence. My husband is quite the opposite, which sometimes creates a bit of strife.” She giggled. “Do you have a beau? I do hope he isn’t off fighting in the war.”
“Yes, I have a beau. He’s a lieutenant in the Army and he works at the Arsenal.”
“You can be thankful for that! I have a dear friend whose husband insisted on enlisting the minute the country went to war. She begged him to stay home. Her father willingly paid for another fellow to take his place, but her husband went anyway.” Mrs. Blair shook her head.
Clara carefully picked out several stitches and then looked up at the woman. “Was he killed?”
“No, but he was injured. Nettie’s letters are so sad that I almost dread receiving them. Sometimes I wait for days before opening them.”
Clara gave a slight nod. “That’s too bad.” She hoped Mrs. Blair wouldn’t continue. Hearing stories of wounded soldiers would remind her of her father and brother—as well as the injury Joseph had suffered.
Undeterred, Mrs. Blair agreed. “Oh, my dear. You have no idea how sad a situation it has become. Nettie’s husband was shot in the arm and had to have one of those amputations performed. Clear up to his shoulder.” Mrs. Blair lifted her hand and drew her finger along the shoulder seam of her dress. “They tried to remove it at the elbow, but then he got one of those terrible infections and they were sure he was going to die, but lo and behold, he lived.” She leaned forward. “Sometimes I wonder if he wishes he would have died.”
Clara snapped to attention. “I truly doubt he would wish himself dead. From what you’ve said, it sounds as if he’s had a miraculous healing.”
“I suppose some would say so, although poor Nettie has to listen to him almost every night. He suffers from horrifying night terrors, and during one episode he almost killed her.”
Clara jerked and pricked her finger. “What?” She retrieved her handkerchief and wrapped it tightly around her finger. “Why did he try to hurt his wife?”
“Oh, he didn’t mean to hurt her, but he was still asleep and having one of those nightmares. He thought he was out on the battlefield fighting to save himself. He thought Nettie was the enemy.” She sighed. “When she finally got him awake, he was full of remorse. Even so, that didn’t change the fact that he’d almost strangled her. Poor Nettie hasn’t slept well since. I told her she should move to another room at night, but she says he wants her close by.”
Clara attempted to recall what Joseph had said about his nightmares. He’d mentioned they weren’t as frequent, but Mrs. Blair’s story was frightening. What if he became violent, too?
After checking her finger to make certain it had quit bleeding, Clara picked up the needle and pulled out several stitches. “Has your friend’s husband spoken to a doctor to see if there’s anything that can be done to help him?”
“They’ve had appointments with a number of doctors. They’ve all said that there’s nothing they can do for him, and his condition could worsen if he isn’t in a quiet setting. They aren’t certain what they’ll do. One doctor suggested a mental asylum, but Nettie would hear nothing of that. I worry the poor thing will have to live in fear the remainder of her life. I simply cannot imagine.” Mrs. Blair refilled her teacup. “You just be thankful your young soldier is safe and sound.”
Clara freed the last of the lace, but a growing fear held her fast. Joseph might be safe, but was he sound?