The Tobacco Wives by Adele Myers

Author:Adele Myers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2022-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

The steps leading to the third floor were steep, and there were far fewer of them than in the sweeping staircase to the second floor. Feather fan ecru wallpaper lined the walls, its busy pattern playing tricks on my eyes. It seemed to shimmer and shift, as if alive. The ceiling was low, giving me the strange sensation that I was growing taller, like Alice in Wonderland. I made my way down the long narrow hallway excited, nervous, and very unsure of this new world I had found myself in. It was all so strange. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find a Cheshire cat waiting for me.

The door stood open in a shaft of afternoon sunlight. I put down my satchel and bags and looked around. The studio was every bit as dazzling as the Princess Rose Suite. The ceiling, instead of being flat, was pointed, like a church steeple. A large, round window looked out onto the Winstons’ backyard, flooding the space with light. And there, on an enormous table in the center of the room, sat the new Singer sewing machine in bright, confident red. Not one, but two dress forms stood next to the table. Nearby shelves displayed the many tools of the trade. It was obvious Mitzy had gotten more than just a selection of fabrics.

I saw that Isaac had brought up the garment bags and materials I’d gotten from Aunt Etta’s, including her ivory-handled dressmaker’s shears for cutting fabric only. “You’ll make those duller than a butter knife,” she’d complained after I’d trimmed a paper pattern with them that one time. Her portable sewing box was here, and next to it sat a pink basket filled with brand-new, unopened things. I picked up button cards, rows upon rows of snaps and fasteners, and packs of needles in every size imaginable. Some for hand sewing and others for the machine. There was a seam ripper, two tape measures, and a classic tomato pincushion with the little strawberry attached. It was filled with emery sand so you could push your pins in and out for quick and easy sharpening. Mitzy must have bought out the whole notions department at Piece Goods. I just hoped nobody else in Bright Leaf wanted a needle and thread.

On the far side of the worktable sat still more materials: hooks, eyes, and loops (the expensive Peacock-brand ones), pearl-head pins—much easier to spot at a hem or a dart than cheap metal-topped straight pins—standard scissors, tins filled with rainbows of thread in different gauges, and dozens of new and unopened patterns. Lined up against the far wall were the bolts of fabric, arranged by color from stark white cotton to black lace.

Nearly everything necessary was here. All I needed was a bin for fabric scraps and small round weights—two-inch disks were best—to hold fabric in place while I cut out the patterns. I ran my hands along the rolls of satin, silk, and chiffon, delighting in the abundance of it all. But then was quickly hit with a stabbing feeling of guilt.

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