wave enough money under Mrs. Haseloff's nose to tempt her to sell, Josephine Everdeane had, by winning her friendship.
A sudden crash echoed from behind the house--a tinny sound, like a trash bin lid. Idalie nearly jumped out of her skin. It had scared the wits out her. She glanced at the window as she flicked off the kitchen light, grabbed her cast iron skillet from above the stove, and crept toward the back door. She peeked out a small corner of the window, looking down in the back, along the fence and beyond, but saw nothing. Only the dark yard and the lights from above.
Slowly she opened the back door a crack, waiting. Waiting. Was there someone on the stoop? She tightened her grip on the pan handle. She'd conk them in the head before they took a step.
Something stepped on her shoe and she swallowed a scream.
"Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow."
"Pirate!" She sagged against the door. "You scared me to death."
In prowled Jo's one-eyed beast of a cat, rubbing at Idalie's shoes, purring loudly, walking in and out of her skirt, and looking up at her with his calculated, one-eyed squint.
"How did you sneak outside again?" She set down the skillet and kicked the door closed, then looked out the window again--just for good measure-- before she shoved a wooden chair under the door knob just in case. The back door lock had been broken for months.
She fed the cat and moved around the kitchen.
Overhead the lights flickered; it was that time of night when too many people used the neighborhood electrical lines and the light bulb dimmed and could flicker like a candle flame. At the kitchen table, a cup of steaming tea next to her, she flattened the newspaper and opened a box of lead pencils; it took her about an hour to draw the first coat pattern, to pin it to the cloth, and cut it out.
By midnight, when she switched off the overhead light in her narrow bedroom beside the parlor and crawled into her bed, aware she needed to be at work bright and early the next morning, she let her head sink into the feather pillow and sighed happily. There were four doll jackets and coats, pinned, cut and waiting to be sewn.
Chapter 6
Ed was late. He checked his pocket watch again and stepped from his carriage, walking through the crowded sidewalk toward Rowland & Company--the distinct building constructed of impressive, bright white Tuckahoe marble that took up almost a whole city block. He strode past the uniformed doorman with his gold braid and buttons, his head covered with a sharp-brimmed cap, through elegantly etched glass doors of the city's premier department store, and made his way toward the east stairs, which were wide enough to accommodate the large number of the city's shoppers who flooded through those same etched glass doors every day.
The five story emporium now anchored one of New York's premier shopping districts, a mile of unique department stores, Lord & Taylor, Macy's, Siegel-Cooper, that were no longer merely about dry goods, but within their walls had restaurants, dentists, grocery markets and some, their own electrical power stations in the basements, places built to impress with mansard roofs or their own El stop.
The store was bustling as he glanced down at the ground floor, under the tall, white-domed rotunda then continued upward and across the gallery, heading for the children's salon.
He came face to face with Miss Everdeane, almost knocked her over, and reached out to keep from running into her, or over her.
"Mr. Lowell!"
"Miss Everdeane?" He look down into her startled, wide eyes, saw the sudden flush spread up her neck to her cheeks. He was gripping her by the shoulders to steady her, and maybe himself.
Better than by her bottom.
She smelled of carnations. Carnations. Not a strong scent but a light and lovely scent that reminded him of the past, of a garden, of life before. His mother had loved carnations and grew them in abundance in her garden, carried them inside by the basketful, and put them in vases all through the house. His father laughingly accused her of making the parlor look like a funeral. For the briefest moment he heard the sound of their voices in his head, a sound he thought he'd lost--one he would never remember.
The scent of carnations was home to him. His gaze went to her mouth, momentarily fascinated, his face inches from hers; her lips were the color of pink