An Unlikely Suitor Read online

  There was a knock on the door. It was Aunt Francesca. “Are you ever going to let us in?”

  Lucy helped Mamma to standing. “Enter,” she said. “Welcome to our new home.”

  Mamma and Aunt Francesca stood in full embrace, sobbing. “When will I ever see you again?” Aunt said.

  Mamma murmured something in her ear. Yet the truth was, this might be a final good-bye. America was a vast place, not easily traversed.

  Lucy had already said her good-byes to her uncle and aunt. Feeling the strength of her uncle’s arms reminded her of her father’s embrace. Although Uncle Aldo had never taken her father’s place, his very presence had eased her father’s passing.

  And now Uncle would be gone too. They would be three women, alone. The idea frightened her, yet offered an odd exhilaration at the challenge.

  Angelo cleared his throat to get her attention. He stood at the door, hat in hand. Although Lucy had done her best to avoid any private contact, such evasion could not be continued. He’d taken much time and effort to help them. He deserved her thanks.

  As she walked toward him, he surprised her by drawing her out of the apartment to the landing at the top of the stairs. “Well, then,” he said. “You’re settled.”

  “Thanks to you, and to your father’s cart. Please thank him for me.”

  He nodded, then looked past her to the apartment. “It’s a large place, much better than the last.”

  Lucy suddenly worried that his compliment was a prequel to the suggestion they get back together, marry, and he move in. Her thoughts rushed to this conclusion, and she offered an awkward answer that was wanting in subtlety. “If you’re wanting to move in here with us, Angelo, I apologize for giving you the wrong impression. I—”

  He leaned his head back in full laughter. “You think I helped you because I still want to marry you?”

  Lucy was horrified. “No, of course not, but . . .”

  “Four years have passed, Lucy. Although I admit you hurt me, I’ve moved along with my life.” He nodded toward the apartment. “You have done the same. I am happy to see you happy.”

  She hated the thought that he’d gotten over her. “Are you happy?” she asked him.

  “I am happy. And married,” he said. “With a son and a daughter.”

  Lucy’s legs faltered enough to make the stairway a danger.

  Angelo righted her with a hand. “I thought you knew.”

  She was suddenly angry and slapped his hand away. “How would I know? I haven’t heard from you in all this time.”

  “And I’ve heard from you?” he asked. “Not until you needed my father’s cart and another set of strong arms. Not that I mind, but . . .”

  She felt the fool. Not for being ignorant of Angelo’s marriage and children, but for thinking he would still be interested in her after all these years.

  Lucy tried to regain her dignity. She set her chin and extended her hand to him. “Thank you very much for your services today, Angelo. My family appreciates your special effort.”

  “It’s not your family I care about,” he said softly. “I did it for you, Lucy. And if you ever need me again, please ask.”

  With that said, he kissed her cheek before rushing down the stairs and onto the street. Once more Angelo became a sweet memory and Lucy chided herself for opening her heart and mind to romance for even a moment.

  Uncle Aldo and Aunt Francesca came to the door to leave. Each gave her one last embrace and kiss good-bye before they too descended the stairs.

  Lucy heard Mamma’s soft cries and entered the apartment. The click of the door behind gained special meaning.

  “We’re all alone!” Mamma cried.

  Lucy and Sofia did their best to comfort her.

  And comfort themselves.

  Sofia turned on her side, pulling the sheet with her.

  “Stop it,” Lucy whispered. “That sheet is for both of us.”

  Sofia flopped over again, facing her sister. “I don’t like sleeping out here. I’d rather have my old hammock than sleep on this hard floor.”

  “We have a mattress. Be thankful for—”

  The bedroom door opened and Mamma came out. “I can’t sleep in there.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too soft.”

  Sofia scrambled to her feet. “This is your mattress, Mamma. Try this one.”

  “Sofia!” Lucy was appalled at her sister’s insensitivity.

  “No, no, Lucia. Your sister is right. I would much rather sleep on the mattress I’m used to. You girls take the bed.”

  Lucy grabbed a hunk of Sofia’s nightgown, holding her back. “But I want you to have it, Mamma. I want you to have the bedroom all to yourself.”

  Sofia pulled out of Lucy’s grip. “Don’t argue with her, Lucy. If she wants the mattress in the main room, let her have it.”

  Lucy heard the creak of bedsprings as Sofia made herself comfortable. She tried to read her mother’s face in the moonlight.

  “Mamma,” she said softly, “you don’t have to do this.”

  Mamma put a hand to Lucy’s cheek. “I want to do this. Go on now. Go claim a spot before your sister takes the entire bed for herself.”

  Reluctantly, Lucy did as she was told.

  Why do I do that?

  Sofia turned toward the bedroom window, but she didn’t close her eyes. For to do so would allow her mind to replay her latest act of selfishness. Why hadn’t she let Mamma have the bedroom?

  Honor your mother and father.

  She cringed at the Commandment. What she should do is get out of bed, go into the main room, kneel by Mamma’s side, and put a hand on her shoulder to wake her. “Come into the bedroom, Mamma. I was wrong. I’ll sleep here.”

  But as one minute passed to another, the generous thought faded.

  And sleep allowed her to be selfish one more time.

  Chapter Four

  How do I look?”

  Sofia glanced at her mother and at Lucy, dressed in their Sunday best. “You look very nice.”

  Mamma shook her head. “I do want to make a good impression.”

  As did Sofia. She knew how much was riding on their jobs at Madame Moreau’s Fashion Emporium. Working as one of a hundred in a dingy sweatshop was one thing, but working in a fancy store was by far another. Sofia knew the basics of sewing, but what if they expected her to know more? She’d be glad to learn, but what if they wanted her to know more now?

  Lucy stepped toward her and tucked a stray piece of hair behind Sofia’s ear. “Work doubly hard these first few days, all right?”

  Even though Sofia had just suffered the same thoughts, it was annoying to hear Lucy say them aloud. She batted her hand away. “You act like I don’t work hard. I know how to work hard.”

  “I know you know how, but I need you to do it. You don’t want to move again, do you? Before you’ve even had a chance to soak in that bathtub?”

  That last reference hit its mark. “I’ll do fine. Stop worrying.”

  But there was a crease between Lucy’s brows. “I just want Mrs. Flynn to like us.”

  “Why shouldn’t she like us?” Mamma asked.

  Lucy hesitated before answering. “She may not appreciate Mr. Standish hiring three extra sets of hands, sight unseen.”

  “Does she know we’re coming?” Sofia asked.

  “I hope she does, but I can’t be sure.”

  Nothing like walking into a lion’s den.

  A bell on the door announced their arrival. With their first breath in their new employ, Lucy noticed Madame Moreau’s smelled like women, a smell she had overlooked during her first visit with Mr. Standish. Now, knowing she belonged here, her senses were awake and eager to claim the space as part of her life.

  Perfume. That’s what it was. The lingering scent of perfume. How many wealthy ladies had lounged in this reception area, awaiting the moment they’d see the luxurious fashion being made just for them.

  Mamma ran her hand along the top of a ve
lvet chair. She whispered for their ears alone. “It is better than Mrs. Romano’s shawl.”

  Lucy stifled a laugh when a woman entered from the workroom. Her welcoming smile immediately changed when she saw they were not one of her customers. “May I help you?”

  Lucy stepped forward, extending her hand. “I’m Lucy Scarpelli, and this is my mother, Lea, and my sister, Sofia.”

  The woman nodded but did not offer her hand. “What can I do for you?”

  Her tone held a distinct Why are you here? challenge. It was clear Mr. Standish had not informed the woman of their arrival. Or their hiring.

  Mamma spoke low to Lucy in Italian. Lucy put a finger to her lips and smiled at the woman. “We are here to work. Mr. Standish hired us on Sunday and told us to come to work today.”

  The woman shook her head. “Sunday? He’s not here on Sunday.”

  “But he was,” Lucy said. “He was here checking on the apartment upstairs. We happened to meet, and in doing so, met each other’s needs. We moved into the apartment yesterday and were to report to work today.”

  The woman made a face as if the entire situation held a sour taste. “I don’t need three more workers. I have no idea what he was thinking.”

  Lucy couldn’t believe Mr. Standish hadn’t informed her of their coming. “I assure you, we have years of experience and will be an asset—”

  The bell on the door announced another arrival. Lucy was ever so glad to see Mr. Standish walk in.

  He removed his derby hat and nodded to the ladies. “Well, well. I see you’ve all met each other without me.”

  “So it’s true?” the woman said. “You hired these three?”

  He ignored her question. “Mrs. Flynn, I assume you have met Miss Lucy Scarpelli? And you must be her lovely mother.” He nodded toward Mamma.

  “And I’m the sister. Sofia.”

  He smiled. “Very nice to meet you, sister Sofia.” He looked to Lucy. “You’re all moved in abovestairs?”

  “We are.”

  “It is a very lovely apartment, Mr. Standish,” Mamma said.

  His brow furrowed and Lucy explained. “I spent all of Monday cleaning so it showed its best face to my family when we moved in yesterday.”

  “Yes, yes, good for you.” He turned to Mrs. Flynn. “See there? Hard workers, one and all.”

  Mrs. Flynn crossed her arms. “But I don’t need any more workers.”

  “Actually, you do. Remember how I wanted to expand our offerings to include bonnets and hats?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Mrs. Scarpelli has considerable expertise in making the very same.”

  Mamma shot Lucy a glance. “Considerable expertise” was an exaggeration to be sure.

  Mr. Standish continued. “And Miss Scarpelli has more than ten years’ experience in the garment trade, and Miss Sofia will help where needed.” He gave her a wink. Sofia’s smile told Lucy she was charmed by him.

  Mrs. Flynn was less so. “This is all very well and good, but I wish you would have warned me—informed me—of their coming.”

  “Yes, well. I meant to come earlier this week, but my other business kept me away.” He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Flynn, you’ve been complaining about how busy you are with the sewing for the Newport summer season. Plus, you often mention the pressure of keeping the shop organized and clean. So now I have addressed both of your problems—for Miss Scarpelli has agreed to the latter as well as the former.”

  She shrugged. “Well. I guess that’s that then.”

  “Indeed it is.” He put his hat back on and tapped the top of it. “With that accomplished, I will leave you ladies to the work at hand. Good day.”

  He left them staring awkwardly at each other. Lucy spotted Mamma taking Sofia’s hand. It was up to Lucy to break the tension. “What would you like us to do first, Mrs. Flynn?”

  With a harrumph, the pudgy woman turned and said, “Follow me.”

  That they could do.

  There were six women sewing in the workroom. Sofia forgot most of their names as soon as they were mentioned, but for two. Tessie was a young redhead with an Irish lilt to her voice, and Dorothy was their mother’s age. These two had actually smiled when they’d been introduced. The other four barely looked up from their work. Sofia couldn’t tell whether it was because they resented this influx of newcomers or simply didn’t care. Had there been other new workers that had come—and gone? Was that the issue? Did the women hold off from being friendly because they doubted the three of them would last under Mrs. Flynn’s rule?

  Mrs. Flynn’s opinion of their presence was abundantly clear and evident by her brusque tour of the workroom. “The cutout area is here, the bolts of fabrics are in the back, and fabric scraps go in this barrel and the trim in this smaller one.”

  The scrap barrel enticed like a treasure chest of jewels. Sofia would like nothing better than to dig through it with Mamma right beside her. Just walking by she saw lush satins that made her long to dip her hand in, just to feel . . .

  Mrs. Flynn continued the tour. “The pressing is done over there, the threads are kept on the spindles, and the trims and other supplies are stored in the back room. Just so you’re wise about it, I know the number of every hook and eye, every button.”

  Sofia resented the implication but said, “Yes, Mrs. Flynn.”

  The woman spun toward them. “To the customers I am Madame Moreau, so it’s best you get used to calling me Madame now, so they’ll be no slipups. I’ll be—”

  The bell on the front door chimed and she left them. A thick French accent was adopted as she greeted the customer. “Ah, Madame Stewart, entrez! Venez, s’il vous plaît.”

  Tessie giggled and put down the blouse she’d been trimming with lace. “I shouldn’t laugh. She’s actually quite good at what she does. No one has called her on her ruse yet.” She shrugged. “If it keeps me working, she could speak Russian, for all I care.” Tessie stood. “Will you be sewing or cutting?”

  This was easily answered. Sofia had never cut fabric in her life. “Sewing.” She glanced at the sewing machines. “But I want to learn to cut, and to use that machine. I’ll do that.”

  Her comment elicited a tittering among all the workers. Dorothy explained. “I admire your pluck, girl, but putting scissors to fine fabrics that cost many dollars a yard and working with Madame’s prized machines are a chore you work up to, not jump into.”

  Sofia’s embarrassment was heightened when Mamma pulled her close like a child who needed to be drawn to her mother’s hip.

  “I am supposed to make hats,” Mamma said.

  This time the women looked impressed, and a girl sitting at a far table nodded. “Maybe now Madame will stop forcing us to try. We’re no good at it, that’s for certain.”

  “And if it’ll keep the dollars from flowing to Wilson’s Millinery, Mr. Standish will be happy,” Tessie said.

  Lucy looked around the room for a place to settle. “Where should we sit?”

  Dorothy perused the room. “The table nearest the lobby is empty. When it’s winter and the cold seeps through the curtain you’ll see why, but here in the summer the breeze might be inviting. It should be a good place for the new hat department. And you too, Lucy.”

  Lucy gathered a chair for Mamma and for herself.

  “And you, Lucy? What is your specialty?” Dorothy asked.

  It was Lucy’s turn to laugh. “I’ve sewn lining into wool coats for ten years, so I’d appreciate doing anything else.”

  A girl on the machine looked up. “You worked at Kennard’s?”

  “Yes.”

  Sofia stepped forward. “I worked there too.”

  “I was there three years,” the girl said.

  “On the sixth floor?”

  “Under the Beast.”

  Sofia moved closer. She didn’t recognize the girl—had she been introduced as Ruth or Rachel . . . some name with an R—but Sofia’s lack of memory wasn’t surprising. The sweatshop employed a couple h
undred girls and each sat in her own spot. Mingling was frowned upon.

  “He’s not there anymore,” Lucy said.

  “His sins finally catch up to him?”

  “His ambition. He moved to a better position.”

  “Hopefully not around young women.”

  “Ah,” Tessie said. “Groping hands and large demands?”

  “That’s the sort.”

  Sofia had heard Lucy’s stories of “the Beast,” but luckily he’d been gone before she’d started to work there.

  A young girl hemming a skirt spoke up. “Actually, we have our own Beast.”

  Tessie moved beside her and placed a hand upon her back. “Yes, well . . . you’ve learned to stay clear of Bonwitter now, haven’t you, Dolly?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Who’s Bonwitter?” Sofia asked.

  “The bookkeeper. He comes in three times a week to order supplies and pay the bills—including our wages.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  The girls exchanged glances. “He’s grabby.”

  “More than that, I just don’t trust him.”

  Sofia’s mind flitted to something else. “By the way, what are the wages?”

  “Sofia!” Mamma said.

  “What? Don’t we have a right to know? Lucy said Mr. Standish never told her straight out.”

  The women exchanged glances. “That’s not for us to tell you,” Dorothy said. “Let’s just say they’re not enough but better than nothing.”

  It would have to do. For without this job that’s exactly what they’d have.

  Nothing.

  They all heard the rise and fall of Madame’s voice in the other room, along with the higher pitch of the customer.

  “Who does the designing?” Lucy asked.

  “Madame’s fairly good at it,” Tessie said, but her shrug indicated a lesser talent.

  “Good at copying other designs mostly,” Dorothy added. “But she leaves it to us to figure out how to do it. Mavis there makes the patterns and Ruth does the cutting.”

  “Does no one else help the customer with the designs?”