February gave way to March, with its bursting colors of a too-early spring. Such warm weather was a welcome contrast to the near freezes of the previous year, as if this newborn century was impatient to exhibit its glory and all the unforeseen changes it would bring. Alice’s heart expanded at the sight of white snowdrops in lieu of absent snow; the vivid purples of wild petunias, pincushion flowers, and irises laced with the varying hues of tulips; and the glorious flowering shrubs—azaleas and camellias—lighting up the shade, covered entirely in blossoms as if they nurtured blooms but no leaves. She had seen the prairie carpeted in wildflowers, but this display was unlike that wild one of nature, somehow singularly intimate and welcoming, whereas the prairie engulfed and dwarfed her. There is not one thing that humankind has done on earth that is equal to one square inch of this, she thought.
With the gown finished, the ball concluded, the air warm and inviting—though Constance seemed perpetually on guard—Alice had time for other things, which spooled out before her as she would spool out silk thread. Things of pleasure and leisure, which had never been part of her life; the closest thing to leisure having been her sewing time with her mother, sewing not for utility’s sake, like patching shirts and overalls, but sewing to create beauty, to feel her mother’s hands and breath close to her. Now she and Constance and Analee walked the children to the park, guarding them closely. In spite of her concern for Constance’s tension, she luxuriated in the feeling of the open air, the feel and sound of the great river nearby, the patchwork of light and shade on the ground as they walked. Could I sew something with that much wonder to it? she thought.
On other days she and Constance took themselves purposefully to the orphanage, where they met with the older girls on a side porch, its high ceiling and fretwork giving it a lovely sense of coziness for all its being outdoors. These “almost women” crowded close around them to see the examples of finery Alice had brought with her. They knew, better than she, the frightful fatigue and workload of the ready-made factories and mills, the tedium of long hours, the crowded rows of women unable to acquaint themselves with each other for the requisite demanding quotas of the workload. The skills Alice offered seemed an almost magical key to a life different from the one they had expected and dreaded. Mrs. Guidry, the widowed matron of the orphanage, welcomed Alice and her skills and was well acquainted with Constance, so recently bereft yet never failing in her commitment to the well-being of the girls here. Though Alice had resided there only briefly, Mrs. Guidry had been loath to have her snatched away so soon. Alice relished the warmth of this reception and Constance’s steady support.
In short order, Dorothea had obtained generous contributions, with help from Constance and acquaintances of both genders, to fund a full sewing room supplied with machines from Sears, Roebuck and Company, which were lower priced than the pricey Singer but sturdy and durable. Members of the women’s auxiliary group had begun collecting and contributing unused fabrics and thread, as well as embroidery needles and floss, trim odds and ends of an immense variety, buttons, laces, and ribbons of all sorts to supply Alice and her eager students. Boxes and baskets had begun lining the walls of the revamped sewing room, as if someone were moving into a new house. Indeed, for Constance and Alice this represented their vision that these girls might avail themselves of means to move on to a new life.
As the provisions expanded, so did Alice’s body, which was moving toward a new life, as well. She was slower these days and easily fatigued, yet her spirit energized the work in a way that seemed to compensate for the diminishing energy of her body. There were months yet to go, and she prayed that by the time she would need to prepare to deliver, the older girls would be equipped to come forward and supervise the younger girls, who were beginning the basics in this treasury of possibility. Two or three of the older girls already exhibited an innate finesse in handling the machines and understanding the potential and limitations of various kinds of fabrics and trimmings. The girls loved those trims. Their imaginations, for the most part, raced, unlimited. But they learned from their failures, not only what not to do but also how new possibilities might be achieved. Alice watched them with pleasure and contentment. She was beginning to relish this new life of her own.
On a Thursday afternoon in late March, Alice went to the orphanage alone, leaving an anxious Constance at home. Constance had thrown herself into this project untiringly and at the same time was devoting even more time to her own girls, consumed with anxiety for their safety. She would keep them occupied for hours in the kitchen with Analee, with cooking and baking projects suited for such little hands. Played games with them indoors and out, read to them, teaching them words and names for things. Today she had simply been tired, and Alice had suggested—more than suggested—that Constance remain home, prop her feet on the footstool, have a nap, and renew herself so that she could take the lead at the home while Alice was out for her birthing. Alice had prepared Constance to do the basics: operate the treadle and perform the threading, fill the bobbin, manage the presser foot, and complete the turns of a seam.
This afternoon, in fine weather, Alice would descend the streetcar, enjoy a lovely walk, and be home in time for a nice tea. They could all be outside, and the girls could bring their tea set down. Analee could set their little play table out on the lawn. The spring weather was so entirely inviting, so why not?
But as Alice stepped into the house, she was struck by the unusual quiet. She laid her hat and gloves on the front hallway chest and went to find Analee in the kitchen, watching the children inside as they enjoyed their cookies and juice, their make-believe tea party.
“At it early, are they, Analee? Just couldn’t wait for us grown-ups?”
“Yes’m. They right eager.” Analee turned from the window over the sink, drying her hands on her white cotton apron. “Let me fix you up some tea right quick now. We got good little tea cakes left from the girls’ baking yesterday. You want me to bring it all outside?”
“Well, that would be lovely. Where is Constance?”
“She don’t feel so good, Miss Alice. I done put her to bed. She be more tired than she bargained, I reckon.”
“Hold off on the tea a bit, then. I’ll just go up and check on her now. Do you think she’s asleep?”
“Don’t rightly know. I pulled down the shades on the windows so she could sleep, but she’s been a mite restless, it seems. I keep hearing movement up there.”
CHAPTER 42
After tapping very lightly on Constance’s door and hearing nothing, Alice opened it barely a crack to peek in. Constance lay on the bed in her clothes, her boots unlaced but still on her feet. Her hand was over her eyes, but she turned toward the door as the crack of light streamed in from the bright hallway. Alice heard the slight moan of pain as Constance turned her head.
“You’re awake, then. I don’t want to disturb you. You’re more tired than we knew. You go back to sleep.” Alice moved to reclose the door as quietly as she could, but another slight moan stopped her. She opened the door and went in. “What’s amiss, Constance? You have a headache?”
Constance held out a limp hand. When Alice took it, an immediate alarm surged through her. This was the heat she had felt when baby Jonathan died. She could not go there. Her attention focused on Constance with instant clarity. All her energies sharpened. She placed her hand on Constance’s forehead and flinched. This fever was high.
“Constance.” Alice kept her voice low. “Tell me what you are feeling. Are you nauseous?”
Constance shook her head. Another slight groan of pain. “My head. It’s my head.” She tried to adjust herself slightly, but her movement elicited another whimper. “And my neck.”
“Your neck?” Alice laid the back of her hand on Constance’s cheek.
“Everything hurts. All over me hurts.”
“Oh dear, Constance, not the flu. It’s late in the season for that. I am so sorry.” Alice loosened the unlaced boots and slipped them off, then tucked them under the end of the bed. “We need to get you undressed. Oh, my heavens, you are lying here in your corset! All these clothes on that aching body of yours. I’m going to fetch Analee. I’ll be right back.”
Constance groaned, but this time seemingly in protest.
Alice patted her outstretched hand and laid it back over her chest. “Promise. Quick as we can get the girls organized, we’ll be right back.”