The Seamstress of New Orleans

“How on earth will each girl have her own machine? Will she buy one used from us?”

The excitement was contagious. This new plan was coming at her at such a speed that Alice found it difficult to process it, yet she sensed a foundation to it, not only for the workshop but also for the lives of these girls, the women they would become, the very lives they would lead. The process could take them into adulthood, could benefit their own daughters and prevent them from becoming half-orphans with mothers laboring away from home. This was a plan that could change the future, give women independence, just with the skills and the means to sew. Alice breathed in the sense of purpose and fulfillment her mother had dreamed of for her—and not through marital dependence on a man.

“Buy one from us? No! We hope to give one to her. Now, I see your look, Alice, but it can work. Martin and I have gone over and over the plan. And over! Its success will depend on our fundraising and on your fine-tuned skills and instruction to make this the best workroom in New Orleans. The profits brought in by the girls’ work will be used to pay for the machines. It’s complicated, I know. And it will be progressive in its fruition. But it can work. I’m sure of it.” Constance stopped, then looked around the room as if to orient herself. Alice had a feeling Constance had been in that workroom in her mind.

“But I should let you rest now,” Constance added. “I was far too excited after I met with Martin just now to wait any longer to tell you. Go and rest. We’ve plenty of time for details later.”

Constance put her arms around Alice, getting as close as she could get these days, and kissed her cheek. Alice felt the comfort of belonging.

“We are going to do something good, Alice. The three of us can make a difference. Well, the four of us, because Analee will be crucial to our success, as well. It will take time. And the reworking of used donations and things that seem to no longer have value—like the materials for the gown you made for me. We often have donations of things too worn or torn to use for the girls, but with your skills to share, we can put them all to new use. All those leftover materials can be transformed into the making of new lives, Alice. Just think of that.”





CHAPTER 48

Constance was off on her explorations now, day after day. Returning home sometimes tired and dejected, but more often full of exciting news about even the smallest discovery. Alice saw her at meals, often shared with Martin Birdsong, who added news of foundational financial support from business associates. At every encounter, he laid his hand over Alice’s extended abdomen to feel the baby’s activity, or lack thereof.

“Has to sleep sometime,” he would assure her. “You’ve got an active one on your hands, Alice. Or will have soon.”

He would take her aside to a private corner, remove the stethoscope from his black bag, and press it to her abdomen where she raised the corner of her skirt. His intent listening always worried her until she saw that smile and nod. He would keep listening, as if to a favorite piece of music, then would ask her if she’d like to hear. Of course, she would. That reassuring rhythmic sound would touch her very heart, then soothe her body into calm reassurance. She would hold one hand over her abdomen, thinking perhaps she could still feel that lulling rhythm, as she handed back the stethoscope, sharing her pleasure, seeing his smile of reassurance.

“Soon,” he would say, rolling up the stethoscope and slipping it back into his bag. During his most recent visit, he had begun to ask her pointed questions. “Are you quite ready? Everything prepared?”

“Only the layette to organize.”

“Then time to take that on. You don’t want to be organizing drawers and arranging blankets between labor pains. Although if anyone could do that, I suspect it would be you.”

Alice laughed as he took her arm to return to the drawing room and more talk of the orphanage project. She loved hearing the plans and the vision of a real future for these girls. A change that could be measured in lifetimes rather than secondhand clothes or an extra meal. Now those donated clothes could be transformed and could transform the lives of these young women with them. This century of exciting change in the world could become deeply personal by altering the lives of these girls.

As Martin bid good evening to them, he turned to Alice and actually shook a finger in her direction, like a teacher to a recalcitrant student. “Next time I come may be for a birth. I’m not expecting to help you fold baby clothes.”

There was laughter all around.

*

Alice took his instructions to heart. Indeed, for her own peace of mind, she needed to be done with preparations to welcome this new life she awaited with such hope. She no longer cared about Howard or trying to find him. Chasing after a phantom who might or might not have ever been in New Orleans had kept her on edge, and on edge was not where she needed to be in these last weeks of waiting. The waiting in itself was unnerving enough in the final stages of pregnancy. She no longer required Howard’s support. She had hope now for a future on her own, a future of cooperation with men, rather than subservience; a future involved with the creative initiative of women to benefit other women.

Standing by the window, fingers of one hand tracing the smooth edges of the crib, Alice drew back the lace curtain. Below, in the backyard, the girls played an imaginative form of hide-and-seek as Analee retrieved the clean sheets from the line. Back and forth they ran under the hanging sheets, tossing the edges over their heads and over their faces, peeking around the corners, and shrieking with laughter as Analee tagged them. Alice had wanted Analee to go to the attic storage with her, as she would know straightaway where to find the right trunk or the right drawer for various baby items. But Alice needed to get it done and was loathe to interrupt the good times below. Surely there couldn’t be too many places to look, and she had her directions from Analee, however vague they might be.

The narrow stairs were more challenging than they had been even recently. Alice held firmly to the railing and took each step cautiously. Everything was becoming more challenging. Alice sensed herself bigger with this baby than she had been with Jonathan. Even sleep had become trying; she could hardly find a way to lie down. Some nights she resorted to sitting up, but her pillow was soft and offered no real protection against the rungs of the hard iron bedstead. Perhaps she might also find some extra pillows stored away, she thought. Now, that would be a welcome find.

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