Chapter nine
Fixing the mess her mother made was never going to be the problem; Leslie had faced that challenge many times before. No, the problem was whether Mrs Lennox would find the wedding gown suitable for her granddaughter once she discovered the absence of the 'something old'.
Leslie sat back in her chair and rubbed her bleary eyes. Coral light flooded through the large round window and the rooster chimed in to remind her that delivery day was finally here. She stood up and stretched her back, rubbing her wrists the way her mother often did. There was still a bit of the lining to attach and some tiny satin bows, but the gown was fairly finished. Leslie vowed this would be the last piece of fancy work to ever darken their doors. It was going to be suits and curtains from now on.
For all that, Leslie had to admit the gown was rather stunning. She had altered the bodice so that it stopped short beneath the darts needed to accommodate Molly's swelling bosom, and extended the length of the skirt. It had the look and style of an earlier time when Empire lines were quite the thing. Instead of a train, Leslie had draped two panels of fabric on either side of the waist creating the necessary volume needed to hide any bump. Bows, rosettes and seed pearls were sewn in clusters at the collar and shoulders, which would keep any prying eyes away from Molly's belly and up near her face where they belonged.
Mrs Lennox simply had to approve. This wasn't just an altered dress, or even a pretty bridal gown. This was a something made for Molly and Molly alone. Surely a skinflint like Mrs Lennox would be grateful for something as priceless as that?
But would it make up for the missing gold watch?
It didn't matter how much Leslie told herself the dress was enough, nothing could shake away that doubt. She was rifling through her mother's sewing basket for some more white thread and thinking of the Lennox watch, when she found her father's brass timepiece. The one she couldn't find yesterday morning.
On another day Leslie would have stifled a scream but she was too exhausted for that now. Perhaps Mother only borrowed it? Perhaps she picked it up by accident? Or perhaps her mother was simply desperate.
There was no perhaps. Leslie's heart sank as low as her spirits as she admitted to herself that Mother appeared to have every intention of passing off Papa's watch for Mrs Lennox's gold one, and never telling Leslie about it.
The little round timepiece was cold in her hand and soft with touch and time. Leslie had so few things to remember her father by. Then again, it was only a watch. Not even a good one. Not even given to him by someone he loved. Just a cheap little brass thing he had bought himself at college so he wouldn't be late for class.
She could do it. She could sew it into the gown just as her mother intended. She could slip the gold lid Dick Moore had found over the little scratched watch face, and Mrs Lennox would be none the wiser. Then later she could explain it all to Molly, after the whole affair had died down. Molly would understand; Molly knew Leslie had done her best for her – and had kept her secret.
Leslie sewed the watch into the hem of the gown before she could talk herself out of it. It was the responsible thing to do. And that's what she promised to be. Responsible. Sensible. Good.
Dress complete, Leslie left the room, and stepped over the little tray of food her mother had laid outside her door. She went to her bed with the bone-weariness that comes of nineteen hours of sewing and fell asleep in her clothes.
She was still asleep when Mrs Lennox came to collect the dress that afternoon, and didn't stir until the wee sma's of Sunday morning. Leslie lay there listening to her stomach growling for a good long while, and after making use of the chamber pot saw another tray had been left outside her door. This one had a note in it, tucked into the little toast rack.
Molly's dress is a triumph darling, are you sure you didn't have some little elves helping you?
Leslie smiled. It hardly ever happened that her mother mentioned the sort of fairy nonsense her Papa had always loved. It seemed Mother was trying to make up for their quarrel, but Leslie wasn't quite ready to do that just yet. Oh, she would, she certainly would, but the pain of finding Papa's watch in her mother's sewing basket had left a little sting in her heart. Besides, she was still worn out from her labours and thought perhaps that just this once God wouldn't mind if she skipped church this morning, and had a kimono day.
So it was that she kept to her room, taking delicious snoozes and staring out her window. The rustling willow became the murmur of students hurrying off to lectures; the birdsong a bell signalling chapel was about to begin. Despite her vow to never make anything fancy again, Leslie let herself imagine that Molly's dress became such a sensation that clients came from miles around. That wheelbarrow of money she promised her mother, the one that would pay off all their debts and get Leslie to Redmond, suddenly didn't seem quite so far away.
On Monday morning Leslie awoke not to birdsong, but the sounds of shrill voices coming up the stairs. One of them belonged to Cornelia Bryant. It wasn't like her to be shrill.
"Leslie!" her mother called, a minute later. "Leslie!" she tried again.
The girl sighed as she peeled herself off her mattress, and headed downstairs with a wary tread.
"What is it, Mother, what's the matter?"
Her mother was standing in the kitchen looking very pale.
"I-I can't – Cornelia, you tell her…" Rose perched upon the settle, then leaped up again as if she'd had a fright.
She did look frightened, even spooked. Surely it couldn't be about the quarrel they had? The dress was a triumph, Mother said so herself. Everything had turned out all right in the end. Frowning, Leslie peered out of the kitchen window in case there had been another fire.
Cornelia approached and placed a firm hand on Leslie's shoulder. Leslie had the sensation that she had just been nabbed by the law.
"Now Leslie, I have just come back from the village. Prepare yourself, dearie, because I have – uncomfortable news."
Leslie did her best to look prepared. Whatever Miss Bryant was going to say she steeled herself to take it far better than her mother evidently did.
"Go on, Miss Bryant."
"It's about the dress, the one you made for Molly Lennox – or I should say Molly Pringle."
Leslie was confused. If this was the matter then why was Mother so fussed? Cornelia Bryant might have had stern opinions on pregnant brides. But everyone knew Mother was as easy going as they come, there was no need for her to make a show of being shocked.
"So Molly had to get married, I always assumed you knew."
Cornelia gave an impatient sniff. "Of course, I knew about Molly. Even spinsters like me who are deemed so ignorant they fall below the rank of wife when it comes to the judging of jam, cannot escape these things. We live in a small town, Leslie. A very small town."
She shook her head in a way Leslie had never known before. Not with pity or indignation but something much worse, with the regretful sort of judgement Cornelia Bryant usually reserved for no good men.
"It's gossip I've come to talk to you about. I'm afraid it's all over the Glen."
"But I didn't tell anyone Molly was expecting, Miss Bryant. I would never do something like that."
"Leslie," her mother said wanly, "please let our visitor speak."
Leslie nodded mutely and sat down in her mother's armchair, and let Cornelia unfold the rest. Molly Pringle – as was Lennox – trod on the hem of her gown. Trod on a watch that was sewn inside it and pulled it out to see what it was.
"That's why I wanted a train," Rose cut in. "Molly would have worn it over her arm when she walked so it would never have got anywhere near her feet. Oh, why didn't you let me sew the dress the way I wanted to, Leslie? I knew what I was doing!"
Leslie leaped up from the armchair as though she couldn't bear to feel its comfort; the sting in her heart feeling more like a stab.
"Yes, you knew what you were doing, Mother. You were going to sew my Papa's watch into another girl's dress... and you were never going to tell me."
Cornelia gasped and backed away from both of them. "So, it's true!" she cried. "I was sure there had to be some sort of mistake. Why I vouched for you myself. I told them I would set it all to rights and bring back the rightful watch Mrs Lennox is demanding. A solid gold watch, she said it was. Oh Leslie, don't tell me you were hoping to steal it?"
"No – I – no! Miss Bryant, I swear that wasn't my intention at all."
"But you did replace the gold watch with a cheap one of your own?"
"Yes, I did, but not for the reason you think. I never would have done it if I hadn't realised that's what Mamma planned to do all along. I thought if I sewed it in there, just until we found the watch we lost, I would go to Molly later and explain. I would never steal anything!"
"There's no going to Molly now. The whole sorry story is out. I was at Moore's General this morning. Everyone is talking about how you and your mother stole Mrs Lennox's gold watch and sewed a ten penny fake in its place. People are awfully scandalised, Leslie. They know you are struggling for money and are calling the both of you thieves."
"But I'm not... I wouldn't…" Leslie slumped back in the armchair as hot tears stung at her eyes.
A thief? They were calling her a thief, and there was no way for her to deny it. If Mother had only come clean from the start, but now, even if Mrs Lennox listened to their explanation there was no reason for her to believe them. Tears fell in drips down Leslie's cheeks and hit her lap like the mocking tick of a watch.
"Oh what are we going to do?" Rose wailed. "Our reputations are ruined!"
Even as she said this she hoped Cornelia might persuade her it was not as bad as all that. Her neighbour only shook her head again.
"It looks to be that way, Rose, for the time being at least. Mrs MacAllister says Mrs Elliot heard Mrs Lennox's cook say they were summoning the constable from Lowbridge."
Leslie looked to her mother and for the first time in a long time hoped she might see some glimmer of determination in her face. But Rose was inconsolable
"This is like a nightmare…" she wailed, "Oh Lord, we are ruined," and ignoring her daughter's tear-stained face she staggered away to the garden.
It was like a nightmare and ruination was not far behind. First came a visit from the constable, who while sympathetic to Leslie's story, maintained the facts were still the facts. Even if there had been a fire, even if that was all true, Miss West had deliberately swapped an expensive watch for a cheap one with the intention to deceive.
He informed the quailing girl that Mrs Lennox would not press charges if she paid for a replacement. Wordlessly, Leslie passed over one hundred and twenty dollars from her precious stash without even quibbling over the requested amount.
That left her with a little under thirty dollars. But there was worse to come. Every store, from the Glen to Harbour Mouth, was now sending bills to Leslie's mother demanding she pay her tabs. For Rose West was considered a swindler now, her word could never be trusted again. Why, she might try to cheat them from their money too. And thirty dollars wasn't going to come close to covering it.
How Leslie wished she had paid closer attention to all the money her mother had spent. She wanted to rail against her, she wanted to know how it was possible to owe ten dollars to the butcher when they scarcely ate meat at all. But she didn't – how could she? – when this was all her fault. If she hadn't been so tired, so impetuous, she would have known her plan to replace the watch was pure folly. She had no one to blame but herself.
What hurt even more than the loss of the money was the dazed way her mother wandered around the garden. She was a born seamstress who loved to make up pretty, fashionable things for her friends and neighbours. In a single day all that business had dried up. Had they lived in a larger town it might have blown over in a month or two. But people in the Glen still talked about who it was that robbed the poor tinker. Leslie would not have been surprised if they began to suspect her of that, too.
Even Miss Cornelia kept her distance for a time. Miss Russell waved at Leslie from her garden but she never popped by anymore. Captain Jim would have paid the gossip no mind at all, but he was somewhere on the north Atlantic and impossible to get hold of. In a final show of contrition, Leslie and her mother had gone to church. The Reverend was rightly satisfied to see them there though there was no sermon on the evils of judging others that day.
"The man who sows to please his sinful nature," he droned, "from that nature will reap his destruction."
Leslie had expected this and was prepared to bear his scrutiny, yet when they went outside to greet the other congregants it was all she could do not to hurry her mother along. Miss Bryant and Miss Russell were having stern words with the Reverend. But no one else would look at them. Every back was turned. The cook with her bunions, even Homer Smith. Leslie caught his eye before he hastily looked away, when another terrifying thought occurred. These people who disdained them, some of them had children, some were members of the Board of Education. They wouldn't, would they? Surely, they knew that she and her mother were desperate now. They wouldn't take away her right to teach at school?
There was still five weeks before school went back. Time enough for them to find a replacement for the disreputable Miss West… But no. Leslie would not let herself consider this. She would still believe in the best. She would simply take their stares and whispers, bite her tongue and pay for her stupidity. She would prove to her mother that she could still be depended upon.
Rose too, had seen the error of her ways. It had taken this heartbreak for her to realise how weak she had been. To watch like a child as Leslie took that gown from her and forbade her from entering the sewing room. She was the adult here, she was in charge. And Leslie needed to be reminded of that.
On a fulsome, mellow August day, Rose announced her decision. She couldn't make a fair living in this small village, she needed to find work in the city.
"You're not leaving?" Leslie stared disbelievingly at the small trunk by her mother's feet.
"I am, young lady." Rose stood tall and adjusted her smart felt hat. "I am going and you are going to let me. I spoke with Cornelia yesterday –"
"Miss Bryant spoke to you?"
Rose sighed. "She would speak to you too, if you deigned to go to her house. We can't expect her to pay us a call in the circumstances but she has been very welcoming whenever I have gone to her."
"And when was that?"
"While you were hiding out in the parlour. You think I didn't know where you were? You're really becoming quite morbid, darling. Your father has gone," she said, more softly now, "he is gone."
"And now you're going, too."
"You'll survive, just like I did when you went to Queens. Harriet is here, and Cornelia," Rose paused. "And then of course, there's Dick Moore."
Leslie had been staring at the trunk when she spoke. Now she met her mother's eyes. The spirit and fight that still dwelled inside her rose up smartly, and then just as quickly died.
Her mother was right. Excepting the week the constable was about, when he was conspicuously absent, Dick had been the only visitor to the Wests. He turned up every day, with his own lunch at that, and worked away on the Simons farm.
Leslie wondered what Abner Moore had to say about that. He had been the first to demand the payment of his bills. The West women's services as his walking bill boards were now surplus to requirements.
"When do you go?" Leslie murmured, hardly able to get out the words.
"Dick's driving me to the station. I'll start at Charlottetown first. My cousin Leo is living there and knows a few merchants who might need someone to make up some samples and whatnot."
"Samples? No, Mamma, you're far too good for that."
Rose crossed the hallway and took her daughter by the hand.
"No, Leslie, I'm not. I'm a widowed seamstress with a run-down lump of a farm. I'm not too proud to admit that now. But I will always…" she bit her lip to stop it from wobbling and squeezed her daughter's hand, "I will always be proud of you."
...
Thank you all for waiting for this update, the next chapter will mark the end of Part One. I always thought this part would end with Leslie and Dick's wedding, but I think it will fit better in Part Two. What comes next is both a little surprising, and totally predictable. I hope you come along...
Guest: Sorry to keep you waiting, I hope it was worth it
ozdiva: that tattoo is going to feature quite a lot in the final chapter!
Guest: thank you!
Guest: thank you, too!
FKAJ: I loved what you said about the dress superstition cursing Leslie for years to come. I had never thought about that. It's like a broken mirror and she has to put back the broken pieces until she can see how beautiful she truly is :o)
Guest: My eyes are half closed when I'm writing it sometimes too!
Guest: Yeah, we always need to get Miss Cornelia's opinion ;o)
