Blue
Summary: In the aftermath of an unfortunate accident, Sadie tries to make amends.
A/N: This installment takes place in June of 1899, concurrent with Chapter 2 of Something Worth Winning. It is told from the perspective of an OC, and will only make sense if you're familiar with SWW (at least through Chapter 2).
Written for SWW's 4 year anniversary, because what better way to celebrate than to go back to the beginning? ;)
"Miss Becker, good afternoon! I didn't expect to see you back here so soon."
Sadie smiled at the owner of the fabric shop as she drew near the service counter. "I didn't expect to be returning so soon myself, Mr. McEntyre. An unexpected project has come up for me, and I need to purchase some material for it."
"What kind of material are you looking for?" he asked, setting down the box of swatches that he'd been sorting and coming over to assist her.
"Something durable and well-made but light enough for the summer," she replied. "It's for a young man's work shirt."
"Another fellow who stopped by the tailor's to chat and place an order simply because the tailor's assistant is so charming?" McEntyre winked. "Walt was just telling me the other week that your gaggle of admirers don't come around as often as they used to, but I bet you're never really rid of them completely."
"This is a personal project, actually," Sadie replied, keeping her expression carefully neutral. "It's for a neighbor of mine."
"Well, we've just received a new shipment of quality cotton from Georgia. Most of it's still in the stock room waiting to be moved to the shelves, but you're welcome to have a look at it if you'd like."
Sadie readily accepted the shop owner's offer, and he led the way to a small room at the back of the store where the surplus inventory was kept. Sure enough, several bolts of patterned cotton were leaning against the wall, some still partially wrapped in their paper casings.
"I've got to get back to watch the shop," McEntyre said, "but browse as long as you want, and holler if you need anything."
Sadie thanked him and eagerly went to examine the nearest roll of fabric, pulling back the paper and running her hand over the material. It was a window pane plaid in beige and cream, and next to it was a brown and black houndstooth, the first two options in an array of appealing choices.
The question now was what color and fabric would suit her purpose best.
This was normally her favorite part of the sewing process, picking out the material and trying to envision the garment piece by piece, not simply as it would look on a hanger or a mannequin, but how it would appear on the person donning it. It was an artistic puzzle of sorts, the challenge of trying to combine the perfect elements to show off the wearer's best qualities and tastefully reflect their personality. Something as small as a button style or as significant as a color choice could speak volumes, and though Sadie knew that raiment was only one aspect of a person's being (and a superficial one at that), she prided herself on taking great care to make sure that the clothes she sewed reflected their owner's natural appeal.
In this case, however, she knew very little about her intended recipient.
She had only seen the boy in question twice in her life. The first time, when they'd met, he'd been dressed down in his shirt and suspenders, probably forgoing a vest and any headwear on account of the heat of the day and the physical demands of moving his family's belongings up to their new apartment. She'd been too distracted with her own chore at the time to notice the details of his apparel, but remembered that his ensemble had been rather muted on the whole, all browns and grays and dull-looking tans. His shirt - which she'd accidentally but thoroughly ruined with her paint - had been a serviceable-but-boring shade of gray with thin pinstripes running down its length, memorable only because she was the type to notice such things, but otherwise completely unremarkable.
When she'd seen him again a few days later, he'd been standing outside of the tenement, attired once again in drab, neutral colors, his vest buttoned up and a cap pulled over his thatch of dark hair. She hadn't been close enough to ascertain the details of his ensemble (and hadn't been interested enough to look for long), but the overall effect had been the same: that of a nondescript, unadventurous boy who preferred colors that were cautious and practical but told the viewer next to nothing about his personality.
The dullest, most sedate material that Sadie could find among the offerings in the stock room was a dark gray tattersall, and though it seemed like something that the unnamed Jacobs boy would probably wear, it didn't excite her at all.
This isn't a work assignment, she reminded herself. You're not servicing a customer who's keen on having their apparel reflect their personal sense of style. You only have to make something well-fitting and of good quality. He could probably care less about the color and pattern, and at the end of the day, he might not even wish to wear it at all, knowing that it comes from you.
If there was one impression that had lingered in her mind after the unfortunate incident involving the paint, it was that her new neighbor seemed to be a serious, uptight sort of fellow. The circumstances of their meeting hadn't been ideal, of course, but even before the accident, there had been nothing to indicate any lightheartedness or sense of humor on his part. He'd clearly been raised to be polite, for he'd stepped in to steady her when she'd been about to fall and had expressed concern about dirtying her father's office with his dripping, paint-stained shirt in the aftermath, but it had been the sort of politeness that remained cool and detached. There hadn't been a modicum of warmth in his demeanor nor a spark of amity in his eyes, and even when he'd cautioned her about the danger of standing on her makeshift step stool, his words had been delivered in a completely factual manner, as cheerless and utilitarian as the clothes that he seemed to prefer.
Perhaps his personality was quite well reflected in his raiment after all, and there was no reason to suppose (or attempt to show) otherwise.
Mulling this over, Sadie was just about to pick up the bolt of gray tattersall, when her eye fell upon a roll of fabric that had fallen behind it and had nearly escaped her notice.
It was a bolt of cotton check plaid the color of the sea where it met the sky, and Sadie found herself reaching for it even as she set the tattersall aside. Upon closer inspection, she could tell that the check plaid was well made and finely spun, for the pattern fell in neat, even rows, the weight of it felt good between her fingers, and when she held the cloth up to the light, she could tell that the knit was dense, a sign that it would wear well in the future.
It was a beautiful piece of fabric, and the longer she gazed upon it, the more she wanted to buy it.
But she knew that it was a gamble. The check plaid was brighter and bolder than anything she'd seen her intended recipient wearing, and he might end up hating it, both for its hue and for its effect, because it wouldn't allow him to fade into the background like the rest of his wardrobe did. The pattern wasn't so vivid that it was anywhere near garish or flamboyant, but it was unapologetically eye-catching, and it would make him stand out in a tasteful but noticeable way.
He'd look rather well in this shade, Sadie thought, a picture of the garment beginning to take shape in her mind. A simple band collar in a contrasting pop of white, some sturdy China buttons…the shirt will be half-covered by his vest anyway, so maybe he won't mind the color so much…
Making her decision, she picked up the bolt of blue plaid and walked to the front of the store, setting it down on the counter and smiling at McEntyre, who was tucking the last of his swatches away into their display case.
"Found something you like?" he asked, coming over.
Sadie nodded. "This check plaid is lovely. I don't believe I've come across such an appealing gradation of blue before."
"It's a handsome color, innit?" the shop owner agreed, admiring the plaid with her for a moment. "How much can I cut for you?"
"Three and a half yards, please," Sadie answered, pulling her coin purse out of her handbag.
"This one's pricier than the standard cotton plaids on account of the weight and the weave," McEntyre warned her. "You might be able to get by with three yards flat if you want to save a few cents, unless the fellow in question's a bruiser."
"It's kind of you to think of the expense," Sadie smiled, "but I don't mind the extra cost - or the extra yardage, for that matter. It's such a fine piece of material that I wouldn't mind having a bit left over to add to my remnant bag if I don't end up using it for the shirt."
"Well, your total will be a dollar and five cents, then," McEntyre said. "I'll go trim it off for you."
Sadie counted out the coins, setting them down on the counter and continuing to scheme as she waited for the material to be cut. She was certain that she had a scrap of sturdy white cotton that would serve just fine for the band collar, and she could purchase the buttons and thread at cost from her employer, Mr. Gorham, so all that remained was to mark and cut the pieces for the garment and then sew them together. She'd been painstaking about taking measurements from the paint-stained shirt that she'd temporarily filched from the clothesline and trusted that her efforts would yield a proper fit, but a part of her was still a bit anxious about the end result, and whether or not it would be well-received. This wasn't simply a work shirt, after all; it was an apology, and an olive branch, and a reparation that would hopefully clear the air enough to allow for civil if not amicable discourse to begin between her and the unnamed Jacobs boy whom she'd inadvertently wronged by her carelessness. It had taken some corrective words from her father to get her to see the gravity of the situation, but now that she had, she found herself earnestly hoping for a happy resolution.
McEntyre returned with the fabric, and Sadie thanked him and wished him a good day before exiting the shop, heading down the street in the direction of the tailor's, which would be her next stop. She wasn't due to start work there until four-thirty, but she wanted to arrive a little early so that she could purchase the rest of the notions for the work shirt and maybe even begin marking and cutting the pieces if time allowed.
Keeping a brisk pace, she turned her eyes to the cloudless afternoon sky, enjoying the feel of the sun on her face and relishing the weight of the fabric in her arms. It was a silly thing to get excited over, but she loved the accouterments of her job, and she felt that the check plaid had been a good purchase, despite the extra expense. The creative, aesthetics-inclined part of her was already humming with excitement, and despite her persistent misgivings about how her efforts would be received, she was eager to begin her project.
Her footsteps slowed momentarily as she drew near Halston's Millinery and saw that the straw boater hat that she'd been planning to purchase on her shopping trip with Margaret was still there in the window. Its hand-dyed orange ribbon looked even more cheerful and inviting than before, and Sadie allowed herself a single, longing glance, then kept her feet moving, ignoring the little pang of disappointment that accompanied her fleeting look. Purchasing the material had set her back significantly, and she knew that it would be a while before she'd saved up enough again to purchase the hat, but hopefully it would still be there when that time came.
Several blocks later, she arrived at Gorham's tailor shop. The older man who was both proprietor and manager was sitting on his stool sewing behind the service counter, and he looked up and smiled at Sadie over his round-rimmed spectacles as she entered.
"You just missed Mrs. Fairfax," he informed her. "She stopped by to see how her walking dress was coming along."
"And…?" Sadie asked, her breath catching a little.
"She loved the adjustments you made to the trim," Gorham told her. "She said that you were right about the width and color, and demanded that you be present at the rest of her fittings, now, until the dress is complete."
Sadie let out a sigh of relief. "Well, that's both a comfort and a slightly-daunting prospect!"
Gorham gave her a sympathetic smile. "You do quite well with her, Sadie. Even when she's being snippy, you manage to take her criticisms into consideration without getting offended or letting her push you around. You certainly have a way with people."
"Not all people, I'm afraid," Sadie demurred, thinking of several exceptions. "But it's very kind of you to say so, Mr. Gorham."
"Well, we can't please everyone, as you know," the tailor allowed. "But for those like Mrs. Fairfax who feel the need to air any and all of their concerns, it makes a difference to have a gracious, even-tempered assistant in the shop."
Mrs. Fairfax, the good lady in question, was the wife of a counselman and one of their most frequent but also most fastidious customers. Any time she stopped by, Gorham and Sadie walked on eggshells. Prominent and well-heeled patrons were good for business, of course, but some of them were invariably taxing to serve, and it was always a challenge to balance accommodating their wishes while maintaining realistic professional boundaries.
"Speaking of not being able to please everyone," Sadie ventured as she made her way behind the service counter, "what do you think of this check plaid, Mr. Gorham?" She unfolded the material part way to show her employer. "It's good quality cotton, and I think the pattern is lovely, but my intended recipient seems to prefer more muted colors, so I'm not sure what he will think of it."
Gorham took the check plaid in his hands, lifting up his spectacles to examine it.
"That's a fine piece of fabric," he pronounced after a moment. "Very good quality, like you said. It will wear well, Spring to Fall." Setting his spectacles back on his nose, he handed the material back to Sadie. "But you're asking me about the aesthetics of it, aren't you? I suppose its suitability would depend on what sort of person your intended recipient is."
"A rather serious young man," Sadie answered, "though I know him only a little."
"And you said he isn't one for adventurous color choices?"
"From what I've observed, yes."
"Maybe he'll appreciate something different," Gorham pointed out. "Young men aren't always particular about their clothes, and if this fellow is as serious as you say, he's likely got other things on his mind. Receiving a well-made shirt might make him happy enough."
"That's my hope," Sadie admitted. "There were several other patterns I could have chosen that would have matched his style much better, but they didn't inspire me, and I felt drawn to this one instead. I'm sure it will look well on him, even if he dislikes its brightness, but I hope that he will like it, and that he will come to see how fitting it is for him, even if it's not what he's used to."
"Your aesthetic eye sees something in him that he might not yet see in himself."
Sadie laughed. "Or maybe my cheeky side simply wants to break him out of his own lackluster wardrobe choices! But you're right, Mr. Gorham. I'm sure there's much more to him than his muted apparel suggests, and I hope to discover that yet-unseen spark for myself, but until then, I suppose I'm left to surmise and to sew."
"Well, I'll let you get to it," Gorham replied. "If you need any buttons or thread, the boxes are on the cutting table in the back room. I was getting some notions out earlier and then Mrs. Fairfax came, so I didn't have a chance to return everything to the cabinet."
Sadie thanked him and went to procure the necessary supplies, pleased to find that there was a good selection of white China buttons as well as a shade of thread in stock that would suit the blue check plaid perfectly. After putting the money for them into the cash box that Gorham kept locked away in the back room, she went to fetch the shirt pattern that she'd measured and cut the day before.
Setting everything down on the long table, she unfolded the material, admiring the pattern and weave one last time before squaring it up with the cutting board.
Then, she began to work.
The shirt was finished in four days, sewn in the snatches of time while she was on break or after her shift had ended. Sadie had made several garments like it in the past and her fingers hadn't forgotten their purpose, but the band collar had been a new venture for her, and she'd taken her time, wanting to make sure that it came out perfectly. To her delight, the collar and the finished shirt looked every bit as handsome as she'd imagined, and she was glad that she had trusted her instinct and had purchased the blue check plaid rather than the safe-but-boring tattersall.
Once she'd removed any loose threads and had checked one last time to make sure that the seams were perfect and that the buttons were secure, she'd pressed the shirt, then had carefully wrapped it in paper to take home with her from the tailor's shop.
All that remained now was to pen a note of explanation - and apology.
Sadie found herself absently scribbling away on a scrap of paper after her shift had ended, the words refusing to come together. She was no stranger to letter writing, but letter writing to a stranger was a mildly-daunting task, even more so when she knew that this particular stranger was not inclined to think well of her. She had to strike the right tone between friendly and contrite, to show him that she was sorry for her part in ruining his shirt and convince him that she wanted to make amends, to impart the words that she'd neglected to say during their only meeting without coming across as overly-familiar…
The more she wrote, however, the less sure she felt, and she ended up pitching the wadded-up paper into the trash bin in a burst of frustration.
This boy may never like you, regardless of what you write, she reminded herself. It's not as though you haven't incurred others' displeasure before, and if he wishes to retain his low opinion as they have, then that's that. Just keep your note simple and to the point, and see what happens from there.
But even as she ruefully acknowledged the truth of her inner reflection, she found herself not as resigned to its conclusion as she would have hoped. The fact was that she did care what others thought about her, this boy not excepted, and she really did hope that he would like her. She'd far rather they become cordial friends than remain coolly aloof neighbors.
Putting her pen to paper, she began, once again, to write, trying not to let her thoughts get the better of her. The end result of this second attempt was far more coherent, and she set it carefully atop the paper-wrapped shirt, securing it with a bit of string.
All that remained now was to drop everything off at the Jacobs family's apartment.
Bidding Mr. Gorham goodbye and leaving the shop, Sadie set off down the street, her package tucked carefully under her arm. As she walked, she debated whether or not she ought to knock on the door to present her peace offering personally, or if it would be better (and less intrusive) to simply leave it at the door. The sociable side of her would have preferred a face-to-face conversation, but whether that would advance her cause or not was unclear. Her recipient, in fact, might feel put on the spot or obligated to respond favorably regardless of his true feelings, which might only deepen his dislike of her further, and that was something to be avoided at all costs.
It was probably better to play things safe and let the note of apology do the talking.
Having settled on this course of action, Sadie made her way back to the tenement, detouring to the Jacobses' apartment on the second floor and setting the package down just outside of the door. She found herself hesitating just a bit, the urge to knock making one last desperate bid, but she forced herself to turn away and to set her lingering anxiousness aside as she headed towards the stairs that would lead to her own family's abode.
She'd done all that she could do, and now it was up to the dark-haired Jacobs boy to decide if he wanted to have anything further to do with her…or not.
A/N: I hope that you enjoyed traveling back in time for a moment to see how far Sadie and Davey have come. Thank you for reading this one - it's not particularly crucial to the plot, but I think sometimes a little bit of symbol-laden, self-indulgent fluff is permissible, especially in celebration of a milestone day. ;)
If you have a moment, please review! Thank you so much, gracious readers. :)