Chapter 21 Ruby

Chapter 21

Ruby

“What is the meaning of this?”

Startled, Ruby looked up to see her mother standing in her bedroom doorway, fanning herself with a lace-trimmed number that matched her dress. She was the picture of monochrome styling for her generation. “I’m sorry, Mother,” Ruby said, returning to the sketch in front of her. “I didn’t see you there.”

“How could you? With the contents of your closet cast about, piled in a mountain. I’m surprised you haven’t tripped and broken your neck. What are you doing?”

“Research.” Ruby touched her namesake stone hanging from her neck. She watched her mother examine the mess she had made of her room—the scattered dress patterns, bolts of scrap fabric, shoes, parasols, ribbons. It was as if every article of clothing Ruby owned had made its way onto her bed or chaise longue, over the back of her chair, or the small ottoman next to a spent tea tray, spread across the rug. If her father’s textile factory had produced clothing instead of linens for Black hospitals and hotels, she would have raided its storerooms too. “Research for a new dress,” she added coolly. “Careful! That’s for a client.”

“A client?” Mrs.Tremaine turned to her daughter, incredulous, the skirt of her dress wedged between the chaise and the ottoman. “Ruby, you need to pick a less invasive hobby to deal with your stress. Embroidery? I know you’re behind the tattered fringe on the throw pillows.” Mrs.Tremaine waded carefully over to where her daughter sat. “What clients could you possibly have?”

Ruby snorted.

“Young lady, I would remind you to remember your manners.”

“Mother, there is no one around to witness your excellent parenting, why should it matter?” she said before she could catch herself.

“Ruby Tremaine.”

“I’m confused,” Ruby said, turning over her latest sketch. “At luncheons and parties, you are affectionate and encouraging.” She felt her voice thicken as she forced out the words. “Dinner with the Bartons—weeks ago now—did you mean any of what you said?”

Mrs.Tremaine tilted her chin up, her face hard and impassive. Ruby did not know if her mother was considering her words or readying to leave.

Ruby spoke into the silence: “The wedding is still on. Harrison will pay for it. Olivia is helping me plan. You are my mother and should be involved!”

Her mother flinched at her words. “You must understand, Ruby—”

“That I am not as important as Papa’s ambition? Does he love me at all?”

“He does!” Mrs.Tremaine climbed over an ottoman and snatched Ruby’s hand from her chest. “I would not have you say such things of your father. He does love you. As I love you.” Her mother sighed but did not loosen her grip on Ruby’s wrist.

Ruby was angry with her father. Though the anger hid a more unpleasant feeling. Her heart ached at his continued distance. Before, Ruby would enter his study and read or draw quietly while he worked. Some days, they’d engage in discussions about the factory or the campaign. Ruby may not have followed it all, but the moments they shared had made her feel wanted. She had no siblings. Her cousins were too far to visit. And she couldn’t spend every waking moment at Freeport, especially now that Olivia and Helen had other pursuits. She swallowed hard. “In public, we are a happy family. I can pretend you and Papa aren’t still cross with me. And you’ve said you don’t believe the rumors.”

“You know I don’t.”

“What about Papa? Have you tried to reason with him?”

“Of course I have!” Mrs.Tremaine said fiercely. For a moment, Ruby felt anger blaze off her mother like a fire. Her mother composed herself quickly, but feeling smoldered in her brown eyes. “He’ll regain his senses in time.”

But after weeks of walking on eggshells in her own home, Ruby didn’t want to tiptoe anymore. “I think I have been punished enough. I don’t want to live my life in constant worry of how it reflects on others. Or suffer their ire till it grounds me to dust.”

Mrs.Tremaine sighed. “My dear, you are a woman. Society is unfair and unforgiving. Any indiscretion, perceived or real, can do irreparable damage to a young lady’s reputation and, yes”—she paused—“to a family’s. You are not na?ve enough to believe otherwise.” The fire gone now, Mrs.Tremaine briefly held Ruby’s face in her hands. Then she lifted a ribbon off a slippery pile of dresses. “He had grand plans, your father, ideas of what this city could look like. He’d spread his work around him much like you have now,” she said.

“There was a time when hearing that would have made me happy. Proud even. It would have been better coming from him.”

Mrs.Tremaine stared long and hard at one sketch in particular. “You may have to accept that that day may not come, Ruby. Best that you carry on as carefully as you have.”

“What about my wedding?” Ruby asked. Will we have to pretend all is well then too?

Her mother’s shoulders sagged. Ruby forced her hands still in her lap. She waited while her mother’s lips parted. Mrs.Tremaine’s eyes teared up as she said, “I will be happy to see you wed.” Ruby had not realized how badly she needed to hear those words until the tightness in her chest gave one final squeeze before releasing its hold. Mrs.Tremaine cleared her throat. “Now tell me, what is the meaning of this chaos? You said that fabric is for a…client?”

“Yes, for a party,” Ruby said cautiously. “I’d like to design my own line of women’s fashion.”

Her mother looked at her intently. “You want to be like Madame Chérie? Ruby, your father and I did not work as hard as we did for you to—our friends will be talking.”

“They already are, Mother. What more can they say? That we’ve lost our fortune? That there is no money left with which to buy new clothes? That was last season’s gossip. True, I might add.” Ruby gestured to the clutter around her. “It’s more than making dresses.”

Exasperated, Mrs.Tremaine held up a hand, then began picking through the sketches strewn about the furniture. Her frown tipped from one side of her face to the other. Ruby felt hot and cold as she watched her mother peruse. “I suppose it is related to embroidery,” she said, her words more confident than her tone. “But it will be a hobby. No lady of your station should have a profession. It’s unseemly.”

Ruby, ready to protest, glanced at the timepiece on the mantel. She was late. “Yes, well, I have an errand to run,” she said, getting to her feet.

“Excellent, I’d love to go—”

“Actually, Mother, Margaret and I already have a plan. And a purpose.” Ruby settled her shoulders back. She wasn’t ready to have her mother’s voice in her head as she began this new endeavor, no matter how much she missed the days they spent out and about the city together.

Mrs.Tremaine’s mouth screwed to the side. “Does it have something to do with this mess?”

Ruby smoothed down the front on her dress and picked up her sketches, placing them neatly into the folder. “I will see that this is straightened out. Soon.” She left her mother to navigate her own way to the exit and hurried downstairs.

“Your hat and gloves, miss.”

“Thank you, Margaret.”

Minutes later, Ruby spotted the young lady Olivia had arranged for her to meet at Marshall Field & Company. She wore a plain dress and walked through the tearoom with her purse clutched to her chest.

“Ruby Tremaine?” she asked.

“Yes!” Ruby stood, ecstatic, and eager to not let her conversation with her mother derail her plans. “Mrs.Lucille Jennings, lovely to meet you. This is Margaret. Please, sit.”

“Miss Davenport spoke highly of you,” Mrs.Jennings said, glancing around. “She is a brave woman. I know her ultimate goal is women’s suffrage, but we garment workers appreciate her support.”

“I know it brings her purpose and joy.” Ruby sat, again inviting the woman and Margaret to do the same. Mrs.Jennings remained standing. “I would, only, employees aren’t meant to dine with customers.”

“Oh,” said Ruby, feeling her face tingle with embarrassment.

“But I’m hoping with this venture of yours, my circumstances will change?” Mrs.Jennings looked over her shoulder and, at last, sat carefully on the edge of the seat closest to Ruby.

“Yes!” Ruby beamed. “Then I shall be quick.” Ruby waved away the waitress and poured tea for the three of them. “I wholeheartedly agree. Did Miss Davenport happen to mention the business of this meeting?”

Mrs.Jennings eyed the additions on the table: milk, sugar, lemon, honey. “I appreciate your desire to hire a seamstress, and I’d like to help.” She hesitated. “I’m just afraid that Marshall Field and Company would be difficult to access. You see, I’ve tried for ages to get my own designs in, and I don’t think they’d take something made by me.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” said Ruby, “I trust Olivia Davenport.”

“Let me see what you’ve got under that arm?” said Mrs.Jennings.

Ruby grinned. Anticipation bubbled in her chest. “I have ideas for some dresses. Daring lines and elegant fabrics. They come to me, but I have no way to bring them to life.” She handed over a selection of her best sketches. Gowns that filled her dreams and the type of closet she’d have if money was no object, if she had the talent to create them with her own two hands. Letting Mrs.Jennings study her sketches without looming over her shoulder or peppering her with questions took all the restraint Ruby could muster.

“They’re good,” Mrs.Jennings said.

Good? Ruby saw how she looked at them, measured eagerness, her head tilting as if trying to gain the angles from each sheet of paper. They were certainly more than good. “Work with me and we can make them better—we can make them real. I’d love to see your own designs too.”

“My designs?” The young woman looked at Ruby incredulously.

“Yes,” said Ruby, hoping her confidence now would be enough.

Mrs.Jennings stuck out her hand. “Isn’t this how the gentlemen do it?” she asked.

Ruby shot straight up and grasped her hand before the seamstress could change her mind. “I believe so,” she said, her smile as brilliant as the stone at her throat.