Chapter 19

"I ' m off to Europe next week," Elsie announced as she burst into their office one morning in March.

Nora looked up from her rendering of Elsie's latest idea about lamps for the overnight guest rooms, as yet barely framed and

plumbed. But whenever Elsie had an idea, she wanted to explore it immediately.

"Europe?" Nora asked.

"Yes, next week. I must have more material to work with. I have exactly the chairs in mind for the tearoom. But I haven't

seen them anywhere in New York. I'm sure I can find them at one of the antiquarian stores in London. Or if not..." She

rummaged through the notebook they kept on Elsie's writing desk. "I know just the woodworkers who can construct them for me."

She glided across the room and looked over Nora's shoulder at several iterations of reading lamps.

"Light," Elsie said, spreading her arms, her sleeves brushing the top of Nora's head. "Why is it when you feel like reading

a book, you have to sit in the most uncomfortable chair in the room and twist into contortions until the lamplight falls on

the page?"

Nora had finally learned to take these frequent questions as rhetorical and merely waited for Elsie to answer this one.

"I'll choose the same lamps for each room, designed specifically for reading. And placed over the bed so that after a long day of traveling or shopping, you can put your feet up, stretch out, and enjoy an hour or so of reading while comfortably propped up with pillows. Why don't men think of these things?"

Another rhetorical question. They always came fast when Elsie had latched on to an idea. Nora sometimes imagined all of Elsie's

ideas floating around in her brain, hovering in different places until they found the best place to settle, at which point

she would rattle off the idea for Nora to copy down and re-create.

Nora was getting better at it, though Elsie was also becoming more prolific. And now she was going to Europe, leaving an entire

club to be designed.

"I just talked to George and Mr.Wojcik about framing the veranda walls with trellises, light green, the columns, too, all

clad in trellis work in the French style."

A horror to dust , thought Nora, putting the lamp designs aside and replacing them with a fresh sheet of drawing paper.

"The panels should run parallel to the ground with square openings. Except behind the fountain. Those will be diamonds."

Elsie turned slowly as if looking at the walls of the veranda and not the already crowded space of their temporary office.

"And... a polygon border where the cornices will go... And vines..." She trailed off and Nora jotted down vines at the edge of the page. They had more than a year before they needed to worry about plants.

"You must keep an eye on the installation of the trellises or they'll erect them like a New England bean patch."

Nora couldn't begin to imagine what it all might be costing. She never heard anyone discussing money, except George and Mr.Wojcik.

She thanked her lucky stars that she didn't have to deal with requisitioning the funds to pay for all these brilliant ideas.

Though she supposed she should learn that aspect of architecture, too. She remembered George mentioning that he was going

to Columbia to study business.

"While I'm gone, you'll be in charge. I'll send things back and you must write them all down. But now I'll need you to draw up the floor plans with everything named so I can refer to them while I'm abroad.

"While I'm gone you'll also have to make certain that everything delivered is the correct piece and is intact. Send anything

broken or damaged back to be replaced. Once you sketch and catalogue the piece, send it to the warehouse space Bessie rented

and note where it's stored so we can find it when we need it. It isn't too far from here. Soon it will be spring and you'll

be glad not to be cooped up here or at the site all day."

Nora gritted her teeth as she saw her own work drifting away in a plethora of paperwork. This was a job for a secretary, not

an architect. She'd thought she'd finally earned a real place alongside the men. But this sure felt like she was being shoved

aside again.

Two days later, a typewriter and a telephone appeared in the office, neither of which Nora had any intention of using. For

another week, she and Elsie spent hours poring over blueprints, making lists, and taking unscheduled walks to the site, where

Mr.Wojcik or George would patiently explain things that would work or wouldn't, then see them on their way.

Several times Nora was summoned to Irving Place with renderings and plans in tow to find Mr.White and Elsie discussing some

aspect of the design.

Since she was spending so much time away from the drafting room, she hadn't seen Mr.White much over the winter and was shocked

by the change in his appearance. Mr.White did not look well and wore an air of distraction. But he efficiently led Elsie

through the vagaries of design, and though she sometimes pouted, she took his advice.

The following week, Elsie boarded a ship to London and the office grew quiet. Nora took a day to reorganize the whirlwind Elsie had left behind. The next morning, she gathered up all her work from her room at the Parker Hotel and transferred it to her office.

The first telegrams from Elsie arrived while she was still on the ship, followed by several more every week with orders and

questions. Each one needed to be signed for, noted, and filed with the changes she wanted implemented, an explanation of some

item she thought would be perfect for somewhere, or names of artists she'd hired for special projects, whom Nora must contact

to "liaise" with. A word Higgie later told her was French and meant "to communicate with." She sent instructions for those

artists only to rescind them a few days later when Elsie changed her mind.

Nora came in early and left late and soon her office became more like a home than a place of work.

Outside the office, the ladies came and went, always looking like they just stepped out of a fashion plate. It seemed they

were always at the assembly room meeting about something. Lectures and talks and sometimes card playing. When there was music,

Nora would tiptoe across the hall to listen. She learned about books, current events, heard her first classical music concert.

It was almost like the club was their home away from home. Which Nora guessed was the whole point. To have a place where they

could be themselves and not worry about other things.

Only they did.

And Nora was astounded.

The ladies weren't just enjoying themselves. They were educating themselves. And Nora felt a stab of envy, and allowed herself

just a moment to imagine being dressed in finery, invited to card parties and balls and listening to lectures about everything

under the sun.

One night Nora was frowning over how to adapt a blueprint of an apartment building to make it affordable for those who lived

in the unhealthy, miasmic buildings of the tenements when a burst of applause sounded from across the hall.

It was an evening speech by some woman who had formed a union of some kind. The ladies had been talking about it for several days.

Nora doubled down on her concentration.

Another burst of applause.

Nora got up to close the door against the noise, but as she reached it, someone yelled out from the audience. She'd never

heard any shouting from the club members. As far as she knew, society ladies never raised their voices.

But when it happened again, it was so unusual that Nora stepped into the hallway to listen.

The door to the assembly room was shut but since she knew the speaker would be at the far end, she cracked open the door and

peeked inside. A small woman, whose face barely appeared over the podium, raised her hands in the air. "The conditions are

criminal. Greed of the landlords and the factory owners is causing an intolerable working environment."

There were murmurs through the audience where every seat was filled.

"Most of those people never know the heat that this room enjoys, or the light and air that are afforded by these huge windows.

"The women who work in the garment factories, some no older than twelve, work twelve- and fourteen-hour days, shoulder to

shoulder in double rows where they haven't even room to stretch out their legs. The windows are nailed shut to prevent the

soot from the street settling on the fabric. And consequently the air is fetid and unhealthy, causing disease, loss of hope,

and, even more likely, tragedy.

"Recently a false scream of ‘Fire' caused a stampede at one of these death traps; several women were injured in the panic to get out. The aisles were so narrow that when one person fell, the entire row behind her went down like dominoes. It was a miracle that no one was killed. But mark my words, it is only a matter of time if something isn't done."

But what could be done? Nora wondered.

As she thought it, Mrs.Harriman rose from her seat. "How can this be remedied? Especially since the owners are bound to balk

at the cost."

It was like she'd read Nora's mind.

"First, a simple reconfiguration of the workspace. Increasing the distance between the machines by a mere six inches on each

side increases efficiency by creating enough space to work without constant cramping. What you lose in workspaces you gain

in productivity. Which is why women garment workers need a union."

Nora raced back to her office to get her notebook and was back again to hear the word "cross ventilation."

Nora wrote quickly, her mind racing. It was the same as in any good building: traffic flow, fresh air, all the things she'd

incorporated into her hospital and her attempts at a school and apartment buildings. And now a garment factory.

She was lost in ideas when applause brought an end to the lecture. Nora longed to stay and talk to the speaker, but she didn't

dare. She was not a member; she shouldn't even be here. She looked up to see Mrs.Harriman looking back at her. In a panic,

Nora fled across the hall and into her office, closing the door behind her.

She sat perfectly still waiting for a knock on the door and the chastisement that would follow. A reminder to remember her

place.

Outside the door, the ladies gathered their wraps, and talking excitedly, they left the building. Gradually all became quiet and Nora pulled out a fresh sheet of drawing paper, her mind alive with the things she heard from the lecturer. It would be so simple to make what she was describing safer, more comfortable, and more efficient.

She drew out a rectangle and looked at it long and hard before she began to sketch: windows, oversized, with plenty of light,

with sashes so they could open and screens fitted to the openings to prevent insects and soot from coming inside. Windows

on each side of the room would create cross-ventilation except on the most sluggish of days. In winter, a simple ventilation

conduit down the center of the room could bring heat. It would take some outlay of money, but it would easily be made up when

the workers were not slowed down by numb fingers or swooning from the heat. She lost herself and her sense of time in the

possibilities.

When the knock finally came, it was the porter telling her he was closing the building for the night.

The next morning Nora came in early to organize her work for the Colony Club, but she was also excited to get back to her

drawing from the night before. She'd drawn it in the euphoria of a new idea, and she wondered if it would stand up in the

daylight. She'd placed it on the wall next to her hospital and the other buildings she was working on. As soon as she'd hung

up her coat, she went to the wall to study it.

Rudimentary, but definitely workable.

Satisfied for now, she began to tackle the cataloguing of new items and finishing up the detailed drawings she'd made of each.

She was hardly aware of the sound of workmen clearing away the chairs from last evening's meeting and replacing them with

large round tables for the luncheon at noon.

Nora was concentrating so intently it took a moment for her to realize someone was knocking at the door. Then the door opened

a bit and a head peered inside.

Mrs. Harriman. Nora stood, steeling herself for the inevitable reprimand from listening to the lecture the night before.

"Good morning. Are you busy? Should I come back later?"

"No, please." Nora gestured her inside, flustered by her friendliness.

"I just stopped in to see how you're faring," Mrs.Harriman said. She was always so neat, Nora thought, and unconsciously

smoothed down her skirt. Today she was wearing a visiting dress with a chevron pattern of navy blue and cream with a wide

collar that softened her straight nose and lips.

Mrs.Harriman took a moment to look around the room. "You look very much in charge. Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs.Harriman smiled. It lit her face. "MissBromley, no need to call me ma'am . We're all professionals here."

Nora's breath whooshed out, but Mrs.Harriman didn't seem to notice. She'd walked over to the wall of Nora's sketches.

"I saw you listening to the lecture last night."

"Yes, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have."

She turned toward Nora. "Why on earth not?"

"I'm not a member, I'm just a... a..."

"One of the architects who is making our club a reality. I'd say that gives you a certain cachet."

"Is that a good thing?"

"An excellent thing." She turned back to the wall and continued to peruse the plans there. "I've seen your hospital design

before, and it's just as impressive as it was the night it won the award. But this new one is based on what you heard last

night, isn't it?"

"Yes," Nora said, forgetting her anxiety. "When you asked how the problems could be remedied. It's what I wanted to ask, too, so I made notes and have been playing with some ideas on how to make workplaces safer, more comfortable, and efficient. One doesn't have to cancel out the other."

"No, it doesn't," Mrs.Harriman said. "You keep working on it, maybe one day soon we'll get someone to listen. In the meantime..."

She crooked her finger for Nora to follow her.

She led her across the hall to a narrow door in between the double doors that led to the assembly room. She opened it to reveal

a narrow staircase. "It leads to the musicians' gallery, which we never use. You can sit and hear the lectures without being

seen. How about that?"

"Oh, yes, I don't know how to thank you."

"Nora, one of the purposes of the Colony Club is to educate, ourselves and others. We consider it our duty. And I want you

to take advantage of what you can learn here."

Nora nodded. She couldn't think of words good enough to describe how much that meant to her.

"Now I must run. Giving a luncheon when there's no kitchen is a feat. But we're attracting too many members to continue to

take advantage of someone's personal dining room."

She started to leave, then stopped in the doorway. "You have a bright future ahead of you. Don't let anyone try to talk you

out of it."

And with that she was gone. And Nora recited Daisy's words to herself over and over until they were ingrained in her very

soul.

The luncheon was well attended, with a full four courses prefaced by a spirited general meeting where a letter the board had

received from the ladies of the Temperance League was read, asking the club members to pledge themselves as a nondrinking

and nonsmoking organization and with an invitation to join their society.

As far as Daisy was concerned, though there wasn't a designated "smoking room" à la the men's clubs, she didn't think they should police a member who might light up during her afternoon coffee. And as far as spirits were concerned, no one could possibly hold dinner parties and soirees without a decent selection of wines. Besides, once they started bending to outside groups with special interests and banning one thing, it would never stop until they had nothing.

"Over my dead, dehydrated body," Bessie had exclaimed to Daisy before standing up from the luncheon table and suggesting they

postpone consideration of the letter until a later meeting since the soup was getting cold.

The motion easily carried.

But afterward as they sat chatting over a second cup of coffee while the hired staff cleared the dishes and began removing

the tables and chairs, a Western Union boy entered the room. "Telegram for MissMarbury."

Bessie sighed and lifted her hand, fingers pinched together so that the boy slipped the paper between them. He touched his

finger to his hat and retreated.

Daisy raised her eyebrows.

"I tip them by the week," Bessie explained. "Elsie has already sent ten telegrams and she's been in London less than three

weeks. She's shipping all sorts of stuff back before she even checks with Nora, poor child."

"She only received five thousand in seed money."

Bessie chortled. "That has never stopped Elsie, but don't be concerned. She will be given carte blanche just like Stanny would

have been. There is money in the account enough to carry the decorating. And if we run low, we'll just have to find a few

more patrons."

"Why doesn't she send them directly to the warehouse?"

"She feels they need to keep track of everything. And she's right. Though God knows Nora is already here all the time, except when she's at the site. We should probably think about getting the assistant an assistant. It's a lot of responsibility for an untried girl."

"She's bright and dedicated," said Daisy. "But I think she'd rather be designing her own buildings than keeping track of Elsie's

shopping sprees."

"As well she should. She's talented. Stanny says she's the best draftsman he's had in years, and then ruined it all by saying

‘if only she wasn't a woman.'?"

"Well, I hope he hasn't banished her here just so he won't have to deal with her and the friction her presence might cause

with the draftsmen."

Bessie arched an eyebrow. "It's not Nora Bromley that he doesn't want to deal with. It's us as a group, and, truth be told,

we'll be more likely to get this club open in the next decade with Elsie and Nora at the helm. Poor Helen Whitney blurted

out the other night that she would have bought an already constructed house if she'd known it was going to take this long.

You can imagine the reactions of horror that got."

"I shudder to think," Daisy said.

"I don't think we need worry. Soon we'll be leaving the whole future of architecture in Nora's hands, and others like her."

"I just hope we're not derailing her progress. She's in a man-eat-man business."

"Every profession is a man-eat-man business for women," said Bessie. "But think of all the future clients she's grooming here.

The ladies seem to like her, and if we could only dress her up a bit, I'm sure she would have no trouble holding her own."

Bessie shuddered. "I imagine her going back every night to the boardinghouse or wherever she lives, washing and ironing out

her shirtwaist until it's as thin as a wafer."

"Which reminds me," Daisy said. "I told her she could listen to the lectures if she stays out of sight."

"You'll make a progressive of her yet," Bessie said. "She'll earn her salary on this job."

"Do you know what she's being paid?"

"Not a clue, though I'll check with Stanny. I know she's getting paid piecemeal by the company and by Stanny when working

exclusively for him, like with the Colony Club. I've taken a per diem for her out of Elsie's budget, but we may have to supplement

her salary.

"Stanny is badly in debt, Daisy, it's getting dire. I say this to you purely confidentially for the sake of the club's finances.

And not for sharing."

"I would never. But is it as bad as that?"

"Worse," said Bessie, and drained her cup.