The Stars Are Fire(37)

“In a drawer full of sweaters. They must have been Gene’s. I unraveled one, washed the yarn, and reknit it to make these.”

“You have amazing talents,” Grace tells her mother.

“In my generation, nearly all women were taught to sew and knit.”

“I took home economics, too.”

“It’s different when you learn at home. Different when it’s a necessity.”

“I lived through the thirties.”

“Yes, but you weren’t the one who had to provide.”

Grace blows across the top of her cup of coffee. “You’ve been such a help.”

“You’re my life now. Just as Claire and Tom are yours.”

It sounds like a true statement, but it isn’t quite. Grace’s life is also Gene and Merle’s house and the need to find a job, the necessity to have transportation, the desperation for money, and a desire, buried as it is, for something more.


“I’m thinking of taking the children next door,” Marjorie says. “I met the neighbor, Maureen. She seems nice, invited me over. I told her I might have the children with me.”

“I’m thinking of applying for a job.”

“Are you?”

“If I got a job, would you be able to manage?” She means taking care of the children, cooking the meals, cleaning the house.

“I think so. I’d get Aidan to help with the marketing and any heavy work. How will you get to work?”

“By bus. Walk if I have to.”

“Well, it’s only temporary, isn’t it? Until Gene gets back.”

“Right,” says Grace.

“Whatever are you going to do for clothes?”

“I’m going to do to Merle’s closet what you just did to Gene’s drawer.”


When Marjorie and the children come home from the visit to Maureen, who turns out to be the cook and not the mistress of the house—“such delicious soda bread; we won’t need lunch”—they put Claire and Tom down for a nap. Grace, not willing to open Merle’s closet without her mother, makes a flourish of it when her mother is beside her.

“Oh my Lord,” Marjorie says, “it’s enormous.”

Together they enter the massive closet and stare at the racks and racks of clothes.

“She must have had quite a social life.” Marjorie gestures. “Look at all these silks and furs. And this is no mouton coat, I can tell you that!” she adds as she holds the arm of a fur.

“I don’t know where to start,” Grace says.

“You explore while I decide what to have for dinner. Pick out a few things, and I’ll see if I can alter them to fit you. You’re about the same height, though I’d say Merle had a good fifteen pounds on you.”


Grace enters the parlor, where Aidan is sitting at the piano. She drops a pile of dresses onto a chair. “My mother wants to alter these so that I have something to wear when I look for work.”

“Where are they from?”

“Merle’s closet.”

Aidan’s sleeves are rolled to his elbows. He hasn’t shaved yet.

“You think I shouldn’t be doing this,” Grace says.

He turns around on the bench. “No, I think you have to.”

“The rules have changed, haven’t they?”

“They do in a disaster.”

“Is this stealing?” she asks.

“No, not now.”

“So what do you think of this one?” Grace holds the dress by its shoulders against her body. Her mother liked the jade green silk with gold trim at the sleeves and gold buttons. She thought it suited Grace’s coloring.

“Where are you going in that?” Aidan asks, crossing his arms.

“You don’t like it.”

“It’s a little…I don’t know…fancy?”

Grace whips the dress around and studies the front. She tosses it onto another chair. “What about this one?”

Aidan tilts his head. “It’s red.”

“Yes?”

“And it has polka dots.”

“So?”

“Maybe you should choose something a little more conservative?”

“You’re a bore.”

“Not usually.”

She smiles. She rummages through the heap of dresses and reaches for a navy blue with a white collar. She holds it up.

“Is your mother good enough to put a waist in it?” Aidan asks.

“You think it should have a waist?”

“You have a very nice waist.”

“Thank you, but this has short sleeves. Too cold for winter.”

Again Grace separates out the dresses. She spots a light gray dress with a slim skirt and a little jacket to cover her arms. It’s wool, and it will keep her warm.

Aidan nods and points.

“This is it?” she asks.

“That’s what you should wear. Are you nervous?”

“A little,” she says, laying the gray dress on top of the others. She sits on another chair. “Do you have a cigarette?”

“You are nervous.”

She pulls a cigarette from his pack and leans his way while he lights it for her. She inhales and rests against the upholstery. “Do you get nervous before a concert?”