What the Wind Knows(37)
“Hello, Mr. Eoin Gallagher,” she greeted sedately. She was well coiffed in a navy dress with a loose sash, her enormous bosom covered with a drooping bow of the same shade, her sleeves elbow-length, and her flowing skirt brushing just above her ankles. Her hair was a tidy gray cap of shellacked waves hugging her round face, and she met my gaze unblinking, hands clasped in front of her, heels together like a soldier at attention.
She didn’t seem surprised the way Mr. Kelly had, and I wondered if Brigid had made a trip to Sligo while I was recovering. I decided it didn’t matter as long as the woman could help me and as long as I didn’t have to answer any questions.
“How can I help you, Mrs. Anne Gallagher?” she said, wasting no time on polite introductions and small talk.
I began to rattle off my list, hoping she would fill in the blanks.
She raised one hand in the air, summoning a young woman standing next to a huge rack of hats. “I will take Mr. Eoin Gallagher with me. Miss Beatrice Barnes will personally assist you.”
I realized that Eoin called Geraldine Cummins by her full name because she called everyone else by theirs, title included. Beatrice Barnes was hurrying toward us, a helpful smile pasted on her pretty face.
“Miss Beatrice Barnes, this is Mrs. Anne Gallagher. You will assist her. I trust you to be prudent.”
Beatrice nodded emphatically, and Geraldine turned away, extending a hand toward Eoin.
“W-where will you take him?” I asked, certain good parents did not just hand their children over to complete strangers. Eoin knew her, but I did not.
“The toy department upstairs, of course. And then we will go to Ferguson’s drugstore for a treat.” She smiled down at Eoin, two deep dimples appearing on her powdered cheeks. When she met my gaze again, her smile was gone. “My shift is over. I’ll bring him back at half past the hour. That should give you plenty of time to see to your purchases without the lad underfoot.”
Eoin bounced on his toes, clasping her hand in excitement before his face fell and his shoulders slumped. “Thank you, Mrs. Geraldine Cummins,” he said, “but Doc said I must stay close to my mother and help her.”
“And you will help your mother most by coming with me,” Mrs. Cummins said briskly.
Eoin looked at me, hope and doubt in his smile.
“Go ahead, Eoin. Enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine,” I lied.
I watched Eoin walk away, his hand in the older woman’s grasp, and desperately wanted to call him back. He was already showing her his pocket watch, babbling about our recent adventure at the pawnshop.
“Shall we get started, Mrs. Gallagher?” Beatrice said, her voice high, her eyes bright.
I nodded, insisting she call me Anne, and stammered through my list of needs once more, eyeing the prices as we walked, pointing out the things I liked and the colors I preferred. The average dress was around seven pounds, and the way Beatrice was prattling about dinner dresses and house frocks and winter wear and summer clothes, not to mention hats, shoes, and handbags, made me start to feel faint.
“You will need slips, corsets, knickers, and stockings as well?” she asked discreetly, though there was no one near us.
“Yes, please,” I said, deciding it was time to lie a little if I was going to accomplish anything. “I’ve been ill for a long time, you see. And I’m afraid it’s been so long since I purchased clothing that I don’t know what size I am or what’s in fashion. I’m not even sure what a lady needs,” I said, and it wasn’t hard to make my eyes well up pathetically. “I hope you’ll be able to give me some advice, bearing in mind that a whole new wardrobe could get expensive. I need the basics, nothing more.”
“Of course!” she said, patting my shoulder. “I am going to take you to a dressing room, and we will begin. I have a good eye for sizes. This is going to be great fun.”
When she returned, her arms were filled with white frills.
“We have some lovely artificial silk just in from London and knickers that fall above the knee,” she purred. “We also have some new corsets that lace up in the front and are quite comfortable.” An image of me at my writing desk wearing drawstring cotton pants and a ribbed tank flitted through my mind, and I swallowed the bubble of panic that wanted to break free.
The “artificial silk” felt like rayon, and I wondered how well it would launder, but I did my best to wiggle into the corset, appreciating the relative ease of the front laces and the long ruffle that fell halfway down my thighs. It was designed to wear over the chemise, which fit like a square-necked slip and provided little lift or support to my breasts but was soft and comfortable. I slipped on the knickers Beatrice had whispered about and decided it could be worse.
I tried on a deep-blue dress with a square neckline and sheer elbow-length sleeves. The lines were straight and simple, with a bit more volume at the hem of the skirt so it swished softly a few inches above my ankles. A sash gave the dress some shape, and Beatrice studied me, her lips pursed.
“The color is good. The style too. You have a lovely neck, and you could wear this with jewels and dress it up for dinner or wear it plain with just a hat for Mass. We’ll add the rose-colored one just like it to the stack.”
Two cotton blouses, one pink and one green, with lapels that created a wide V above three buttons could be worn with the long gray skirt Beatrice insisted was a staple. I tried on two “housedresses” next: one peach, the other white with tiny brown dots. Both had deep, thigh-high pockets and long, straight sleeves that ended in thick cuffs. They were simply styled with round necklines that skirted the collarbones and a pleated waistband that separated the bodice from the shin-length skirt. Beatrice set a wide-brimmed white straw hat decorated in peach flowers and lace on my head and declared me perfect. She added two shawls to my purchases, one a soft green and one white, and scolded me when I tried to tell her no.