Miracle on Ladies' Mile (A Gilded Age Holiday Novella)

  Miracle On Ladies' Mile

  A Gilded Age Holiday Novella

  Joanna Shupe

  Copyright © 2017 by Joanna Shupe

  Originally published in the 2016 Christmas in America anthology.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To anyone who has ever struggled to make ends meet...

  “To the everlasting credit of New York’s working-girl let it be said that, rough though her road may be, all but hopeless her battle with life, only in the rarest instances does she go astray. As a class she is brave, virtuous, and true.”

  —Jacob Riis, How the Other Half Lives, 1890.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Joanna Shupe

  CHAPTER ONE

  “To the everlasting credit of New York’s working-girl let it be said that, rough though her road may be, all but hopeless her battle with life, only in the rarest instances does she go astray. As a class she is brave, virtuous, and true.”

  —Jacob Riis, How the Other Half Lives, 1890.

  New York City

  1895

  A man watched her from the other side of the glass.

  Grace did her best to ignore the tall, well-dressed stranger and focus on her task. She’d been hired four weeks ago at McCall & Armstrong’s—or Mac & Arm’s as it was often called—to assist with designing Christmas window displays. Mac & Arm’s was the finest department store in New York City, catering to the very best clientele. Her boss, Mr. Bernard, would not be pleased if Grace failed to complete this window tonight.

  “Finish this all before you leave, Miss Shipley,” Mr. Bernard had said in a French accent, though she knew he hailed from Poughkeepsie. “Remember, exactly as I have sketched it out for you. Exactement.”

  Christmas was less than a month away. Eight displays needed to be installed in the next few days. This would be the first year for holiday windows at Mac & Arm’s, and Mr. McCall had overseen many of the details himself. Grace thought him a nice man, and it was easy to see why he’d been successful in business. Rumor held Mr. Armstrong was pricklier, which must explain why he kept to the top floor. Grace hadn’t ever met the man. Instead, Mr. McCall routinely dealt with the store’s staff.

  The job had been interesting thus far, putting her love of color and fabric to good use. Mr. Bernard’s designs were based on Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales, with each window representing a different story. The pieces had been finished downstairs in the basement, and Grace’s task was to assemble those pieces in the windows themselves.

  She wiped the beads of sweat from her brow. Small and cramped, the window boxes had poor ventilation. Brown paper covered the glass, which made it a bit like standing in a burlap sack. She hadn’t been able to resist peeling back a section of said brown paper to see the vibrant city surrounding the Twenty-Third Street store, which is how she knew a man now stood on the sidewalk, observing her.

  He’d been looming there for at least two minutes. Dressed in a well-fitted black coat, he held a brown leather satchel in one hand, the other wrapped around the silver handle of an ebony cane. A derby sat perched on a head full of brown hair. He didn’t smile, wink, or even nod at her. He just observed her with an intensity that would have made her nervous under other circumstances…like if she weren’t encased in a safe—albeit hot—glass tomb.

  Why was he there? Perhaps he worked for Macy’s or Lord & Taylor’s and had decided to size up the competition. Well, she couldn’t help that now. He’d already seen the contents of the window, so it hardly made sense to cover the glass back up. The best thing to do would be to finish quickly and leave.

  Besides, the way this man dressed, he probably had a big house and a fancy wife awaiting him. She couldn’t imagine he’d stay much longer. What sane person would?

  Next on her to-do list was to assemble the lily pads. She collected the pieces and approached the small pond she’d created on the right side of the display. They had used a shallow round tub to hold the water, with metal poles coming up from the bottom to lift the lily pads.

  Bending, she began to fit the poles together. When the last two lily pads remained, she sighed. Her arms weren’t long enough to reach the empty poles. “Rats,” she muttered. Really, why on earth hadn’t she waited to fill the tub until after the lily pads were installed?

  Grace carefully climbed onto the edge of the pond, raising her skirts to keep them out of the water. She put a hand to the wall to steady herself as she shuffled her feet, but she misjudged the lip of the tub on her next step. Now off-balance, she wobbled for a few seconds before her right foot dropped into the water. The shoe leather was instantly soaked through, all the way down to her woolen stockings, chilling her skin.

  “Double rats.” Nothing to be done for it now. Grace shivered and then remembered her audience. Had he…?

  Her head snapped up. The man was still there. His dark eyes had rounded in surprise, extreme astonishment overtaking his face. She shifted and water squelched out of her boot. No wonder he was staring at her like that. She must look an absolute fool.

  She laughed. Unsurprising that she’d fallen into the water. Her clumsiness was legendary in the Shipley family. And of course, a handsome stranger had witnessed this debacle. Didn’t that just sum up Grace’s romantic life?

  You can’t always be perfect, so be genuine instead.

  Grace had taken her grandmother’s advice to heart, both in relationships and her art. So instead of cowering in embarrassment, she locked eyes with the man on the other side of the glass and gave a proper curtsy.

  He blinked.

  No laugh. No smile. Instead, he spun on his heel and strode out of her line of sight.

  Disappointed, but not surprised, she climbed out of the pond and tried to wring out her skirts. Removing her boot was impossible while fully dressed, so she stomped the wet foot to remove some of the moisture. Every path has a few puddles, her mother always said. Goodness, Grace never thought she’d experience that wisdom literally.

  Water dripped onto the floor. Thankfully, none of the display pieces were ruined. However, she needed to find a way to clean up the mess. Quickly. The window display had to be completed tonight. She couldn’t risk losing her position.

  One day, she’d be the most popular dressmaker in all of New York. She’d been crafting her own clothes for years, and a career in clothing design was her dream. Getting fired would mean never working her way up in the Mac & Arm’s dress design department.

  The door in the rear of the display suddenly opened, startling her. The man from the sidewalk stood inside the store. He held out a brand new cloth. “Here.” He spoke the one word with deep authority. Grace’s stomach flipped.

  “Did you take that off the store’s shelf?” was all she could think to say.

  He tilted his head, and the lines on his brow deepened. “Yes.”

  “I cannot use it. That’s stealing.” Never mind that she desperately needed a towel. However, she couldn’t use anything belonging to the store. She had
n’t a way to pay for it.

  He opened his mouth, then closed it. His expression grew even more perplexed. “Do not worry. I’ll cover the cost. Just take it.”

  “You’ll cover it, how? The store is closed.”

  “I’ll pay for it tomorrow.”

  “Do you work here?” It was the only explanation for why the night guard would’ve let him inside the store after hours.

  “Yes, I do. Now take the bath towel so I may go home. Consider it a gift.”

  “No, that is unnecessary. I’ll pay for the towel.” Somehow. She’d figure it out. Perhaps Mr. Bernard would agree to an advance on her wages.

  Now that she could see the stranger better, she noticed his light brown eyes were actually hazel, with a hint of green around the iris. He was much more striking close up. So striking, she felt flustered. His handsomeness was not the romantic, classical kind, the type reserved for actors and poets, but handsome in a way like a punch to the solar plexus. As if you were standing in the presence of a fine marble statue, art so beautiful and raw it stole your breath.

  And he saw you fall into the pool. He feels sorry for you.

  “Miss…?”

  “Shipley.”

  “Miss Shipley, I promise to compensate the store for the cloth.”

  “Cross your heart?”

  The lines of his face softened, almost as if she amused him. “Yes, cross my heart. I’ll pay for the cloth first thing in the morning.”

  “Fine.” She closed the distance between them and accepted the soft cotton. “If you forget, send a note to the design department. I’ll work something out with Mr. Bernard at the end of the day tomorrow.”

  He gave a brisk nod. “I’ll leave you to it. Good night.”

  # # #

  Dawn hadn’t yet broken when Alexander Armstrong entered his office at the usual time the following morning. He’d carefully avoided passing the holiday windows. She wouldn’t still be there, of course, but he didn’t need another reminder of her.

  She’d fallen into a pond…and laughed.

  He could have watched her all night.

  She had one of those expressive faces where every thought and feeling was written across it. And freckles, for God’s sake. From where did a girl living in New York City acquire freckles? The surprises hadn’t stopped there. She possessed lush curves instead of a willowy figure. Clear, guileless blue eyes with no hint of artifice, and a smile that transformed her from passably pretty into a breathtaking creature.

  She was unlike the others, an adorable guppy in a sea of bloodthirsty sharks. A bolt of pure sunshine in a city that thrived in the dark.

  Alex also thrived in the dark. His soul had rotted years ago . . . seven to be precise. Grown over with weeds and brush, untended and deserted. Such was what happened when joy abruptly departed. Shaking off the bad memories, he clicked the chain to turn on the lights, removed his frock coat, and rolled up his sleeves. Time to work.

  Hours later, a knock sounded on his door. “Yes?”

  Gerald McCall, Alex’s business partner, stepped inside the room. “Good morning. Do you have a moment?”

  Alex placed his pen in the holder. “Of course. Would you care to sit?”

  Gerald lowered himself into the chair opposite Alex’s desk and crossed his legs. “What happened to Miss Neely?”

  “Who?”

  “Your secretary.”

  “Oh. She quit yesterday.”

  Silence stretched. He could feel the weight of Gerald’s disapproval. Alex didn’t try to run his secretaries off, but the longest he’d managed to keep one had been six weeks. True, he liked things a certain way. Organized. Efficient. In the five years since they started Mac & Arm’s, not one secretary had done the job according to his precise instructions. Then, they called him “gruff” and “demanding”—right before they quit.

  “I’ll have Pauline call the service again,” Gerald said, referring to his own long-time secretary. “Now, have you given any more thought to Philadelphia?”

  “I’m not certain Philadelphia is the right location for expansion. Wanamaker’s and Gimbel’s already have the city sewn up.”

  “Not in the luxury market. There’s nothing quite like a Mac & Arm’s there. And the property at Eleventh and Market won’t be available much longer.”

  Alex tapped his fingers on the desk. Gerald liked to take risks, while he managed things more conservatively. It was one reason their partnership worked. But lately, Alex felt as if he were doing most of the bending. “How much are you spending on these holiday windows again?”

  “We’re back to arguing about the windows? I told you, they will bring people into the store.”

  “Wrong. They’ll bring people to the outside of the store. It remains to be seen whether those people will come inside to purchase anything.”

  Gerald held up his hands. “True, but we can’t let Macy’s outdo us. Soon, everyone in New York will follow suit with holiday window displays. Mark my words.”

  “We’ll see, I suppose. Remember what happens if we don’t see at least a twenty percent sales bump.”

  “How could I forget when you remind me at every turn? And, I agreed. No more money toward the window displays if the revenue didn’t increase.”

  “At least twenty percent,” Alex reminded him. “Colossal waste of resources, in my opinion. Incidentally, who is the woman Bernard hired to assist with the windows?”

  The change in topic appeared to confuse Gerald. He frowned. “The woman? Oh, the young girl. A Miss Shiplow, I think.”

  “Shipley,” Alex corrected. “Tell me, why is she assembling the windows by herself in the wee hours of the night? Shouldn’t Bernard be there as well?”

  “Yes, but he is busy with Christmas orders. I’ll visit today and see how they are faring.”

  “Please do. It’s unsafe for her to be there alone at such an hour.” He could still see her, struggling and sweating, one woman doing the job of five strong men.

  Cross your heart? The words, as well as the earnest delivery, had stayed with him. No one had ever asked him to do such a silly thing, not even his daughter, Sarah, and Miss Shipley hadn’t been kidding.

  One thing he knew, he would die before not making good on that promise.

  “I see,” Gerald said, his lips curling into an annoying smile.

  “No, there is nothing to see,” Alex snapped. Reaching into his vest pocket, he withdrew a few coins. “Please have these delivered to the furnishing department. I took a bath towel off the shelf last night.”

  Gerald pocketed the coins. “A bath towel? What on earth did you require one for?”

  “To soak up water.”

  When Alex didn’t elaborate, Gerald pushed out of the chair. “So… Philadelphia? May I tell the lawyers to purchase the land and have the architects draw up the plans? Or, should we continue to discuss bath towels and your need for them in the middle of the—?”

  “Fine, do it. Start the process.” Anything so Gerald would leave him alone and cease with his probing questions.

  Gerald smiled and started to leave, then turned around abruptly. “You know, Alex, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if a young woman caught your eye. Mary has been gone for seven years. You’re only thirty. Isn’t it about time—”

  “No.”

  Just no. There was no replacing Mary. She was not a pocket watch or an umbrella stand. She had been the light, the sun. The beacon of happiness that had lit him up from within. His everything.

  They had met as kids—practically babies, really. But, he hadn’t really noticed her until the summer he turned seventeen. Mary had been sixteen, draped in a long white dress. A blond and beautiful angel who’d stood up to sing in the church choir. He’d never heard a voice as beautiful as Mary’s, strong and pure. It had carried over the rows of people and prayer books and punched him square in the gut. He’d fallen in love with her right there, knew in his bones she was the g
irl he’d spend the rest of his life with.

  He’d been wrong, tragically so. By the time he finished school and proposed, he’d been twenty and foolish enough to think they had all the time in the world. Fifty-two short months, they’d been married. Not even five years before cancer had stolen her from him.

  He hadn’t yet recovered from Mary’s death. Hell, he didn’t want to recover. He had Mac & Arm’s and Sarah, his daughter. Mary’s daughter. That was more than enough.

  “Merely think on it. Life is for the living, Alex. It’s not meant to be a memorial to the dead.”

  Easy for Gerald to say, his wife was still alive. Alex ignored him and returned to the financial reports on his desk.

  CHAPTER TWO

  He’d returned.

  Grace noticed the man right away. Once again, she’d peeled back a small section of the window covering, enough to see the nighttime sky and deserted streets while she worked. Tonight was The Little Mermaid, complete with sand and seashells brought in from Long Island.

  Just as the sweat started rolling down her temples, her Knight of the Dry Bath Towels had arrived to stand on the walk and scowl at her.

  The same strange sensation she’d felt last evening blossomed in her chest. His derby was pulled low, framing greenish-brown eyes that glowed fierce in the lamplight. Actually, fierce pretty much described every part of this man. Hollowed-out cheekbones and an unforgiving, clean-shaven jaw. A strong nose. Wide shoulders and long limbs. Neither graceful nor soft, he reminded her of a fascinating storm, one that called for you to join it. Dared you to jump off the front porch and dance in the rain, no matter how dangerous.

  They often had storms like that at home in Pennsylvania, and Grace loved being outside during them. Her mother had disapproved, saying Grace would be carried away by a twister one day. Better to die living than die watching, Grace had countered, to which Mama only shook her head.