Page 31 - the NOISE November 2014

“All because of you,” she whispered. She turned back to the front door and lowered its shade. Some day she would live in a fine house, not a dingy shop. As she passed the worktable, she picked up the wicker basket.
A set of pink curtains separated the shop from a room in the back. A narrow cot, a bureau and a coat rack that served as her “closet” filled most of that room. A porcelain sink with a plain mirror stood in one corner. Next to it sat a table with an assortment of crackers, her kitchen. Hannah pulled a cracker out of the box. She held it in her mouth while she changed into her nightgown. The wicker basket sat on her bed awaiting her inspection. She studied its design as she nibbled on the cracker.
It was simple, almost non-descript. A little bit bigger than a shoebox, It was woven into a slightly bowed shape. Everything was made of wicker including the handle and the peg that secured it. Hannah sat down next to it on her bed. She pulled the peg out and lifted the lid. She didn’t remember returning the spindle and spool of thread but they were there along with the scissors like before. She emptied the contents of the basket onto her bed. As the thread spilled out it changed into a soft green color. It matched her top blanket.
At the bottom of the basket lay a piece of plain black fabric.
“That explains why the thread was black,” she touched the piece of material and felt some-
thing hard underneath.
“What’s this?” she peeled back the layer of black cloth. A thin, grey piece of metal lined the
bottom of the basket. She pulled the metal out. She looked again and discovered a second metal tablet, but this one was wrapped in white fabric.
“Huh, I wonder if ...” She placed the white fabric and second tablet next to the first. She then put one spool on top of it. The thread immediately turned white.
“How do you do that?” she wondered. “Better yet, why?”
She picked up the first tablet that had been wrapped in black and studied it. Barely etched
into its smooth surface was a roughly drawn image of a person with snakes for hair. Beneath this image were two lines of writing.
“Greek, Latin?” she mused touching the grooves.
The same kind of writing covered the second tablet, but the image was different. Instead of
a person with snakes, there was a bouquet of flowers.
She laid both tablets back down on her bed. Then a thought occurred to her. She divided
the spools of thread into two groups. She put half on the first tablet and the other half on the second table. As she watched, the first tablet turned the spools black and the second, white. She reversed the spools. The result was the same.
“But what does this all mean?” She returned everything to the basket just as she had originally found it. She placed it on the floor next to her bed.
“Stelios will know.” He was the smartest person she had ever known. He was also her closest friend. Mr. Katapodis ran the public library and his wife, Anna had been a seamstress. When Hannah’s only parent died, Stelios and Anna Katapodis took her in. Childless, they treated her as if she was their daughter. She smiled at the remembrance. Anna taught her to sew--a skill at which she was adept and one that gave her a living. Stelios took her all over the world with his books. If not for him, her education would have stopped when she left school in the eighth grade. They didn’t have a lot of money, but what they had they shared graciously with her. Han- nah looked around her small room. Her life was hard, but if not for Anna and Stelios, it would have been impossible.
Tomorrow after Miss Miller’s fitting, she was going to take the wicker basket to Stelios. “He will definitely know,” she said as she turned off the light.
The next morning went by in a flurry of activity. Hannah made sure more than once that Miss Miller’s dress was perfect. She kept checking the hem and neckline to be sure the thread remained white. It did.
At precisely, 4 o’clock the bell on the shop door jingled. Mrs. Miller, a round squat little wom- an burst into the room. She was impeccably dressed in a tight bright blue dress that accentu- ated every roll of her ample figure. A matching coat that could never be buttoned, hung on her shoulders. A small hat adorned with feathers bounced in time with her footsteps. White gloves provided the only contrast in color.
Her daughter followed timidly behind. Unlike her mother, Miss Miller was thin and at least a foot taller. She too, wore a matching dress and coat but it was a lifeless shade of brown. Her blond hair parted down the middle ended in a tight chignon at the base of her neck. She wore no hat. Although Miss Miller was dressed plainly, she was strikingly beautiful.
“Where’s the dress?” Mrs. Miller bellowed barely acknowledging Hannah’s presence. “This is it?” She waved her hand at the gown.
“Yes, Mrs. Miller. It’s the same ...” the words barely left Hannah’s mouth when she was interrupted.
“Well, I suppose it will have to do,” Mrs. Miller did little to hide her displeasure. “Mother, please. The gown is lovely, Miss Jones. Thank you ...”
Mrs. Miller interrupted again. She yanked the dress off the peg and held it out to her daugh- ter. “Try it on, now,” she demanded.
Her daughter took the dress smiling weakly at Hannah before disappearing behind the dressing room curtain.
“You know I’m not going to pay full price for this gown if there’s even the slightest thing wrong with it,” Mrs. Miller huffed her way to the closest chair.
So that’s it. You’re trying to lower the price. Hannah was seething. Mrs. Miller’s demands over the course of the dress’s creation had whittled away at her profit.
Hateful woman. Anymore changes and I’ll have to pay you to take it, Hannah thought ruefully.
It was quite a while before Mrs. Miller’s daughter emerged from the dressing room. She was struggling to button the top part of the gown
“Here, let me help you,” Hannah offered as she guided Miss Miller over to a full-length mirror. While the young woman stood silently studying her reflection, Hannah snuck furtive
glances at her.
Something is wrong. She’s not happy at all.
“There,” Hannah said. “That’s the last button. You look lovely, Miss Miller. Miss Miller?” The young woman was lost in thought.
“Miss Miller, are you all right?”
“Of course, she’s all right,”Mrs. Miller snapped her fingers in front of her daughter’s face.“Come to, darling. We have lots yet to do today.”
Her daughter didn’t move.
“Lilly do you hear me?” Mrs. Miller snapped her fingers again. “Let’s not waste Mommy’s time.” “Is that what I am, Mother, a waste of your time?” It was the most Hannah had ever heard Miss.
Miller speak. The placid expression on the young woman’s face was replaced with an unchar- acteristic one of pure fury.
“Of course, not ... I didn’t mean ...”
Miss Miller whirled around and lunged at the worktable. She grabbed a pair of shears and
held them threateningly up in the air. “Of course you meant it Mother. You always mean what you say.”
“Oh now, Lilly. You’re just overwrought. Maybe you need to get some rest ...” Mrs. Miller was terrified.
“How much, Mother? How much do you owe him? ”
“Owe him? Owe whom?” Mrs. Miller spluttered.
“Don’t lie to me, Mother. I’m talking about my husband to be,” Lilly raised the shears higher.
“I’m payment aren’t I? You made a deal with him, didn’t you?”
“Oh, Lilly this is just wedding jitters, nothing more. I didn’t ...”
“I said, don’t lie to me, Mother,”Then Lilly stopped. Her eyes stared straight ahead. She was
in a trance again.
“You knew he killed Papa. It wasn’t a hunting accident after all. You saw him shoot Papa in
cold blood. Then he turned the gun on you but you made a deal ... a deal with the devil. That’s why you’ve been insisting I marry a man I don’t love. You’ve given him me, and through me Papa’s fortune.”
“Now Lilly ...”
“Don’t lie to me, Mother! You don’t control me anymore,” Miss Miller’s hand holding the shears moved downwards. Without thinking, Hannah jumped forward. She grabbed Lilly’s shoulders and stepped on the hem of the dress at the same time. With all her strength, she pulled her backwards throwing the young woman off balance. She heard the sound of ripping fabric and the scissors clattering to the floor next to her.
Hannah let Lilly drop. She then grabbed the scissors and moved quickly from the fallen girl. Not knowing what else to do, she threw the shears back into the wicker basket on the floor under the table. Then the bell on the door played its tune. Hannah looked up and saw that the shop door was wide open. Mrs. Miller was gone.
It was some time before the young woman stood up again. When she finally did, Hannah walked over to her. The look of fury on her face was replaced with one of sorrow and confusion. The wedding dress hung off her shoulders in ruin. The lace at the top of gown was torn. A large gaping hole separated the recently sewn hemline from the rest of the dress.
“Are you all right?” Hannah addressed the trembling woman in front of her.
“I think so.” Lilly Miller looked down at the tattered remains of her dress. “I don’t know what came over me. When I put on that dress, I could see everything so clearly for the first time. I wasn’t afraid of my mother any more. Oh, Miss Jones, your beautiful dress is ruined.”
“I’m afraid so, but sometimes there are more important things than dresses. Do you remem- ber what just happened?” Hannah helped her step out of the gown.
A tear trickled down Lily’s face. She brushed it away quickly. “Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Go to the police, I guess. I certainly won’t marry a murderer.” She handed the gown to Han-
nah. Then she returned to the dressing room. When she emerged, she walked up to the seam- stress and took her hand.
“Here, you deserve this,” and with that pronouncement, she placed several bills into Hannah’s open palm.
“Oh my, this is more than my asking price,” Hannah was stunned. She didn’t expect to get paid at all.
“I said, you deserved it.” Lilly patted her arm, nodded, then left the store.
Hannah didn’t move until Miss Miller’s footsteps could no longer be heard. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It read five o’clock. She couldn’t believe so much had happened in the space of one hour. She looked at the money in her hand. At least she was going to eat a nice
dinner tonight.
The wedding dress hung off the side of the table exposing the torn hem. It was the first time she actually surveyed the damage. “Maybe I can cut the hem off or salvage the lace. Now where ...” she scanned the worktable. “Where did I put that basket? Oh, my ...” she stopped searching
and froze. Where the hemline was torn, bits of black thread appeared. “It’s not white anymore. It changed back.”
The bell on the shop door startled her. Mr. Drake from the bank walked in. He was carrying a black vest.
“I am so glad you are still open. I have a very important meeting tomorrow and I need my vest repaired. It split right here at the seam,” Mr. Drake stuck his fingers up through the vest to show her the hole. “See?”
He laid the vest on the worktable. “I will need it bright and early in the morning.” “Of course,” she said thankful for the work.
Mr. Drake was almost out the door, when he turned around smiling. “By the way, Miss Jones, we got good news today. They say the market may not be dead after all. They say it has nine lives like a cat. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Hannah saw something move out of the corner of her eye. She turned slightly towards the worktable and was surprised to see the missing sewing basket next to the awaiting vest. “Yes, it is.” she replied. “Yes, it is.”
| nathalie goldston is a prescott author whose critically- acclaimed novel, Valley of Sorrows, is available for free download on amazon. njgolds1950@gmail.com
SHORTFICTION
thenoise.us • the NOISE arts & news • november 2014 • 31