Page 8

“Rise and shine, Em. It’s a beautiful morning.”

Emily stirred from a dream. She was standing in a field of golden wheat, the sun on her face, wispy angel clouds in a perfect blue sky, a simple farmhouse in the distance, laughter carried on the air. She was warm and happy there. She didn’t want to wake up.

Annie tugged on her toe. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Time to earn a living.”

“What time is it?” she asked, as she opened one eye.

“Time you weren’t in bed.” Annie pulled the covers off in one quick move. “Kyteler will turn us into toads if we’re late again.”

The chill of the room made Emily scream. “Annie Kelly! You’re the worst roommate ever!” She yanked the blanket back and pulled it around her shoulders. “And her name is Miss Kielty. You’ll be calling her Kyteler to her face if you’re not careful.”

“I doubt she knows Alice Kyteler was accused of being a witch.” Annie hunched herself into an old crone.

“Anyway, Kielty is a witch. She makes everyone’s lives a misery.

” She mimicked their supervisor’s voice as she wagged a threatening finger at Emily.

“You’re on your last warning, Emily Kelly.

Just because you’re a pretty little thing doesn’t mean you can get away with tardiness. No wages for you this week.”

Emily laughed. “You do that far too well.”

“I know. Maybe I’m a witch, too!” She pulled another hideous crone face, making Emily laugh. “Now, get up. Coffee’s on.”

Emily reluctantly reached for her slippers.

It was like putting her feet into blocks of ice.

The boardinghouse was even worse than it had appeared on first impressions.

The radiator didn’t work, the tap dripped, the mattress was thin and lumpy, and the other tenants were a dangerous concoction of bootleggers and molls.

Annie said she wouldn’t be surprised to find Al Capone himself on the stairwell, it was that kind of place.

Emily reminded her that it was the only kind of place they could afford on the wages of two shopgirls.

She shivered as she washed quickly with the tepid water Annie had left in the bowl, then pulled last night’s pins from her hair, teasing out the curls with her fingers before dressing in her Marshall Field’s uniform—black calf-length dress, black stockings, black shoes.

Not for the first time she wished she were putting on the American Red Cross uniform she’d proudly worn as a volunteer during the war and the influenza epidemic, but that was all in the past. Life had returned to something like normality, and for most women, that also meant returning to their usual roles: wives, mothers, shop assistants, domestic help.

Emily stared at her reflection in the mirror and sighed.

Who cared about selling expensive silk lingerie to wealthy ladies who looked down their perfectly powdered noses at you?

Field’s paid well enough, and there were worse places to spend your day than beneath the famous Tiffany glass ceiling, but Emily was bored by it all.

The pull of something else—something more—was ever present.

She spent most of her time at work daydreaming about a life where she and Annie were glamorous silent movie stars, or explorers traveling the world together like they’d always imagined, or brave aviators like Harriet Quimby and Bessie Coleman.

There had to be more to life than selling chemises and corsets.

“Coffee’s going cold!” Annie called from the little cubbyhole that passed as a kitchen. “And find me a pair of stockings, will you? I’ve a runner in mine.”

Emily wasn’t entirely surprised by how easily Annie had slotted back into her role on the shop floor after the war.

She’d set her heart on working as a Field’s girl from the moment their mother had first taken them to admire the windows dressed for the holidays.

Shopgirls were a step up from the domestic service roles where most Irish girls found work.

Field’s girls were held in even higher regard, and Annie had made the best of it, impressing customers and management with her cheerful disposition and natural charm.

She’d recently been promoted to window trimmer, using her imagination and artistic flair to create the impressive seasonal displays that drew crowds to the store in the thousands.

The beat of a swing record on the gramophone brought a smile to Emily’s face. She swayed her hips in time to the music as she rouged her cheeks, penciled an arch in her eyebrows, and lightly kohled her eyes.

“Finally!” Annie studied her sister as she emerged from the bedroom. “You’ve done your hair differently. And is that a new lipstick?”

“New to me.”

“Emily Kelly! Buy your own damn lipstick!”

Emily planted a crimson kiss on her sister’s cheek. “And why would I do that when I can borrow yours?”

She grabbed her hat, coat, and gloves and fled from the room, racing down the three flights of stairs, Annie clattering behind, their giddy shrieks earning a sharp shush! from Mrs.Feeney, who was nursing another hangover after a night in a speakeasy.

“Mother of God! Would you two ever keep the noise down. It’s like living in a feckin’ circus.”

Her comment only made them laugh even more as they rushed down the remaining steps and emerged into a beautiful winter morning of golden sunlight and clear blue skies.

“I wonder if Mr.Gale will stop by again today,” Emily said, looping her arm through Annie’s as they hurried to the L train.

She liked to tease Annie about the wealthy businessman who’d taken a shine to her in recent months.

“He’ll surely invite you out to dinner soon.

There can’t be many more silk ties and pocket squares left for him to buy! ”

Annie dug an elbow into Emily’s ribs. “John Gale is a gentleman. He knows how to treat a lady, which is more than can be said for some.”

Emily laughed. “You’re a lady now, are you? I see!”

The biting wind swirled between the great steel and glass skyscrapers as they hurried on.

Emily was reminded of her mother telling her Chicago had Ireland in its foundations.

“When those great iron girders sing on windy days, remember they’re singing the songs of the Irish laborers who rebuilt all this from the ashes of the Great Fire.

” Emily could hear it now, the hum of the broadside ballads, the thump of a bodhrán beating out the rhythm of a reel.

The wind stirred a wildness in her, her skin fizzing like the electric lightbulbs that lit up the theaters at night.

She felt restless, as if she was meant to be somewhere, but had forgotten where, or when.

Annie grabbed Emily’s hand. “Let’s go out tonight, Em, find a speakeasy and dance until we can’t feel our toes!”

“Sounds lovely, but rent’s due tomorrow and it isn’t payday until Friday.”

“I’m sure somebody will buy us a drink. Some young buck sitting on a railroad inheritance, or a wealthy widower.”

“I thought we were independent women, making our own way in the world.”

“We are. And one night isn’t going to change that.

” Annie stopped walking and looked at Emily, her face unusually serious.

“Don’t you ever get tired of scraping nickels and dimes together to make rent?

Mammy and Daddy worked hard all their lives, struggling to make ends meet, and what good did it do?

They died as poor as the day they were born.

They wanted more for us, Em. They wanted everything for us.

” She took a breath. “Let’s have a bit of fun.

See where the wind blows us. You can wear those red shoes you got in the thrift store. ”

Emily brightened a little. The ruby-red Mary Janes were almost brand new and had quickly become a favorite. “Fine. But I’m not letting a desperate old widower buy me drinks all night.”

They arrived at Marshall Field’s just as the Great Clock struck the hour.

“See you at five,” Annie said as they hurried inside and headed in opposite directions. “And don’t forget…”

“Give the lady what she wants!” they chimed together, and Emily wondered what it was that she wanted, because she knew it wasn’t this.

—

The day passed slowly behind the familiar pantomime of a rictus smile offered to well-heeled ladies with too much money and a debt of manners.

As the hands of the Great Clock inched toward five, Emily wearily packaged up another parcel of Parisian silk lingerie.

But what she saw in her hands was calico and cotton, and what she felt as someone brushed past was the flutter of her skirt stirred by a gentle breeze.

The customer was in a rush. She tutted as Emily struggled with the slippery silk bow.

“Could you hurry. I have another appointment to get to.”

“I’m sorry, madam. It won’t take a minute.”

“It has already taken three minutes, and you’re still not finished.”

Emily bit back a terse response and started again. Finally, she was done. The customer didn’t even thank her as she took the package and hurried from the store.

As she clocked out and took her coat from the cloakroom, Emily stood for a moment, watching the steady stream of perfectly made-up girls as they left the building.

Tomorrow, they would all clock back in and do it all again.

And the next day, and the next. She felt as if she were drowning beneath the drab monotony of it all.

There had to be something better she could do, something more meaningful, something that mattered.

“No home to go to, Miss Kelly? And that skirt looks as if it hasn’t seen an iron in weeks.”

Miss Kielty. Dressed in her black uniform and with her elongated chin, she really did resemble a witch.

“Yes, Miss Kyte…Miss Kielty. I’ll see to it this evening.”

“Make sure that you do. There are plenty more girls out there who dream of wearing the Field’s uniform. You’re easily replaced, Miss Kelly.” She clicked her fingers together. “Just like that, I could make you disappear.”

Emily walked downstairs, wishing she could disappear.

For now, dancing with Annie would have to be distraction enough.

For a few hours, she could forget about paying rent and lining the window frames with newspaper to keep out the drafts.

She would suspend her restless thoughts and ignore her turbulent heart and step into a world of jazz and bootleg gin, where seductive men charmed impressionable women, and tomorrow none of it would matter because it was all an illusion—the flirty conversations, the forced grin, the dull fog of it all.

It was make-believe: a fairy tale for grown-ups.

Annie was waiting outside. “There you are.”

“Yes. Here I am.” Emily let out a long sigh.

“Oh dear. Bad day?”

“Same as every other day.”

“There are worse jobs, Emily.”

“Like what?”

“You could be cleaning somebody’s toilets, for a start.” Annie grabbed her hand. “I’m afraid there’s been a change of plan for tonight. John called in earlier. He’s invited me to dinner. Do you mind?”

If anything, Emily was relieved. “Not at all. That’s exciting.”

“It is. I suppose.”

It was always the same with Annie. Whenever someone showed any real interest, she hesitated, afraid to get too serious in case the man she really wished she were with reappeared like the perfect prestige at the end of a magic act.

But no matter how painful it was to accept, the reality remained that her beloved aerialist, Leonardo Stregone, was as lost to Annie as it was possible for a person to be, and the only illusion left was for Annie to try and forget him.

“What will you wear for dinner with Mr.Gale?” Emily asked.

“I have no idea. You can help me choose. And please call him John. Mr.Gale sounds so serious.”

“Old?”

“Don’t be mean. He’s very charming.”

“The worst ones always are.”

Annie ignored her. “He’s invited us both to his New Year’s Eve party.

And before you protest, I already accepted.

You never know who you might meet there.

John knows most of Chicago society!” She looped her arm through Emily’s and hurried them both to the train.

“I think things are finally looking up for us, Em. I have a feeling the New Year is going to be a good one.”

“You say that every year.”

“I know. And one year, I’ll have to be right.”

Emily smiled, unable to resist her sister’s optimism. She tilted her head affectionaly toward Annie’s. “What will I ever do without you, Annie Kelly?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Live a colorless life of despair and misery, no doubt! Come on. I’ll treat you to a hot dog.”