Free All the Blue of Heaven by Virginia Carmichael Page B

her
painting.           
               
“And for church, will she need a darker gown, perhaps green velvet?” Mrs.
Morton inquired.
               
Allie started. Church? Of course she would be attending services. She closed
her eyes for a moment, willing away the last time she had seen her beautiful
cathedral. The skeletal spires stood guard over walls that had fissures large
enough to put her arm through. Services were held outside, but she had never
been back.
               
“Yes, or a deep blue. She always looked very nice in midnight blue, it set
off her blond hair.” Allie knew the wiry dark curls were the opposite of what
her mother considered fashionable.
               
“Any color will be fine,” Allie said, laying her hand on Mrs. Morton’s soft
arm. “You always make the most beautiful gowns.”
               
“What a dear you are, and always have been,” Mrs. Morton sighed. “If only all
of our clients were so easily pleased. Just recently I restitched the
underskirt of a gown for the third time. The young lady complained that they
were uneven.” Deep furrows appeared between her small gray eyes. “ My stitches! Uneven!”
               
Mrs. Leeds shook her head. “She must be mad. Who is this girl? I have ordered
from New York and London. You are quite the best, the very best.”
               
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, no.” Mrs. Morton murmured demurely, twin spots
of pink appeared in her cheeks, a pleased smile on her face.
               
“Auntie,” Janey whispered, “Is it my turn now?”
               
“Mrs. Morton, I was wondering what you would recommend for my niece, Jane
Leeds?” Allie tried her best to give the older woman a clear wink. She held her
breath until Mrs. Morton turned, as if with a start, to see little Janey
standing patiently behind Allie.
               
“Oh, dear! Who is this very lovely young lady? We must measure her at once!”
She bustled around, grabbing her tape and pencil.
               
Allie couldn’t help grinning at the look of rapture on Janey’s face.  They
watched quietly as Mrs. Morton measured Janey carefully, jotting figures on a
small piece of paper. After the last note, she led the ecstatic young girl over
to a rack of finery.
               
“I was thinking of bringing in another servant girl, now that there are four of
us,” Mrs. Leeds said. “Someone who can help with Jane.”
               
Allie felt the smile slip from her face. From the moment her brother had passed
away, she had taken care of Janey. The older couple upstairs would care for her
if she had a sitting, but they were like grandparents. After she’d been
released from the hospital they stood in bread lines together, held each other
close while reading lists of the missing, and made the decision to come here to
Chicago, together.
                Allie’s fists clenched
and she turned to watch Janey examine a miniature pair of softly woven
stockings. She thought of the thousands of people still living in shabby camp
tents in the park by the river. They would have traded places with her in a
heartbeat.
               
“She’s not your child, Alberta,” her mother said and her voice held a warning.
               
“I know that,” Allie hissed, struggling to keep her temper in check.
               
“When Matthew died, I wrote you to bring her home, we would take her,” her
mother said, voice pitched low. Janey was enraptured by the array of small
gloves and did not seem to hear their whispers.
               
“She had never met you, had never seen this city.” A painful throb started near
her right eye and Allie rubbed her temple. “It was better for her to stay with
me and the people she knew.”
               
“Better to stay in that heathen place? Better to be