Free Hattie Ever After by Kirby Larson Page B

hoping you would help me make a quilt for Pearl. To help this”—she swept her gaze around the apartment—“feel more like home.”
    I put my hands on my hips. “I’ll have you know I am the queen bee of quilters!” That might have been a bit of an exaggeration, but thanks to Perilee’s instruction, I could piece and stitch with the best of them. Hot tears pricked my eyes,however, to think of the last quilt I’d made: Mattie’s Magic. I quickly shook away those tears and held out my hand for the parcel in Ruby’s. “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”
    While we went through the packages, Ruby fretted about my new job at the
Chronicle
.
    “I know you’ll be running the newsroom in no time,” she said. Her expression was so confident and sincere, I almost believed her. “But I hate thinking of you going to work at that time of night.” She reached for her pocketbook and brought out a five-dollar bill. “Use this for cab fare, please, and let me know when you need more.” I couldn’t take the money, of course, but what a jewel she was to offer it.
    By the time all the parcels were open, it looked like a gingham cyclone had swept through the room. We played with laying this fabric against that until my stomach reminded me that breakfast had been long, long ago.
    I reached for another cookie and pulled my hand back when I realized it was the last. “It’s bad luck to take the old maid,” I observed.
    Ruby sat back. “Oh, you’re probably famished!”
    I was, but it seemed poor manners to say so. Especially when it was clear she’d had no time to prepare a meal, not with all our fussing over Pearl’s quilt.
    “I should have told you straight off that there’d been a change of plans.” She smoothed a ruffle on the apricot dress. “Mr. Wilkes invited me out to supper. I hope you don’t mind.”
    “No, no. Of course not.” I glanced at the mantel clock. “You probably need to get ready.” I stood up.
    “I’ll cook for you next week,” she promised, fingering a gold chain at her neck.
    “Oh, that reminds me.” I picked up a bit of paper that had fallen under the settee. “Is your locket repaired yet?”
    She blinked. “Locket?”
    I pointed to my own neck. “The one with Pearl’s photograph? I’d love to see what she looks like.”
    “Oh, that locket.” She smiled. “No, it wasn’t ready. The jeweler was behind.” She shrugged. “The holiday and all that. I’m sorry about supper, Hattie.”
    “Don’t give it a thought. But next time, I would love to see your photo albums. Say.” I looked at the jumble of dry goods lying about. “Why don’t I take some of this and begin cutting out pieces? Pearl will be here before we know it. We’d best get busy on this quilt!”
    Monday at eight, I began to get ready for work. As I performed my toilette, I realized that the plus side of keeping night hours was that I had the bathroom all to myself.
    I gave my new dress a pat but reached for my second-best shirtwaist and wool skirt, which I’d shortened the night before to a more fashionable six inches from the floor.
    Raymond was dozing at the front desk as I tiptoed through the lobby. The cool evening air brushed me with memories of evenings on the prairie enjoying a well-earned rest after a full day.
    My footsteps echoed in the quiet streets. I passed a yawning shopkeeper carrying his street-side displays back into his shop, a policeman, and assorted delivery boys. I saw onlyone or two other women, in sturdy oxfords like my own, no doubt on their way to jobs similar to mine.
    The tube lights over the entrance to the Chronicle Building flickered and fluttered like fireflies on a summer night. I rapped on the great glass door. As Miss Tight Corset had promised, the night watchman was there to let me in. Even though I was fairly certain Ned was long gone at this hour, I peered around as I entered. The coast was clear.
    The night watchman directed me to the cleaning supply room. There