Cut from the same wester.., p.3
Cut from the Same Western Cloth, page 3
She turned to her father.
“Are you sure I should do this? I could still cancel. I mean … what if we could be happy without knowing?”
“No.” Her father stepped forward, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Alice, you need to go and find out what is waiting for you in San Francisco. Your mother would want you to know. She’d want you to see where you came from to get to know your sister. I’ll be here waiting when you get back.”
The train blared a long whistle on the horn, making Alice tense.
“You have to go; you’re going to miss the train.” Her father pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her on the cheek. “You’ll do all right. Don’t worry. Try to enjoy this trip.”
She smiled through her tears. She didn’t deserve her father or how understanding he was, but she was grateful for it. She pulled back, then turned and hurried to the train before she changed her mind. Going to San Francisco was terrifying. She wasn’t sure what she would do with herself in such a huge place, or how she would go about finding the Carpenters, or answers about her past.
Would the Carpenters be happy to know she was out there and alive? Would they be upset that she’d come back to disrupt their lives? So many questions bombarded her all at once. She looked out the window at the train station platform where her father stood. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets and a thoughtful look on his face. He couldn’t quite see her from where he was, but it didn’t stop him from waving in the direction of the train.
Alice watched him until he grew smaller and smaller, and eventually, he disappeared from sight altogether. Her satchel sat beside her leg. It was everything she’d thought necessary to bring on the trip. Her mother’s journal and letter were inside the satchel, along with a couple of changes of clothes.
She reluctantly reached into the bag and brought out the journal her father gave her. She’d been putting it off, but she needed to read the little book, no matter how scared she was of what she would discover. Her mother had met the people who had given birth to her.
Her experiences may help her shed some light on what she would face in San Francisco.
She opened the little book gently, flipping to the first page. Tiny lettering filled the lines as if the writer had worried they might run out of space before they’d put down everything they wanted to say.
Dear Journal,
So much has happened this last year. I never imagined that I’d be in New York, alone and homeless. It was Alfred’s idea to come to New York. I still stand by it; there are lots of opportunities here, just not for me.
I miss both Alfred and Viviana more than anything. Sometimes, I wake up and think I hear her crying, and then I remember it’s just a dream, and they’ve been gone close to seven months now. I still can’t believe it. How did this happen? I will always miss them.
When I married Al, I thought I would be with him forever. And when Vivian was born, I imagined watching her grow up and seeing her as a young woman someday. But now they are both only a dream to me.
I have been laid off yet again. I was working for a wealthy family in town, but apparently, they are moving and won’t need a live-in maid to travel with.
I am sitting on the side of the street, writing this. Those who pass look at me as if I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have, but I don’t care. I need to jot this down to keep my thoughts organized and to help me decide what I will do next. I don’t know where to go or what to do. Alfred would tell me to get up and keep going, not to give up.
He would be right. I need to find a job somewhere that will at least give me food and a roof over my head. There are too many people on the streets of New York. I’ve been here long enough to know that once you end up on the streets, you rarely leave them. I am praying for improvement in my situation. That’s all for now.
Luisa.
Alice snapped the journal closed with a quick click. She drew in sharp breaths. The first page of this little book had already changed how she viewed her mother and how she thought of her.
She’d had a husband and a daughter before, all those years ago. Alfred and Vivian. The way she wrote about them, she’d cared for them dearly, most likely similarly to how she cared for her and her father. What had happened to them?
Alice stared out the window, watching rocks and bushes rush past. What could she do with that information? She wondered about Vivian. What would have happened if she’d survived back then? Would her mother still have stolen Alice away from the Carpenters? What sort of a life would she have had if she had stayed with her birth parents?
She couldn’t afford to play such a game with herself. She was going to San Francisco to figure out what she had to know, that was all. She was also going to learn everything she could about her mother from the journal, but not all at once. She could only handle so much of her life being unraveled at a time.
Tucking her mother’s journal back in her satchel, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Perhaps a bit of rest would do her good before arriving in San Francisco.
The rest of the evening and night passed quickly. When Alice opened her eyes again, the sun was starting to rise on the horizon, and San Francisco was visible. It wasn’t too far off now. She’d be there soon. It would have been different if the Carpenters knew she was coming, if they were expecting her and were going to be there to give her a place to stay and some time to get to know the city.
However, she was on her own on this mission. She had no idea how her natural parents, or her sister, for that matter, would react to seeing her again. She honestly didn’t even know how to find them. She would have to ask around and get an idea of who they were.
To do that, she was going to need to gain their trust. Perhaps for the first time, it hit her that this was not going to be a quick resolution of all her questions. This might take a few weeks, and she didn’t have enough money to pay her board for that long. She was going to have to find a job, a way to keep herself off the streets until she had her answers.
“I’ve been here long enough to know that once you end up on the streets, you rarely leave them.”
Her mother’s words came back to her, sending a soft shiver up her spine. She could always go back home. Her father had given her enough money for a return ticket, and she had all her savings from the last year tucked away. Some of her funds were sewn into the hem of her jacket, some into the hem of her skirt, and yet more put away in her little purse inside her satchel.
Her father had taken the time to remind her various times of how dangerous the city could be and not to trust a soul. She’d be all right. She just had to pay attention, be alert, and find something soon. Otherwise, she’d spend the first night in the hotel.
The train pulled into the station just around nine in the morning, according to the huge clock in the square. Alice gripped her satchel, ignoring the damp feeling of sweat on her palms.
Most people seemed to be getting off the train, and still more were boarding it. Men rushed to the baggage cars, unloading everything from them. She spotted a little of everything, ranging from large crates to smaller boxes of vegetables, letters, and other odds and ends.
Smells hit her from every direction. Some were sweet, some savory, which made her stomach rumble, and still others were anything but appetizing. She stood on the huge train platform, taking her time to pull in all the sights and smells. Everything was so different from Riverstone, Oregon. She was overwhelmed and had no idea what to do with her fears.
Eventually, she walked over to the post office, which was down the way a bit from the train platform. It had a huge sign with white lettering. She made her way up to the window, trying not to show how nervous she was.
She squared her shoulders and tapped a coin on the counter. An older woman came up to the counter with a happy smile.
“How can I help you, dear?”
“I … um, was wondering how to get to the nearest hotel from here?”
“The hotel?” The woman’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Yes, of course. Go three blocks until you get to the hardware store. Then turn to the right and go about five houses further. It’s right there and green and white. There is a sign out in front, Goldwin Inn. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.” Alice breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she could ask the hotel to see if they needed someone to help them, or if not, she could get a room to put her things in before she went to the streets to look for a job and a more reasonable place to stay.
She hummed softly under her breath as she went, more to comfort herself. It made her feel a little less uncertain about where she was and everything she was facing. Alice quickened her pace slightly, and just when she was about to turn the corner, she spotted a large building with a sign above it.
“Mrs. White, Seamstress.” Alice was about to walk by when she saw a little piece of paper in the window with big black letters. “Young woman needed for sewing. Must be good with a needle.”
Alice nearly wept with relief. She was great with a needle. She had made all her own clothing as well as her father’s for years, ever since she’d learned to sew. Working at the seamstress shop would be perfect. If they didn’t have much money to pay her, maybe they would be offering somewhere to stay.
She stepped into the little shop cautiously. It was bigger than it appeared on the outside. The building was deep, showing a large room with two desks and piles of cloth of every color and pattern on the long table in the back.
The lighting was bright, streaming in through the windows.
An older woman stood up from her spot near the window.
“Hello there. Can I help you?” she asked. “I’m Mrs. White.”
“Good afternoon. My name is Alice. I just got into town and need to take a job for a time. I … saw your sign in the window.” Alice pointed toward the sign. What if Mrs. White had already gotten several applications? Then, there may not be much of a chance that she would be hired, but she couldn’t think of the worst just yet.
“Oh. Do you know how to sew?”
“I do ma’am. I have lots of experience sewing several different stitches, and I can do it quickly, too. I am sure I could do a lovely job for you.”
“Hmmm.” Mrs. White looked her up and down. “We’ll see.” She pulled two small pieces of cloth from the huge pile closest to her and a spool of thread with a needle sticking from it. “Here you go. Sew me a seam right here.”
Alice took the cloth in her hands. For a moment, nervousness had her fingers shaking, but as she began, it dissipated. She felt right at home with a needle in her hand. She folded the fabric over and made a little row of tiny stitches standing head to head like little soldiers lined up for battle.
When she was finished, she handed it to Mrs. White.
The woman raised her eyebrows in surprise or judgment; Alice couldn’t tell which. After a few long moments, she handed it back to Alice.
“Very nice. When can you start?”
Alice opened and closed her mouth, scrunching the cloth.
“I … well, you want to hire me?”
She hadn’t imagined it would be quite so easy. Surely, there were dozens of women and young girls wanting the job.
“You’ll get paid a nice wage each week, though I do have to say that some of it depends on what you sew. You get three dollars a week and ten cents extra for each garment you fully finish.”
Alice frowned. She had no idea how much it would cost to find a place to stay.
“I was hoping that maybe … there would be somewhere for me to stay.” She fidgeted with her skirt. What if Mrs. White hadn’t intended to offer to give her a place to stay? That would mean that she might not get the job after all. “Of course, if there is no place to stay, I could, I don’t know, find somewhere in town or…”
“Nonsense. You can stay in the back room. It’s not big or fancy, but there’s enough room to put down a bed. I’ll take it you can start tomorrow morning then. Why don’t I show you to the place and get you settled?”
“That sounds perfect.” Alice’s smile grew until it stretched across her whole face. She’d found a job and a place to stay, and now she had somewhere to settle in while she made a plan.
“You look very familiar; I can’t quite place it.” Mrs. White shook her head. “Have I seen you in here before?”
“I don’t think so, ma’am.”
“Well, I can’t for the life of me remember where it was, but I know I’ve seen you before. Oh well. I guess my elderly brain isn’t what it used to be. One of these days, I’ll remember where it was.” Mrs. White opened the door to a little room behind the main room. Half of it was covered in large bolts of cloth, but just like Mrs. White said, there was a decent place on the floor to set up a bed.
“Why don’t you wait here? I’ll get you some blankets and a ticking that we can fill with some straw from the stable?”
“Thank you.” Mrs. White hurried from the room, leaving Alice wondering what her life was going to look like in San Francisco.
Chapter 4
Henry quickened his pace. The Carpenters had canceled. He wished it had been permanent, but they’d only canceled by a week or possibly two. Apparently, they had come down with the flu.
He was grateful they’d put off infecting him and his family with it, but he knew they were only delaying the inevitable. He’d have to meet Cora eventually, something he hated the idea of.
He stopped in front of the seamstress shop. New shirts. His mother had insisted he have them made for the big meeting. He’d always gotten his work done at the seamstress shop. Mrs. White was known in town for doing the best work of all sorts.
He’d always wondered how she managed to keep up. Sometimes, she’d have a helper, and sometimes, it would be just her, handling orders from half of the town. A little bell rang as he stepped into the cluttered sewing room where Mrs. White always measured him for garments.
Instead of Mrs. White at the sewing bench, a young woman with slender fingers and a heart-shaped face looked up at him. She had a dress draped over her lap and a needle in her hands. Her fingers flew over the fabric, dipping and popping up as if she’d been born with the ability to sew things together as fast as a machine.
She stopped what she was doing, nervous eyes settling on Henry.
“Good afternoon, sir. What can I do for you? Mrs. White is out for the moment.”
“Ah. I was hoping that I could put in an order for a shirt.” Henry rocked back and forth on his feet. The young woman looked nervous and yet also confident.
“Of course. I’m a bit new here. I just started last week, but I can make the shirt. Or if you prefer Mrs. White …” She waited with the measuring tape until he nodded.
“I am sure you’ll do a perfectly fine job. Are you new in town?”
“I am.” A bright smile lifted her lips. “I just moved here from Riverstone, Oregon.”
“So, how do you like San Francisco so far?” He watched as she took the measuring tape to his shoulders, then his arms and waist. Her fingers moved diligently as if she knew exactly what she was doing, and yet she was nervous. He could tell by the way she avoided his gaze.
“I like it. It’s very different to where I’m from. Can you lift your arm, please?” He was nearly a head taller than her, which made him feel like he was towering over her.
“That high enough?” he asked with a chuckle.
Her cheeks turned a deep red.
“What do you like the most about San Francisco so far?”
“I’m not sure yet.” She scribbled a few things down in her little book, which sat on the table. “I came here to … well, to learn more about a few things, I suppose. I haven’t gotten around to it. Maybe I’m worried about what I’ll find out.”
