Nineteenth Century Woman Tailor

Eloise opened the two southern doors.

Behind them lay two bedrooms—one slightly larger, its walls unpapered, the floor coated in a thick layer of dust.

The room stood empty, devoid of any furniture, not even a bed, which would likely need to be rented.

The other bedroom was even smaller, barely fitting a single bed.

However, both rooms had small balcony windows that, though modest, let in enough light to brighten the space without feeling oppressive.

Eloise stood by the window, lowering the upper panel of the lift-and-drop-style glass pane. A crisp, cold breeze rushed in, instantly dispelling the musty scent of dust.

Her gaze stretched into the distance, the view open and unobstructed.

She could see the grid-like streets intersecting neatly, shrubs at the corners, and the retro charm of the neighborhood. The winter scenery, draped in silvery simplicity, looked immaculate—like a serene still from an old film, soothing to the soul.

The view was lovely, but at eight coins a week, Eloise intended to sound out Old John to see if the rent could be lowered further.

She turned and left the room but didn’t find Old John inside. Stepping out the front door, she spotted him and his grandson in the adjacent storage shed.

They were hauling out an old table and a wooden chair.

Both pieces were worn, solid wood, their age uncertain—likely stored away in the shed for years.

"This set was originally meant to be sold off by the landlord," Old John explained. "If you decide on the place after discussing it with your family, you can take these with you in a couple of days."

Old John’s wife, Mrs. John, had trouble with her legs, and without help, he’d delayed selling the furniture, leaving it untouched till now.

Eloise was delighted, though she felt awkward about haggling further. Still, her family’s finances were tight—every coin saved mattered, and pride was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

"The place is nice, but it’s a bit small. Could you lower the rent a little?"

The words felt dishonest even as she spoke them, and Old John, predictably, refused.

"Can’t do that. The landlord said this is the lowest, though we won’t take a deposit."

Hearing this, Eloise knew there was no room for negotiation.

She mentally tallied the items she’d consigned to the boutique—perhaps the proceeds would cover the cost.

"Alright, Old John," she conceded. "Our current lease isn’t up yet. I’ll come back in three or four days. If the room’s still available, I’ll finalize it with you then."

Old John agreed, adding a reminder:

"Two days before Christmas, my wife and I are heading back to the countryside. If you’ve made up your minds, come early for the keys."

Eloise nodded and returned home.

First, she retrieved the money pouch hidden under her bed, counting the contents—only three or four coins remained, along with the money Thomas had left with her. She tucked it all back.

She resumed her sewing, altering garments until evening, when her aunt Terry and Louise returned with Bella. Eloise recounted the details of the new place.

"The neighbors downstairs seem decent, and the building’s in good shape. The rooms are small, but sunny—not damp or gloomy at all."

"Old John seems kind-hearted too. Knowing we’re struggling, he even offered an old table and chairs since the place has no furniture."

"Only thing is, the price can’t go any lower."

Sitting at the table, Eloise listed the furniture they’d need to rent, then added:

"We can scrape together the rent for this week."

"Soon, I’ll check the boutique to see if my items sold. If I get the payment, I’ll quit the hotel job and focus on this work. Then we won’t have to worry about rent."

From her tone, Eloise seemed ready to shoulder half the household expenses. Terry, seeing her seriousness, felt reassured and nodded.

"When it comes to renting, the room itself isn’t the most important thing."

Terry spoke while crouching by the stove, poking at the coals with fire tongs as she prepared dinner.

After hearing Eloise out, she’d already made up her mind.

Louise chimed in: "Right. However bad it is, it can’t be worse than here. That room might be small, but it’s still more spacious than this."

Terry agreed. The only reason they’d crammed into this place was because the landlady was kind, offering help now and then.

The new building’s neighbors all had stable, decent-paying jobs, free from the crushing stress of poverty.

Unlike their current neighbors—factory workers who returned home exhausted, squabbling over trifles, filling the building with tension.

For a better environment, that new place was their best option.

"Then it’s settled," Terry declared. "We’ll pool our money and stop paying rent here next week. We’ll move straight over and spend Christmas in the new home."

Louise added: "I’ll take my annual leave, pack our clothes, bedding, and other things, and hire a carriage to haul it all over."

Eloise would go ahead to clean the place.

Once they’d finished discussing, Bella brought up another concern—the new place was too far from school. She suggested becoming a boarding student instead.

Terry had already considered this but teased her: "Weren’t you the one who hated school before?"

Bella flushed, embarrassed. "I like it now."

At school, she learned spelling, reading—her teachers praised her cleverness and often slipped her treats. Gradually, she’d grown less homesick.

So early the next morning, while Eloise was still fixing her hair, Terry took Bella to enroll her as a boarder.

Since the previous day, temperatures had risen steadily. Much of the snow on the streets had melted, and the sky no longer shed flurries, only occasional icy pellets.

The bitter early-winter chill had eased, and Eloise’s workload at the hotel lightened too.

Guests, bundled in layers of robes, ensconced in rooms draped with heavy curtains and plush carpets, barely noticed the cold. Fewer called for fireplaces.

While cleaning the fifth floor, Eloise encountered the only blazing hearth—coincidentally, in the suite of the Parisian seamstress she’d once seen the porters assisting.

Today, the woman hadn’t stepped out, working instead in her small suite.

She’d brought two assistants, carving out a workspace amid the cramped quarters. A dress form, sewing machine, and assorted tools crowded the area, with sketches spread across the table.

Eloise entered quietly, tending to the fireplace in the parlor while stealing a glance into the inner room. The seamstress spoke rapid French to her aides.

Thanks to her past studies abroad, Eloise caught snippets.

The seamstress wore a low-cut taffeta gown, a slender cigarette between her fingers, complaining that the hotel’s coffee tasted as weak as water.

In the room, the sound of the sewing machine was overwhelmingly loud, and the seamstress began complaining again—this supposedly top-tier New York hotel was nothing special, far less comfortable than her old Parisian apartment, yet so difficult to book.

Eloise didn’t linger. She thought to herself that with such a penchant for grumbling, smoking, and drinking coffee, this woman was unmistakably a born-and-bred Parisienne.

Just as she was musing wryly and preparing to leave, the sharp click of heels echoed behind her.

"Wait a moment."

The seamstress emerged, tousling her curly hair. Her expression was impatient as she scrutinized Eloise from head to toe, stumbling through her English to ask,

"Do you know if there’s a European-owned café nearby?"

Eloise turned around, getting a clearer look at the seamstress’s outfit.

Utterly fashionable—even in winter, she avoided high-necked tops, opting instead for a cape of rabbit fur. Her fitted dress had sheer fabric at the collar and sleeves, with a bustle accentuating an hourglass silhouette.

Eloise nodded and, after a moment’s thought, replied in French:

"I do. If you’d like, I can go and buy it for you."

The seamstress’s face lit up with surprise.

"You speak French? Perfect! And while you’re at it, grab some brownies, macarons…"

Halfway through the list, Eloise already regretted her offer.

The seamstress and her assistant couldn’t stomach the hotel’s catering and now intended to send her on an errand for their lunch.

With that, the seamstress hurried inside to rummage through her purse. She had exchanged plenty of small change for tips upon arriving in New York, and in her haste, she grabbed a handful.

Eloise pointed out that the food wouldn’t cost nearly that much, to which the seamstress added,

"Keep the rest as a tip."

At that, Eloise perked up. She took the coins, counted them outside—fifty-cent and dollar pieces adding up to five or six dollars in total.

No wonder the servers called her generous.

After finishing her work, Eloise headed downstairs and borrowed a basket, a cloth cover, a teapot, and two Mason jars from Amy.

Carrying these, she walked to a nearby block, taking a shortcut that got her there in ten minutes. She went straight to the café’s back kitchen door.

The original owner of this body had once sought part-time work here, but with no openings at the time, she hadn’t been hired.

She knocked, and an Irish auntie emerged—someone who had worked alongside Eloise’s parents by the bay and recognized her.

Eloise stepped forward, exchanging pleasantries before whispering her request:

"Could you pack a few of your famous apple pies? Just pour the coffee into the iron pot, and put the creamers in a separate jar. Fill the other jar with hot water."

She handed over two dollars and fifty cents and waited outside the back door.

The restaurant’s owner was also from her hometown. In the past, Eloise’s parents often gathered with fellow immigrants who had sailed to New York together.

But after their accident, when Eloise and her siblings were taken in by their aunt, she lost touch with these old acquaintances.

Now, seeing Eloise, the auntie grew emotional, marveling at how much she’d grown in two years.

The other items Eloise ordered were all house specialties—things she couldn’t usually afford, but she assumed they’d satisfy the Parisian woman, so she asked for three servings of each.

Earning over two dollars in tips from this trip was an unexpected windfall, and Eloise took great care.

In less than ten minutes, she collected the iron pot, two glass jars, and several paper bags, neatly arranging them in the basket.

She placed the bread and pastries around the jar of hot water and the extra-strong coffee, covered them with the cloth, and carried the jar of creamers separately.

By the time she returned to the hotel, the coffee and bread were still warm, and the chilled creamers hadn’t melted.

…