where I might touch fire! L.C.T.
~ 4 ~
Noon at Tiffany’s
September 3, 1889
Dear Mama, et al,
It has been a week of health mishaps here at Tiffany’s and elsewhere. Three of my girls and Frank (my deaf errand boy) are down with the grippe, so it falls upon me to take up the slack.
Josie had a fainting spell on Monday last. Mr. Tiffany insisted on calling in a doctor (at his expense, thank God, as we’d exceeded the weekly budget), who informed us she is anemic and will need to rest for a month on a diet of rare beef, green vegetables, fruit and honey.
The following day, Miss Ring received a serious cut to two of her “best” fingers. Despite the deluge of blood, I managed to get her to the hospital for mending without fainting myself. I took her home on the streetcar and made sure she was supplied with enough food and tea to last a few days. The poor girl was so weak I dared not leave her alone until her mother could come from New Jersey.
On Thursday, George had a fit of sorts, while we were at Henry Belknap’s new apartment on Union Square rehearsing for another of Mr. McBride’s plays. He didn’t come around for five minutes, by which time we were frightened out of our wits. When he revived, he was confused, like someone with brain fever. Mr. Belknap insisted George stay on with him, which is a good thing since he is a far better nurse than any of us.
Not to be outdone, Ida B. Smith escaped up the chimney and didn’treturn until the following day, with half an ear missing and covered with bites.
Besides our regular work, Mr. Tiffany has charged me with creating a fairy garden window for Mrs. Tiffany’s sewing room. I was ordered to Lenox Hill to take measurements. To my great disappointment, instead of being given a grand tour, I was escorted directly to a cramped little room in the attic via the servants’ stairs.
It was such a plain room, containing only a rickety table and chairs, a torn rag rug, and an upright Steinway. It’s apparently used for school and piano lessons as well as sewing. My every spare moment goes into this window. There are so many flowers—each petal and leaf requires precise color selections and cutting until my eyes feel certain to fall out. Mrs. Tiffany isn’t at all uppity. I wish she had more influence over her husband.
To top off the week, one of my best selectors—a poor little fool of a girl—announces she is to be married tomorrow and must leave. She is seventeen. Her husband is barely eighteen and makes $10 a week. She was earning $5.50 here and was to be raised in two months to $7. How are these girls gullible enough to believe marriage will provide them with a better life? I wanted to slap her. Instead, I handed over her last week’s pay and wished her well.
If that wasn’t enough to test my patience, Miss Agnes Northrop, one of Tiffany’s longest-tenured floral designers, has found it necessary to nit-pick my designs. She’s a bit in love with Mr. Tiffany, so I often feel we have a quisling in our camp.
As a final painful blow, Alice moved out of Miss Todd’s and in with her aunt, who lives north of Central Park and is currently suffering from rheumatism. It does save her money, but I miss having her comforting presence at Miss Todd’s.
I must leave off here. Mr. Tiffany has arrived and is shouting at the top of his lungs.
Love, Clara
P.S. We can use whatever produce, dried herbs and cheese you care to ship. In exchange, Miss Todd will give us a reduced rate on our board. Whatever you send will be appreciated by all, since it will be of better quality and cheaper than anything that can be purchased in the city. Don’tbother about the shipping cost—Miss Todd will gladly pay the $1 fee.
P.P.S. Yes, by all means attend the Harvest Fair with Reverend Cutler, Mama. If there is gossip, what of it? Pay no heed. You and the Reverend are pillars of the community.
September 4, 1889
E NGROSSED IN CHOOSING the right shade of glass for Jesus’ halo in the
~ 4 ~
Noon at Tiffany’s
September 3, 1889
Dear Mama, et al,
It has been a week of health mishaps here at Tiffany’s and elsewhere. Three of my girls and Frank (my deaf errand boy) are down with the grippe, so it falls upon me to take up the slack.
Josie had a fainting spell on Monday last. Mr. Tiffany insisted on calling in a doctor (at his expense, thank God, as we’d exceeded the weekly budget), who informed us she is anemic and will need to rest for a month on a diet of rare beef, green vegetables, fruit and honey.
The following day, Miss Ring received a serious cut to two of her “best” fingers. Despite the deluge of blood, I managed to get her to the hospital for mending without fainting myself. I took her home on the streetcar and made sure she was supplied with enough food and tea to last a few days. The poor girl was so weak I dared not leave her alone until her mother could come from New Jersey.
On Thursday, George had a fit of sorts, while we were at Henry Belknap’s new apartment on Union Square rehearsing for another of Mr. McBride’s plays. He didn’t come around for five minutes, by which time we were frightened out of our wits. When he revived, he was confused, like someone with brain fever. Mr. Belknap insisted George stay on with him, which is a good thing since he is a far better nurse than any of us.
Not to be outdone, Ida B. Smith escaped up the chimney and didn’treturn until the following day, with half an ear missing and covered with bites.
Besides our regular work, Mr. Tiffany has charged me with creating a fairy garden window for Mrs. Tiffany’s sewing room. I was ordered to Lenox Hill to take measurements. To my great disappointment, instead of being given a grand tour, I was escorted directly to a cramped little room in the attic via the servants’ stairs.
It was such a plain room, containing only a rickety table and chairs, a torn rag rug, and an upright Steinway. It’s apparently used for school and piano lessons as well as sewing. My every spare moment goes into this window. There are so many flowers—each petal and leaf requires precise color selections and cutting until my eyes feel certain to fall out. Mrs. Tiffany isn’t at all uppity. I wish she had more influence over her husband.
To top off the week, one of my best selectors—a poor little fool of a girl—announces she is to be married tomorrow and must leave. She is seventeen. Her husband is barely eighteen and makes $10 a week. She was earning $5.50 here and was to be raised in two months to $7. How are these girls gullible enough to believe marriage will provide them with a better life? I wanted to slap her. Instead, I handed over her last week’s pay and wished her well.
If that wasn’t enough to test my patience, Miss Agnes Northrop, one of Tiffany’s longest-tenured floral designers, has found it necessary to nit-pick my designs. She’s a bit in love with Mr. Tiffany, so I often feel we have a quisling in our camp.
As a final painful blow, Alice moved out of Miss Todd’s and in with her aunt, who lives north of Central Park and is currently suffering from rheumatism. It does save her money, but I miss having her comforting presence at Miss Todd’s.
I must leave off here. Mr. Tiffany has arrived and is shouting at the top of his lungs.
Love, Clara
P.S. We can use whatever produce, dried herbs and cheese you care to ship. In exchange, Miss Todd will give us a reduced rate on our board. Whatever you send will be appreciated by all, since it will be of better quality and cheaper than anything that can be purchased in the city. Don’tbother about the shipping cost—Miss Todd will gladly pay the $1 fee.
P.P.S. Yes, by all means attend the Harvest Fair with Reverend Cutler, Mama. If there is gossip, what of it? Pay no heed. You and the Reverend are pillars of the community.
September 4, 1889
E NGROSSED IN CHOOSING the right shade of glass for Jesus’ halo in the
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