making a small purchase or two, often lingering over her choices for an hour or more. She had soon zeroed in on Scullyâs store as one of the hubs of conversation in Wellington, especially for the women.
Nearly everyone who came into the store would pass a pleasant word with Mr. Scully, who would inquire as to the health of his customer and his customerâs family, but it was his daughter Meribeth, the dressmaker, who always took the inquiry farther, following up with questions regarding neighbours, acquaintances, and far-flung relations. She had a prodigious memory for the details of family connections and, in particular, the history of disputes and disagreements between them.
Having a dressmaker right in the store was a good business practice for Mr. Scully. Meribeth often commented on which qualities of cotton or bombazine would be appropriate for which style, and which colour would most suit the customer â although black and brown remained the most respectable colours for married women. She made suggestions regarding how each item should be trimmed, whether with ribbon or lace, and which styles were currently in fashion in London or New York. Many customers felt uncomfortable with taking the cloth away to sew themselves, or to another dressmaker when Meribeth had been so helpful in its selection, and so they would contract with her to cut and assemble the article, as well, doubling the profits for Scully, for every penny made was put into the store account, and few coins found their way back to Meribeth.
This was only fair as far as Scully was concerned, for he knew that he would be responsible for his daughterâs keep as long as he lived. There was no point in setting aside a dowry for Meribeth. No man was ever likely to come courting her, for she had been born with a twisted spine, a malformation that had killed her mother in the birthing. The fact that the child had survived at all was a shock to everyone, and for a time Scully had hoped that the deformity would correct itself as she grew older. Instead, it grew worse, and her corkscrew back bent her over at the waist, so that she had to tip her head up and sideways in order to meet anyoneâs eye.
Her father had decided to put her to work, teaching her the intricacies of cutting cloth and of making fine, even stitches. She had shown a surprising aptitude for tailoring, and an ironic interest in the latest fashion. Her willingness to share her expertise made her popular with Scullyâs female customers, particularly the young girls. They listened to Meribethâs advice, for they knew that there was no element of competition in her suggestions. She would not ever lure away the young men they had their eyes set on.
Meribeth whiled away the tedious hours she spent with a needle in her hand by tracking her neighboursâ business. She heard every item of news and piece of gossip that passed through Wellingtonâs lively and extensive grapevine, and mentally fit it into the giant jigsaw puzzle of events and personalities that comprised the villageâs social life. She shared her knowledge with whoever came into the store, for the passing on of one item would often prompt the offer of another.
She had been aware of the arrival of the exotic Mrs. Elliott almost immediately. Bella MacDonald had been passing Temperance House as Clementine alit from the wagon, and after taking careful note of her cloak and hat, had scurried to Scullyâs to report their cut and colour to Meribeth, in the hopes that she might be able to copy it. Bella was to be married the following year, and was busy assembling her trousseau.
Meribeth was intrigued, and hoped that Mrs. Elliott would soon grace the shop. She had the latest available patterns, of course, and kept herself as up-to-date as possible with new trends in dresses and hats, but styles took a long time to work their way across the ocean from London and Paris, and often she had only written
Nearly everyone who came into the store would pass a pleasant word with Mr. Scully, who would inquire as to the health of his customer and his customerâs family, but it was his daughter Meribeth, the dressmaker, who always took the inquiry farther, following up with questions regarding neighbours, acquaintances, and far-flung relations. She had a prodigious memory for the details of family connections and, in particular, the history of disputes and disagreements between them.
Having a dressmaker right in the store was a good business practice for Mr. Scully. Meribeth often commented on which qualities of cotton or bombazine would be appropriate for which style, and which colour would most suit the customer â although black and brown remained the most respectable colours for married women. She made suggestions regarding how each item should be trimmed, whether with ribbon or lace, and which styles were currently in fashion in London or New York. Many customers felt uncomfortable with taking the cloth away to sew themselves, or to another dressmaker when Meribeth had been so helpful in its selection, and so they would contract with her to cut and assemble the article, as well, doubling the profits for Scully, for every penny made was put into the store account, and few coins found their way back to Meribeth.
This was only fair as far as Scully was concerned, for he knew that he would be responsible for his daughterâs keep as long as he lived. There was no point in setting aside a dowry for Meribeth. No man was ever likely to come courting her, for she had been born with a twisted spine, a malformation that had killed her mother in the birthing. The fact that the child had survived at all was a shock to everyone, and for a time Scully had hoped that the deformity would correct itself as she grew older. Instead, it grew worse, and her corkscrew back bent her over at the waist, so that she had to tip her head up and sideways in order to meet anyoneâs eye.
Her father had decided to put her to work, teaching her the intricacies of cutting cloth and of making fine, even stitches. She had shown a surprising aptitude for tailoring, and an ironic interest in the latest fashion. Her willingness to share her expertise made her popular with Scullyâs female customers, particularly the young girls. They listened to Meribethâs advice, for they knew that there was no element of competition in her suggestions. She would not ever lure away the young men they had their eyes set on.
Meribeth whiled away the tedious hours she spent with a needle in her hand by tracking her neighboursâ business. She heard every item of news and piece of gossip that passed through Wellingtonâs lively and extensive grapevine, and mentally fit it into the giant jigsaw puzzle of events and personalities that comprised the villageâs social life. She shared her knowledge with whoever came into the store, for the passing on of one item would often prompt the offer of another.
She had been aware of the arrival of the exotic Mrs. Elliott almost immediately. Bella MacDonald had been passing Temperance House as Clementine alit from the wagon, and after taking careful note of her cloak and hat, had scurried to Scullyâs to report their cut and colour to Meribeth, in the hopes that she might be able to copy it. Bella was to be married the following year, and was busy assembling her trousseau.
Meribeth was intrigued, and hoped that Mrs. Elliott would soon grace the shop. She had the latest available patterns, of course, and kept herself as up-to-date as possible with new trends in dresses and hats, but styles took a long time to work their way across the ocean from London and Paris, and often she had only written
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