“Hmm, okay.” She pointed to the collar. “What this?”
Rebekah shifted her ankle on the stool. The rag slid off. Mrs. Cheng had it picked up and put back on her ankle before she could bend down to get it. “Thank you, Mrs. Cheng.”
“What this fabric?”
A no-nonsense woman. I like her.
“A gentleman was kind to us at the train station that brought us here. He was a little old man and knew we were coming here from Indiana to find our friend, Katie—”
“A gentleman?” Mrs. Cheng furrowed her brow at Rebekah.
“Oh, he was the ticket master. He was a grandfather, and he was kind to Joseph, my brother Peter, and me. He allowed us to take shelter in the train station—”
Mrs. Cheng interrupted her again. “Okay. Sometimes men be nice to girl for wrong reason.”
“He was taking that fabric home so his wife could sew booties for their grandchildren.”
“See. I see.” She studied the dress with a frown. “And this? What this?”
The green lace stared back at Rebekah. “A young woman, who is from the same country as my brother and me—”
“Ah-mitch?”
“Um, no ma’am, Ireland—”
“Ah, not Chinese. Go on.”
Rebekah had never met anyone like Mrs. Cheng and she liked her immensely, even though she kept interrupting her in a no-nonsense sort of way. “Well, she and her son are homeless, and she is a widow.”
“Ah yes. So sad. Mrs. Cheng widow too.”
Rebekah nodded. “She gave me that. It was her mother’s prayer shawl. She called it something, but I can’t remember.”
“I see, I see. So wedding dress supposed to be hop skitch like this?”
Rebekah had never heard the word hop skitch before, but somehow the strange term described her dress. “No ma’am. They are supposed to be plain. Like the Amish.”
“So why you not make plain?”
“Well...” Rebekah thought for a moment. “I want to let my future daughter have the hop skitch pieces of the dress. Take it apart. Use it to make a quilt or shawl, or—”
“I see. Mrs. Cheng,” she patted her chest again. “She have no daughters. Only a son. He die.”
Rebekah’s heart quaked. The way Mrs. Cheng spoke about everything, so matter of fact, so sure, took her aback.
“Mrs. Cheng?” A girl dressed in a torn red dress and black stockings knocked on the open door. “Mrs. Cheng, a customer tore my best dress. Can you fix it for me?”
“Here, you hold.” Mrs. Cheng laid Rebekah’s wedding dress over her lap.
“Mrs. Cheng tell you, stop that bad work. Get good husband. Good husband won’t tear dress, will buy you new one.” She took the dress from the young girl.
Rebekah stared at her. She was dressed immodestly, showing parts of her body in a way that made Rebekah blush just by being in the same room as her. The young girl looked to be her age too.
“Yes ma’am. I’m still waitin’ on my Prince Charmin’.” She forced a smile, but didn’t look at Rebekah.
“She getting married,” Mrs. Cheng told the young girl. “She Ah-mitch. It like Chinese. You get married too. No more work like that.”
Though Mrs. Cheng scolded the girl incessantly, she took the dress from her.
“I’m Sadie and I’m from Texas, myself. Seems the fella I was gonna marry had other ideas about what it meant to be faithful.” She shrugged. “He got me into doing this sort of work. I’ll get out of it, someday.” She flashed a shy smile to Rebekah. “How much do I owe you, Mrs. Cheng?”
“I sew for you. You pick up tonight or tomorrow. Two cents.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cheng, you’re the best!” Sadie laid down a nickel. “Two cents for the dress, three cents for a tip for Mrs. Cheng for being the best seamstress in the Silk Stocking District.”
“Two cents is a good price for dress mending,” Rebekah offered.
Nobody spoke. Instead, Sadie turned to go.
Mrs. Cheng watched her go. “Not real price.”
“Excuse me?”
“I give girls a special price, cheap price.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “They work hard for money. Don’t need to give it to Mrs. Cheng. I charge low, low price to fix their dress.”
Sadie was gone but Rebekah still dropped her voice to a whisper. “What’s the Silk Stocking District?”
“Girls with no family, no husbands,” Mrs. Cheng explained. “Wife for many, many men. Day and night. For a price.”
