The Last Honest Seamstress Read Online Free Page A

sketches adorning her desk. Designs for intricate gowns filled the pages. Absently, she reached for a pen to make minor alterations and additions. She should be designing for women instead of measuring men's inseams. Father's voice intruded again. Sewing for men was good, reliable business. Why had she listened to him?
    She looked up and caught her reflection in the new mirror that leaned against the wall, waiting to be hung in the fitting room. Yet another task more suited to male talents. She grimaced and brushed a stray lock of hair back into place. Only in Seattle, where a plain woman could draw a line of suitors a block long, could her face be considered beautiful.
    Frustrated, she set her pen down, her creative enthusiasm dulled by her mood. It all came down to men. She had more suitors than a dozen girls needed, but she didn't want a single one of them. She wanted to be left alone to work on her designs, to sew her creations. What she really needed was . . .
    "A husband."
    Olive started at hearing Fayth speak. Fayth was nearly as surprised herself. What a crazy notion. She pushed her sketches out of the way. A copy of the latest proposal before the city council sat on the corner of her desk. Mr. Wylie had dropped it by yesterday. They wanted to widen the streets. The extra taxes levied to pay for it, along with the disruption to business, would easily consume several months’ worth of her slender profits. The business was her security, her livelihood, the only thing worth fighting for. Anything threatening it was the enemy. And she had no weapons to fight this foe. Only men could vote.
    As Sterling had reminded her, two years ago the women of Washington Territory could vote. They lost their enfranchisement when the men decided they didn't like the women's voting record. Why they repealed liquor licenses, and shut down the prostitution cribs—heinous!
    Sure, Fayth could speak her concerns at a Council meeting, for all the good it did. Men were openly suspicious of women who involved themselves in politics and business, ascribing to them all manner of do-good notions. With her well-known views on the evils of prostitution she gave them open reason to ignore and scorn her.
    Now, if she were only a man, or had the right husband, one who would speak for her . . .  
    Olive continued to meow her disapproval.
    "Whatever you do, Fayth, don't let the business fail. It's your heritage, your life. As long as you have it, you'll be safe," Father had always said. She hadn't believed him. She almost destroyed it. What she had in Seattle was only a fragile, salvaged shadow of what had been in Baltimore.
    Everything threatened it. When she'd last gone to see her banker, Mr. Finn, he'd balked at the idea of her buying the shop, claiming she was undercapitalized and had no worthy collateral. Would any reputable bank loan a single woman money for business? Blast! A man could get the money. On second consideration, maybe this wild idea had merit. There were more reasons to marry than love. A marriage of convenience held all the right incentives.
    "Oh, poor kitty, I scared you." She reached to pet her, but Olive skittered away. "Olive, we need a husband. Then all those undesirable men will leave us alone. And we'll have someone to hang mirrors, and judge foundations, and cast votes. And how will we ever get a loan without one?"
    Olive cocked her head to one side.
    "I know what you're thinking. But I think it will work, don't you?"
    Olive meowed.
    "Yes, I know. Neither one of us trusts men much, or longs to have one around all the time. Still, if we're careful, we can overcome the obstacles. Don't fret, kitty. I'm talking about a business arrangement."  
    She stood and paced. "Yes, we will find us a husband." She scooped up the cat, cuddling her to her cheek, her mood lighter. She looked Olive in the eye. "Don't worry, darling. I will be very particular. We certainly don't want things worse than they are."
    She walked over and closed the