Family of the Heart

One chore completed. And she had a little less than an hour to accomplish the others. Sarah moved into the shadow cast by a large brick building, walked to the corner, turned left and made her way up Main Street, scanning the storefronts. She had spotted what seemed a suitable establishment along the way to the post office. Where…? Ah, there it was. Mrs. Westerfield, Milliner & Mantuamaker and dealer in Millinery and Lace Goods and Embroidery. She moved closer and read the smaller print of the sign.

Keeps constant on hand a splendid stock of Leghorn, Tuscan & Straw Bonnets and Florence Braid, artificial flowers, Paris ribbons, plain & figured silks, satins & etc. suitable for bonnets and dresses which she is prepared to manufacture in the most fashionable style.

Sarah checked her reflection in the window. The flowers adorning her silk hat trembled slightly in the warm breeze. She adjusted the tilt of the hat, smoothed the lace at her throat and entered. A cluster of women examining trimmings displayed in a glass case, and two women seated on a settee studying a book of patterns, glanced up at the discreet tinkle of the small bell on the door. The women looked at her with varying degrees of curiosity, gave small, polite nods and returned to their business.

“If you will excuse me a moment, ladies.” The woman behind the glass case smiled and came forward. “Welcome to Mrs. Westerfield’s salon. May I help you?”

“I would like to speak with Mrs. Westerfield please.”

“Certainly. I will be a moment. If you would care to have a seat?” The woman gestured toward a grouping of chairs, walked to a door at the back, gave a light tap and disappeared into another room.

Sarah strolled over to look at a display of paintings on the wall. Bits of conversation from the women at the counter drifted her way as she studied the drawings of the latest fashions.

“—heard that Rose Southernby has taken to her bed?”

“Oh, I do like this red silk braid!”

“Did you say Rose is ill?”

“Yes. Dr. Lambert has been making daily calls. She is not at all well, and—The red silk braid is a little…bright, Charlotte. Perhaps the gold…”

“You were saying, Gladys?”

“I beg your pardon? Oh. Yes. I heard the Southernby children are stricken also.”

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