The Velvet Bridge
by
Anita Stubbs
This true-to-life rags to riches tale, my first novel, is set during WWII and could have actually happened if not for one thing: Mattie Featherstone never existed, other than between the covers of this 381-page book. But the lifestyles, the culture of the time, and some of the places ring so true, you'll wonder. It's classic 1940's, Dallas, Texas, in and around Oak Cliff.
Too young to be
widowed and too pretty to be alone, Mattie Featherstone is both. Suddenly
impoverished, this confused, tormented woman abandons her children and seeks
refuge in an encampment for vagrants situated near the Trinity River on the
west side of Dallas during World War II.
When a twist-of-fate encounter eases Mattie out of destitution into the
genteel world of her paper doll dreams, she manages to conceal the truth
about her past from her benefactors. She even justifies - in her own mind -
the abandonment of her daughters.
However, everything changes when yet another unforeseen event turns her life
into sensational headline news, revealing more than even she could imagine.
A Good Woman
A Short Story by Anita StubbsTime was, a man’s good name was the only collateral he needed at the bank. It was his bond, his security, and his best asset was his wife. I knew a man whose good name had been squandered, his reputation worthless, for he had fallen upon hard times. Being without work or income, his savings quickly disappeared. Spring had come, but his family had gone through a long, difficult winter. The wolf was practically at the door, so to speak, in the person of the banker coming any day to evict them from their home, for the mortgage was long overdue. That man’s wife’s name was Anna, and fortunate he was to have her.
On one particular morning, Anna sat beneath the big sycamore tree by the road, in front of the small house she and her husband had purchased ten years before. They had signed a twenty year mortgage, hoping to pay it off sooner. They had not missed a payment either, not in all that time, until now. Her husband had fallen ill, and after two weeks of being unable to work, his boss terminated his employment at the pipe foundry where he had worked since they were married. He could not find employment for the whole country was in a depression. Many were without jobs.They had no family to help them, nowhere to go. Anna held her face in her hands, and her thin shoulders shook with the sobs wracking her body. She had reached her wit’s end. Her dress was wrinkled and soiled, her hair unkempt, disheveled. Her three small children were hungry and needed shoes and clothing. The house needed cleaning, and the pantry was practically bare. The children stood on the porch watching their mother, the youngest one crying, the other two looking forlorn, destitute. Their father, despondent, filled with despair and without hope, had left the house at dawn without a word about where he was going and when he would return. Lying on Anna's lap, the last letter from the bank, an eviction notice. They had three days to make payment. She was terrified.
Anna lifted her tear-stained face, her attention drawn to the
approaching car. She remained seated there on the ground as the car came to
a stop a few feet away. A pretty, well-dressed lady, the lone occupant of
the shiny black Ford, came to stand in front of Anna, looking kindly into
her red, swollen eyes. "What troubles you, my dear?" Anna saw the woman
glance away, toward the children on the porch. "Would you like to talk
about it?" The pretty lady asked, her voice soft, gentle. Her eyes fell to
the letter in Anna's lap.
Anna wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and attempted to smooth her
tangled hair, becoming self-conscious in the company of such a fine lady.
She started to stand, but the lady stopped her, and sat down next to her on
the ground, waiting for Anna to speak. Anna could smell her expensive
perfume.
Anna handed her the letter. "Tomorrow is the third day."
The lady read quickly, and placed the letter back in Anna's lap. "Well,
then, my dear, you have work to do! No time to sit here fretting, worrying.
That never solves anything!"
"I don't know what to do!" Anna wailed, a new batch of tears gushing down
her cheeks. "My husband hasn't worked in months, I have no money, and now he
is gone who knows where."
"Your children are depending on you," the lady said. "Their home is at risk
here, so you must gather your bearings, your strength, and your pride. You
will be surprised what you can do!"
Anna noticed for the first time that the yellow jonquils along the driveway
had bloomed over night. She signed deeply, and turned her head to look
directly into the other woman's pretty face.
"What would you be doing under normal circumstances, had none of this
befallen you?" The lady asked. "Take stock of all your resources, Anna, and
use them to save your family." The lady stood, brushing away the dried
grass from the back of her lovely blue dress. "Be strong, Anna."
Anna sat there on the ground for a minute longer, watching the visitor drive
away. Then she pushed herself up, brushed off her hands, and went to her
children on the porch.
He left his car, briefcase in hand, walking briskly toward the porch, noticing the freshly tilled flowerbeds bordering it. A sturdy, comfortable-looking rocking chair occupied the space at one end of the newly-scrubbed porch, a large swing, the other. He raised his hand to knock on the door frame, as Anna and her daughters greeted him.
"Morning, ma'am," the banker said, with a tip of his gray flannel hat. "Is your husband home?"
"No, sir," Anna replied, pushing the screened door open. "You must be from the bank."
"Yes, ma'am."
The man got a whiff of fresh baked bread, the aroma mixing with the delicious smell of food cooking. "Do you expect him shortly?"
"No, sir, but won't you come in?" Anna stepped aside, allowing him to enter the living room. She gathered her daughters close to her. The toddler was down for his morning nap.
The banker found it curious, if not disgraceful, that the man of the house was absent in the face of his family's dilemma. The image of the young woman, her thick, dark hair pulled neatly away from her face, tied with a pretty bow at the back of her neck, wasn't at all what the man was expecting. Anna stood in front of him in her starched and ironed print dress, wearing a white organdy apron and a pretty smile upon her otherwise ordinary face. Her daughters were dressed in frilly little pinafores over pink gingham dresses, each wearing white stockings and shiny black shoes. Their honey-colored hair was braided tightly, and secured with matching satin bows.
The mother and daughters stood in the center of the well-organized, though obviously well lived-in, room. The windows were shiny and clean, not a streak or a speck of dust anywhere. Neatly arranged, colorful pillows were tucked here and there, giving the faded and worn furniture the lift it needed. Crisp, white tieback curtains adorned the open windows. He could see a large pot, its lid jingling, on the stove in the kitchen.
"Sure smells good," he said, trying to ease his own tension, more than anything else. The three in front of him seemed perfectly calm.
"Just some potato and onion soup," Anna replied. "The girls like it."
Getting right to the point, the business man removed his hat, sat down on the sofa, and opened his briefcase. "I'm sure you know why I'm here, ma'am. The bank has been very patient, given your husband plenty of time to make the overdue payments."
He paused, something capturing his attention in the other room. "We can't continue to carry the mortgage on your house," he continued, as his eyes swept over the perfectly made bed, glimpsing the large handcrafted cloth rug on the linoleum floor beside it. The man hesitated for a moment. An old sewing machine in front of another open window had captured his attention.
"I know," Anna said, "My husband has tried so hard to find work, and he does have some prospects." She kept her voice steady, surprising herself with the ease of the lie coming out of her mouth. But her heart raced. The banker listened, pulling his attention away from the bedroom.
"I know you have your job to do, sir," she continued as confidently as possible, "but if there is any way, could you give us another month? That's all. Just one more month." Anna hugged her children, looked the man squarely in the eyes, and waited.
The truth was, she knew of no such prospects for work. Her husband had given up, apparently deserting his family during this greatest time of need. The loaf of freshly baked bread on the table had taken almost all of the flour in the bin. The soup on the stove would have to be rationed, for the potatoes and onions were all that remained in the store house. She had some beans, very little cornmeal, and a handful of rice in the pantry. The cow hadn't freshened yet, and the two remaining hens laid sparingly. She had not planted the seeds saved from last year's vegetable garden. What would have been the point, with the impending eviction? The truth was, the clothes they wore were the best they owned, last year's Easter dresses. The well-worn shoes had been carefully repaired and polished. The truth was, Anna hoped for a miracle. In her pounding heart, she knew that was all that could save them.
Again, the man looked toward the sewing machine. "Do you sew?" He asked.
"Yes, of course," she replied, something quickening in her brain. "I've been sewing my clothes since I was a girl, and now I make everything we wear. Everything in the house. Nothing is store-bought," she said, with a shrug of her shoulders, laughing a little at the absurdity of store-bought dresses.
"Have you considered sewing for the public?"
Anna shook her head no, all the while wondering why she had not thought of doing that.
"Well, ma'am, you obviously have a real talent, and there's no reason you shouldn't be able to earn a living putting that talent to work. I know my wife needs a seamstress. Her dressmaker has retired." He closed his briefcase. "I can send you more work than you can handle, if you're willing. And yes, I'll give you a month's extension."
Anna gasped, but quickly regained her composure as the man continued. "If all goes well, we can refinance your mortgage. If you can pay the overdue interest on the loan by this time next month, we can bring your account back to current status." The man stood, replaced his hat, and picked up his briefcase. "I look forward to doing business with you, ma'am," he said, offering his hand to Anna.
"Likewise," she replied, shaking his hand firmly.
Later in the afternoon, the fine lady in the black car returned, this time pulling into the driveway. Anna was surprised, but glad that she would be able to give the woman her good news. She also was pleased to have a chance to present herself more favorably, ashamed that the woman had found her in such a sad state the day before. On the porch, Anna greeted her visitor, noticing the large basket on her arm, piled high with beautiful fabrics.
"I'm Jeanette Hart," the woman said, flashing a brilliant smile, "the banker's wife. And I need a dressmaker."
