The walls were deep purple, which might have made the space too dark if the store’s corner position didn’t double the amount of natural light. Orange velvet drapes framed the windows, and copper ceiling tiles stamped with medallions reflected gaslight chandeliers. Above the bookshelves hung portraits Meg had painted of literary characters, from Fanny Price to Frankenstein’s monster, from Jane Eyre to Jean Valjean.
“Welcome back.” Tessa hooked a lock of brown-black hair behind her ear. She bore a strong resemblance to her older brothers, Lorenzo and Louis, whom Sylvie had known for more than twenty years. “You didn’t miss much, other than a few sales of the World’s Fair guidebooks.”
Sylvie was afraid of that, but not surprised. “All right. Thank you.”
“One lady came who didn’t buy anything,” Tessa added, “but she asked for you. A Polish lady, maybe in her late forties, beautiful and charming. Jozefa Zakowski? Zapinski, maybe . . .”
“Zielinksi?” Sylvie guessed.
“That’s it! Chatty lady, asked several questions. She was disappointed not to meet you both.”
Rose looked at Sylvie. “You know her?”
“We’ve corresponded.” As a member of the Chicago Women’s Club, Sylvie had served on a committee that recruited several international guests to the Fair. “She’s an actress from partitioned Poland and is forward-thinking about women’s issues. I invited her to come lecture at the Woman’s Building, and she expressed an interest in touring the rest of Chicago, as well. She was particularly interested in Hull House when I told her about it.”
Most people were interested in Hull House if they had any concern for the plight of the urban poor, which happened to be mostly immigrants. Founded by Jane Addams and Ellen Gates Starr just four years ago, the settlement house on Halsted Street was a beacon of hope and education in a rough section of town. Sylvie had volunteered with their Reading Club almost since Hull House opened.
“Since Miss Zielinksi is an actress, do you suppose she might visit during the Hull House Players’ practice?” Rose asked.
“I’ve already invited her,” Sylvie said. “I forgot she was arriving in town this week. She’s scheduled to speak on Tuesday, and I’m to be her personal tour guide. I’ll see her then, if not before.” She smiled at Rose, gratified that she seemed to approve.
“Did you have fun with your cousin today?” Tessa asked Rose, one inky eyebrow arching.
“I had a grand time with Hazel and her friends, yes.” Rose removed the pin holding her straw hat in place and set it on the counter. “But she isn’t really my cousin, you know.”
Sylvie bit her tongue before she could disagree aloud.
Tessa checked the clock and filled in her time card. “She might as well be, though, right?”
Rose shrugged. “It isn’t the same. It’s not like you and your family.”
“My family has more cousins than we can fit in one house.” Tessa laughed. “Don’t forget, I moved out as soon as I could. I love them, and I don’t mind helping them when I can. But I have a new family, of sorts, with the Jane Club.”
“That’s right,” Sylvie couldn’t resist remarking. “Some families we’re born into, and some are of our own choosing. Just like I chose you, Rose. We chose each other, didn’t we? Isn’t that a bond at least as strong as blood?”
Rose gave Sylvie a warm smile. “Yes, Mimi. I love you, too.” She kissed her on the cheek.
Mimi. The endearment never failed to reassure Sylvie. It was the name Rose had decided to call her when she was a child and Sylvie became her legal guardian. Sylvie would have preferred to hear Mama or Mother instead, but those names had been locked away for Rose when her biological mother, Magdalena, had died on the ship that carried them to America. Sylvie understood.
Still chatting about the Jane Club, Rose and Tessa took the armchairs flanking the fireplace near the back of the store, Tiny Tim curled on Rose’s lap.
Sylvie loved this bookshop. After the hubbub and flurry of the Fair, she relished the quiet of this book-filled oasis that smelled of pages and the pastries the Hoffmans sold at her counter. Karl and Anna were now seventy and sixty-seven years old, and had given up their bakery and become her fourth-floor tenants a few years ago. Before that, they’d been her neighbors for as long as she could remember, and they had become dear friends. Now they baked for the bookshop and for themselves.
Sylvie had arranged a few bistro tables and chairs in the back of the store, where customers could enjoy their pastries and begin reading their new books right away. Before her father had died, the space had been his book-repair workshop. But since she’d never learned the skill of binding books, she’d transformed the area into something new.
She was good at that—at adjusting and renewing. All of Chicago was. It had grown to one million souls, and that wasn’t counting all the visitors in town for the Fair.
Taking off her hat, Sylvie moved to the front window, the view from which was dominated by the eleven-story courthouse across the street. The columned and porticoed granite building, together with city hall, took up the entire block bordered by Randolph, LaSalle, North Clark, and Washington Streets.
Nothing on the display table needed straightening. Copies of Rand, McNally & Co.’s Handy Guide to Chicago and the World’s Columbian Exposition were expertly arranged, along with a fanned-out stack of Chicago by Day and Night: The Pleasure Seeker’s Guide to the Paris of America. A model of Mr. Ferris’s wheel, one of the most recognizable landmarks of the Fair, towered over the books, its cars holding pocket-sized maps and The Time-Saver guidebook.
A smile lifted the corner of her mouth. She was proud of her city. Just twenty-two years ago, the Great Fire had devastated the business district and rendered one-third of its population homeless, including Sylvie’s family. But Chicago had rebuilt itself in record time and was now hosting the world.
Sylvie had reconstructed herself, too, after that harrowing chapter in her life.
“Mimi, listen to this!” Rose called.
Gladly, Sylvie joined the young women, seating herself in a bistro chair, her dark skirt blotting out the cream tiles that distinguished this area from the rest of the bookshop. “Yes?”
“This Jane Club sounds amazing. You already know all about it, I suppose?”
Sylvie did, in fact, know quite a bit about the Jane Club, but Rose looked ready to burst. “Tell me.”
“It’s named for Jane Addams, of course,” Rose began. “I’m sure you knew that. And it’s a group of single women working in Chicago who share apartments. They cook for each other, share the housework, all of that.”
“I told you,” Tessa said. “It’s like a family. Not that we always get along, but we’re there for each other. If one of us loses a job suddenly, she doesn’t also lose her room and board. The others can cover it until she finds a new situation. That’s the idea, anyway. We’re no longer dependent on our fathers, but we’re not ‘girls adrift’ either. Independent, making our own way, but not alone. You see?”
“It truly is a lovely arrangement,” Sylvie agreed.
“And Tessa’s roommate is cooking tonight. She’s Polish, Mimi, and she’s going to make pierogis. I’d like to join them. Tessa invited me.” Rose clasped Sylvie’s hand. “Please. I want to learn how to make them, and you know I won’t learn it from you.”