Tiffany Girl by Deeanne Gist Read Free Book Online Page A

“Thank you. That would be wonderful.”
    “Of course.” The woman tilted her head. “Are you all right?”
    “A little shaken, to tell you the truth. Nothing like that’s ever happened to me.”
    “It’s a nasty business, that’s for certain. We’re glad you’re here, though. There were only six of us before, not counting Clara.”
    “Clara?”
    “Clara Driscoll. She would have been with Mr. Tiffany when he visited the School of Applied Design.” Tightening her lips, shelooked toward a window at the end of the hall. “It was supposed to be me.”
    “I’m sorry?”
    The woman gave a little shake of her head. “Nothing. I’m Nan Upton. I select the glass. At least, right now I do, but I know how to do all of the jobs, including the designing, so if you need any help with anything, you just let me know.”
    Flossie smiled. “I wish I’d known that this morning when I was trying to decide what to wear. I’m afraid I’ve overdressed.”
    Nan flicked her gaze over Flossie’s coat and skirt. “Don’t worry. I’ll see if I can find a smock for you.”
    The strain of the morning began to ease. “Thank you. It’s wonderful to think I might have made a friend before I’ve even stepped into the shop.”
    Nan’s smile faltered, as if she were forcing herself to maintain it. “Think of me more as someone who can guide you if you are in need of direction. It’s been like that between me and the other girls since long before Clara came back.”
    “Came back?”
    “Yes, she was part of the Women’s Department several years ago, then left when she married. Quite recently, she became widowed and asked Mr. Tiffany if she could return. Right out of the blue. Right after Agnes had told Mr. Tiffany she couldn’t stand to be manager for another minute. Sometimes I wonder if it wasn’t Agnes who put her up to it.”
    Flossie blinked. “I see.” Though she didn’t, of course. Who was Agnes? And how could someone be encouraged to become a widow? Rather than ask, she simply waited to see if Nan had anything further to say.
    Instead, Nan waved her toward the door. “Well, the shop is right through there. Go on in. I’m going to go wait in the lobby for the rest of the girls. The men outside aren’t exactly the welcome we had planned.”

CHAPTER
    7

    F rom the back of the crowd, Reeve tugged down the rim of his hat and watched Miss Jayne scurry into the building. One of his contacts had told him there were to be protestors outside Tiffany’s this morning, so he’d come to see if he could find someone to interview. Never had it occurred to him the men would harass a lady. New Woman or not, scab or not, she was of the fair sex and therefore commanded a certain amount of respect.
    Certainly, she had no business trying to usurp a man’s job. She should, indeed, return to hearth and home as one fellow had suggested, for if women abandoned their homes, who would take care of the children? Reeve knew firsthand what it was like to grow up without a mother.
    It wasn’t her fault she’d died, of course. He knew that now, but it hadn’t made him feel any less deserted at the time. If his mother had chosen a mere job over staying home with him, the repercussions would have cut deep and been everlasting. He’d heard some women argue no children would be left at home because only unmarried women could hold positions, but it was a slippery slope they walked. Today they might have to be unmarried, but tomorrow, who knew what might happen?
    All that aside, he couldn’t stand here and watch while women were abused, so he’d best find himself someone to interview or take his leave. A fellow with frowsy brown whiskers and a paper collar stood back from the others, his brows knit, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. Reeve couldn’t tell if it was due to the cold or discomfort over the men’s conduct.
    “You a glazier?” Reeve asked.
    “A glassworker. What ’bout you?”
    “A reporter from the New York