The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel by Carla Stewart

own mother’s love for roses. And it wasn’t even like she was still in love with Quentin. It was ages ago. Grandmama’s gift had merely stirred up old memories.
    Nell picked up her handbag and Grandmama’s framed stitchery. “It’s getting late, and you have an early train, so I should be going.” She went to her aunt, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. “I love you just the way you are. Thank you for coming. Give Mama and Caroline hugs and kisses from me, all right?”
    After their final good-byes, Nell decided on a taxi to take her home, and as it pulled away from the curb, Nell looked back at the ornate but stately Algonquin, the glow in the bay windows, the doorman at his post. She craned her neck to see the fifth floor where her aunt Sarah, Iris, and Mittie were preparing for the train ride home.
    She missed them already, but Christmas wasn’t that far away.
    *  *  *
    Strength and honor are her clothing.
    Nell gazed at Grandmama’s sampler and huffed out a breath. She was hopelessly without honor if she couldn’t clear her name, the shame of her carelessness with Soren’s drawings. And she hadn’t been strong, either, in finding out who was responsible.
    The flat was quiet, her roommates already retired for the night, but sleep eluded Nell. Calvin had said she had integrity the day he showed her the pictures in the newspaper. Did she? And if Calvin said that, did it mean he was also a man of integrity? That he recognized it in her because he possessed it?
    It was wrong to suspect Calvin without at least talking to him. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t gone straight to him when Mr. Fields accused her. She slipped to the floor and on her knees asked God to guide her, to give her strength, and say the right things to Calvin. She had to trust someone or she would never regain her honor.

Chapter 11
    Calvin sat hunched over his drawing table and nodded to Nell. No How do you do? No crooked smile. She couldn’t blame him. She practically ignored him all week, afraid he was responsible for the stolen designs.
    Nell hung up her coat and offered a cheery hello, then looked around to see if they were alone. “Something new you’re working on?”
    “Trying to.”
    “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Could you spare a minute?”
    “Anything for you, Nellie M—” He made a face. “Sorry. I know you don’t like that. What’s on your mind?”
    She told him about Mr. Fields and Soren, the designs showing up at House of Price.
    “I heard. Any theories about what happened?”
    “No, but I intend to find out.” She told him about going to the shop and trying to make an appointment, about finding not only Soren’s dresses, but her cloche design as well.
    “It was odd, though. A Mrs. Morris waited on me—Nadine, I think. She seemed familiar, like I’d seen her before. I don’t think she’s a client here, and it’s probably just that I’ve passed her on the street or seen her in the library, but it was rather unnerving.”
    Calvin cupped his chin in his hand and frowned. “Nadine? You sure that was the name?”
    “Nearly certain. Have you had a client with that name?”
    “No, but…” He glanced over his shoulder and then at the door. “Percy’s daughter is named Nadine. He’s mentioned her. A week or two ago he said something about one of Nadine’s kids being sick.” He pointed to Percy’s desk. “The man’s crazy about those grandkids.”
    Nausea welled up. The woman had looked familiar because it was like looking at the feminine version of Percy. Even the narrow gap between the front teeth.
    Nell pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Percy? Do you think?” While it was true he was a loner, he’d always been pleasant enough. In the past he’d even ask about her work now and then, pointing out minor details that would help her designs—a wider brim, more crown height. But he hadn’t done so in a while. Not since her designs had started to become