He mentioned the seven years bad luck, yes she had heard such things but her father dismissed it as mere superstition and declared a Kaufmann is above such nonsense. Actually it did seem rather silly when one thought about it more deeply. Besides it gave her another opening to agree with her employer.

"Yes sir, mere superstition indeed," Miriam nodded.

“Well, come on back downstairs and we’ll give you something to do: when Miss Wigfall comes in tomorrow afternoon, I will commence teaching you the trade. “ he informed her.

"Very well, so are Miss Wigfall and myself your only employees?" she felt it was a fair enough question, one that should not annoy the man. She had only gotten a quick glimpse of the other girl but she seemed very grim or .....perhaps she was upset with him hiring her on? That would not be good.

"Yes sir, mere superstition indeed," Miriam nodded.

“Absolutely no scientific basis at all” agreed Pettigrew, then paused at the door. “Mind you, that same woman once put a curse on a tobacco auctioneer who had somehow offended her. Poor fellow was dead within a week.” He looked off into the distance “I always kept on very good terms with the lady, myself.”

“Well, come on back downstairs and we’ll give you something to do: when Miss Wigfall comes in tomorrow afternoon, I will commence teaching you the trade.” he informed her.

"Very well, so are Miss Wigfall and myself your only employees?" she felt it was a fair enough question, one that should not annoy the man. She had only gotten a quick glimpse of the other girl but she seemed very grim or ...perhaps she was upset with him hiring her on? That would not be good.

“Oh, at present, at present.” Worchester informed her as they descended the stairs “There’s a possibility that my niece might have to come live with me sometime soon but how useful she will be in the business I truly do not know. She has lived some time in Europe, Paris. But living in the greatest city for fashion in the world does not make a person a skilled seamstress. It is your skills upon which I am depending, Miss Kaufmann, yours alone!”

The man followed up with this tale of curses and doom but it failed on Miriam if his hope was to frighten her. Her father had always vehemently dismissed such nonsense and well..........she had never seen anything at all even vaguely ghost-like. But this was her employer telling the tale so she simply nodded along and he could read into that gesture what he will.

As they headed back downstairs she decided to ask about that other girl who had stared at her earlier, sounded like she was a regular employee too.

"Oh, at present, at present.” Worchester informed her as they descended the stairs “There’s a possibility that my niece might have to come live with me sometime soon but how useful she will be in the business I truly do not know. She has lived some time in Europe, Paris. But living in the greatest city for fashion in the world does not make a person a skilled seamstress. It is your skills upon which I am depending, Miss Kaufmann, yours alone!”

Miriam swallowed, nothing like putting pressure on a person with that declaration! Miriam had always been the nervous sort, partly because she was very much a perfectionist about most things. Her father would have it no other way too.

"Oh, I just hope I can live up to your expectations? I hope my father did not over rate me," she quick sought to tamp down wild expectations here.

"Oh, I just hope I can live up to your expectations? I hope my father did not over rate me," she quick sought to tamp down wild expectations here.

“Oh Miss Kaufmann, Miss Kaufmann, Miss Kaufmann” Pettigrew almost sang her name. “You need only try you best and work your hardest. And I, in turn, will endeavour to teach you all I know. This is an exchange Miss Kaufmann, an exchange. I hope it will profit the both of us.”

They had reached the bottom of the stairs and the velvet curtain. As Worchester Pettigrew pushed through the dark purple material he suddenly grew an inch or two and glowed with a new energy: that was lesson number One: when you were front of house – you were ‘on’.

“Now! Miss Wigfall, you will kindly show Miss Kaufmann the arrangements for taking payments while I proceed to the Bank to arrange your payments to your father, Miss Kaufmann.” He ordered.

That was all very well, although as Pettigrew donned his hat and exited the store, it became apparent that when she was repeating information that she had learned by rote, the Wigfall girl's voice was even more flat and monotonous than usual.

“First we open the ledger” dictated Jemima “We add up and enter the price of goods in the first column. Then we enter the amount tendered in the second column. Then we enter the change returned in the third column. Then we remove the Price paid from the float in the Fourth column. When we close at 5 Of the Clock, we check the accumulated funds in the ledger against actual funds in the float, remove the profit from the float to the main safe and…”

Ting-a-ling!

A handsome fresh-faced young man put his head round the door.

Hector Wigfall had a few things to say to his sister about having to go out of his way – the opposite direction from the telegraph office – to take her the pinking shears she’d left at home, as per his mother’s strident instructions. He’d been practicing his mean comments and nasty jokes about what a forgetful stupid ape she was all the way here.

There was an uninteresting, unattractive, mousy looking new girl next to Jemima, he only gave her the merest glance as he strode over to his horrible sister and opened his mouth to begin his stream of invective:

“Hey, Sis, you forgot these! Thought I’d drop ‘em off on my way to the telegraph office… where I work!” he said, suddenly going a very peculiar colour and feeling a bizarre shaking of his right leg. He glanced at the other girl for a fraction of a second and sort of stumbled backwards toward the door and collapsed backwards out of it.

“See ya back home, Sis!” he heard himself saying as he found himself back on the street and once again in full possession of his faculties. What the Hell?! Had he just suffered some kind of stroke?

Inside, Jemima sniffed the pinking sheers suspiciously.

“He’s up to something” she growled, eyes narrowing.

Her employer seemed a fair man, he only asked that she try her very best, plus he was willing, no even eager to teach her about the trade, he deemed this employer-employee relationship an exchange. Who was she to question such a thing even though it was hardly the norm. Why her father had left New York precisely because his own boss had been so hard to work for, incessant in both his demands and criticism. Perhaps she was lucky?

The fellow had decided to go to the bank then and left her with this Miss Wigfall who then began to explain the whole process of .....well what certainly seemed to her to be bookkeeping much more so than seamstress. But on the other hand, she did fairly well with basic arithmetic at least. And she consoled herself thinking most of the time he would be present and she would not need bother with this. Still she listened to the other girl go thru the process.

The front door bell tinkled and the ladies' heads turned to see who had entered. Some boy - of course she had no idea who - strolled on in with a cocky look on his face. She immediately guessed him to be somewhere around her age.

“Hey, Sis, you forgot these! Thought I’d drop ‘em off on my way to the telegraph office… where I work!” he said, suddenly going a very peculiar colour and feeling a bizarre shaking of his right leg. He glanced at the other girl for a fraction of a second and sort of stumbled backwards toward the door and collapsed backwards out of it.

Oh goodness! What was wrong with that young man? Miss Wigfall should know, he apparently was her brother. Miriam froze for a moment until he was gone before turning to Jemina, "What happened there? Is he afflicted with a condition?" Poor lad.

Inside, Jemima sniffed the pinking sheers suspiciously.

“He’s up to something” she growled, eyes narrowing.

"He is?" Miriam had no idea what exactly she meant by that. And if what she just witnessed was an 'act' it was certainly a good one. And what had it accomplished anyways?

Oh goodness! What was wrong with that young man? Miss Wigfall should know, he apparently was her brother. Miriam froze for a moment until he was gone before turning to Jemina, "What happened there? Is he afflicted with a condition?" Poor lad.

“I'll say he is.” Replied Jemima, flatly, then turned her piggy little eyes on Miriam. “That’s my brother. You’ll want to keep way from him. He isn’t a good person. He does bad things, and… well, let’s just say that when he dies, he’s gonna burn in Hell.”

It wasn’t the best of references.

Jemima sniffed the pinking sheers suspiciously. No sign of glue or that anything unpleasant had been smeared on them.

“He’s up to something” she growled, eyes narrowing.

"He is?" Miriam had no idea what exactly she meant by that. And if what she just witnessed was an 'act' it was certainly a good one. And what had it accomplished anyways?

“I’ll find him out, don’t you worry about it.” she assured the Jewish girl, but the odd interlude with Hector had reminded her to ask the most obvious question of all.

“You got any brothers?” she asked the other girl, hopefully.

“I'll say he is.” Replied Jemima, flatly, then turned her piggy little eyes on Miriam. “That’s my brother. You’ll want to keep way from him. He isn’t a good person. He does bad things, and… well, let’s just say that when he dies, he’s gonna burn in Hell.”

That stunned Miriam, "Oh, gosh! Your own brother?"

So apparently this Jemima was certain he was up to something? How? By faking a condition or an injury? It all was very strange to the newest employee.

“I’ll find him out, don’t you worry about it.” she assured the Jewish girl.

“You got any brothers?” she asked the other girl, hopefully.

"I have two brothers and a sister but I am the oldest, their ages are 14, 11, and 9," she smiled.

“You got any brothers?” she asked the other girl, hopefully.

"I have two brothers and a sister but I am the oldest, their ages are 14, 11, and 9," she smiled.

Jemima’s face would have fallen, if it had anywhere to fall to: but she always looked serious, sullen or just plain impassive.

“Fourteen huh?” she sighed “Pretty big for his age, though, maybe, huh?” she added: one last throw of the dice.

“So, you got a boyfriend?” Jemima asked next. If not, they’d have something in common (presuming the quiet seeming girl even wanted a boyfriend!) and if she did, and he was half decent… well ‘All’s fair in love and war’.

Somehow, though, she expected not: this Miriam was probably as cursed, as far as her love life was concerned, as Jemima's sister-singletons, Arabella and Bridget.

“Fourteen huh?” she sighed “Pretty big for his age, though, maybe, huh?” she added.

"He's as tall as me but no, he isn't big," Miriam thought that an odd question, what difference did it make how big her kid brother was?

Jemima wasn't done with her questions yet though, " So, you got a boyfriend?”

"Oh of course not. I'm only sixteen, I cannot have anything to do with boys until I reach eighteen Father said," Miriam informed her.

"Why do you have one?" she decided turn around was fair play.

"He's as tall as me but no, he isn't big," Miriam thought that an odd question, what difference did it make how big her kid brother was?

Jemima raised the flat of her hand to the height of the top of Miriam’s head and then brought it towards her own face where it landed about level with her own eyes and gave a dissatisfied grunt. She wasn’t about to walk out with a dwarf.

Jemima wasn't done with her questions yet though, " So, you got a boyfriend?”

"Oh of course not. I'm only sixteen, I cannot have anything to do with boys until I reach eighteen Father said," Miriam informed her.

Good luck with that, Mr Kaufmann! Was Jemima’s immediate thought. If Miriam was anything like herself and her friends, she’d soon be romance-crazy; there was heck all else to do in this God forsaken town. And there were plenty of handsome men around for a gal to get crazy about, especially the cute but rough and tough looking young cowboys who rode in on occasion. Yeah, plenty of men, but they were all just too slow.

"Why do you have one?" she decided turn around was fair play.

“I wish!” answered the plain Wigfall girl “The fellers around here are all stupid, though; they all go to the saloon and moon over…” she dropped her voice to a whisper, lest she offend the ears of the dummies in the window “…whores…” she looked around the empty store to make sure no one else heard the word “… but they won’t give respectable girls like you and me a second look.”

She frowned darkly.

“The Devil ain’t Lazy, Miriam Kaufmann, he just tempts and tempts them fellers. I got a friend who works at the saloon, she's none too respectable herself, I admit..” Jemima felt a little shame faced at being pals with Arabella, but she didn’t have any other friends to speak of, so was kinda stuck with her “… and she says there’s a … whore… there who sings and dances and shows off all her chest and legs and the men all throw money at her and buy her drinks and presents, and she doesn’t even give a one of ‘em so much as a kiss!”

Jemima looked longingly at the door of the store, through which her Prince Charming might walk through any second.

“If one of them handsome gentleman walked through that door right now, I’d give him a kiss for nothing! Maybe three or four!” she sighed.

"What's your ideal man?" Jemima then asked her new workmate, it was becoming clear that romance was her favourite topic of conversation, even beating Spiritualism by a mile.