If it threatened rain she sat in the larger of
the two rooms back of the shop sewing on new dresses for herself or
for a sister who had married a blacksmith in the Indiana town and who
had four children.
Edith had soft mouse-coloured hair and grey eyes with small brown
spots on the iris. She was so slender that she wore pads about her
body under her dress to fill it out. In her youth she had had a
sweetheart--a fat round-cheeked boy who lived on the next farm. Once
they had gone together to the fair at the county seat and coming home
in the buggy at night he had put his arm about her and kissed her.
"You ain't very big," he had said.
Edith sent to a mail order house in Chicago and bought the padding
which she wore under her dress With it came an oil which she rubbed on
herself. The label on the bottle spoke of the contents with great
respect as a wonderful developer. The heavy pads wore raw places on
her side against which her clothes rubbed but she bore the pain with
grim stoicism, remembering what the fat boy had said.
After Edith came to Chicago and opened a shop of her own she had a
letter from her former admirer. "It pleases me to think that the same
wind that blows over me blows also over you," it said. After that one
letter she did not hear from him again.
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