The small room had its advantages.
Terry had prepared dinner, serving it in a cast iron pot on the only table in the room, which was small enough for Thomas to carry alone and place in the narrow aisle between the two beds.
It felt like living in a university dormitory. Everyone could take off their shoes and socks, warm themselves by the stove under the table, and sit on the edge of the bed or on stools, holding ceramic plates filled with a hearty scoop of potato and bacon stew, while nibbling on slices of toasted bread.
The bread was coarse, dense, and chewy, almost like a steamed bun. As Eloise ate, she spat out some of the roasted wheat bran that had made its way into her mouth.
Fortunately, the wheat came from small farms around the Isle of Man, so the transportation distance was short, and there was no risk of finding pebbles mixed in.
Outside the window, the corner store was still open, its bright lights illuminating the fine snow falling like sifted flour onto the wide cobblestone street.
After finishing her meal, Eloise was the first to grab the hot water kettle and a wooden basin, heading downstairs to the shared bathroom used by several families.
One of the perks of being transported to the late 19th century was evident here. In cities like New York and London, which were at the forefront of industrialization, amenities such as running water, sewer systems, streetcars, and even flush toilets had been around for many years and were widely available.
The house had originally been well-designed, but the landlord’s family had purchased a large plot of land in the suburbs and were building a new home.
To pay off their bank loans, they had no choice but to rent out the house without being too selective about their tenants.
As a result, the bathroom Eloise encountered was in a sorry state. A bra and pair of underwear, left behind by some woman from another household, hung on the windowsill, and even in the cold winter, the room carried a faint smell of sweat.
Eloise’s new body, different from her previous one, had a natural body odor. She quickly washed her neck, behind her ears, and under her arms, leaving her underskirt on, and then cautiously used the ceramic toilet.
The caution she exercised in the bathroom gave rise to a new material desire: if only her family could move into a proper apartment.
When she had cleaned the fireplace, she had once stepped into a small suite at the Ritz Hotel. It was almost indistinguishable from a retro-themed hotel in the 21st century, except for the lack of air conditioning and television. The women staying there could walk around barefoot, lounge on sofas sipping morning tea, read leisurely books, and soak in bathtubs while eating dew-covered grapes.
The rich lived lives at least forty years ahead of the poor, and there was scientific evidence to support this.
That night seemed even colder than the last. The stove burned the last of the coal dust, and Eloise, wearing an extra skirt, fell asleep to the sound of snoring, wrapped tightly in her blanket.
In the morning, sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, and Eloise woke up shivering once again, the clattering noises of the morning bustling in her ears.
By the time Eloise got up, her aunt and cousin had already dressed, eaten a slice of bread each, and were ready to leave the house. Thomas and Bella had also gone out earlier to deliver the *World Morning Post*.
Eloise didn’t linger in bed. Thinking about the day’s tasks, she quickly got dressed and ate the slice of toasted bread left for her.
Before leaving, Aunt Terry mentioned that the coal shop’s child would deliver the week’s coal and reminded Eloise to light the stove so she wouldn’t freeze. So, Eloise waited for the delivery, took the coal, and indulged herself by lighting the stove to boil a kettle of water. She then sat by the stove to finish the gloves she had been working on the night before.
Her old clothes provided enough material for three pairs of short gloves, which she finished just in time to give one each to her aunt, her cousin, and herself. This way, she could show off her handiwork to her colleagues at work.
Sewing machines existed in this era, and in New York, the most famous was the Singer hand-cranked lockstitch sewing machine, which could sew hundreds of stitches per minute. However, it was also prohibitively expensive, with advertisements in every newspaper listing the latest models at prices ranging from $160 to $200.
For Eloise, buying one would mean spending more than a year’s salary.
It took her three hours to finish sewing the gloves. By then, the water on the stove had boiled, and white steam billowed from the spout of the kettle.
Eloise poured the hot water into a basin and threw all the family’s woolen socks into it, adding a bit of ordinary soap powder to soak and wash them.
It wasn’t that Eloise was particularly diligent, but in this era, people didn’t prioritize cleanliness as much. She had been bothered by the faint smell of sweat for two whole days.
By noon, Thomas and Bella returned, and Eloise asked them to find a place to hang their socks to dry.
Lunch for the three siblings was simple. Since Eloise’s skills from her previous life didn’t extend to cooking, she reheated the leftover bread Aunt Terry had made, struggling to control the stove’s heat.
In her original body’s memory, wasn’t this how bread was supposed to be reheated? Why did it turn out differently this time?
Seeing the burnt smell rising from the pan, Eloise awkwardly smiled at Bella. “It’s fine. We can scrape off the burnt parts, soak them in hot water, and it’ll still be edible.”
Thomas, who was folding newspapers, couldn’t stand it anymore. Seeing Eloise fumbling with the rock-hard bread, he frowned, threw down the newspaper, and said, “I’ll be right back.”
Before Eloise could react, Thomas had already grabbed his coat and run downstairs.
By the time Eloise managed to get the fried bread onto a plate, Thomas returned just as quickly.
This time, he was carrying a tall glass jar and a smaller Mason jar, as if he had gone to the grocery store across the street.
Eloise asked curiously, “What did you buy?”
“Milk and a jar of honey jam. It only cost nineteen cents.”
Thomas didn’t know why Eloise’s cooking skills had been declining lately, but he remembered he still had a bit of money in his pocket. Rather than risk losing it, he decided to spend it on improving their meals.
Hearing this, Bella jumped off the bed and rushed over to see what Thomas had brought back.
But after making the decision, Thomas hesitated at the door, suddenly shy as he looked at Eloise, worried she might scold him. In the past, Eloise would have reminded him that they were living under their aunt’s roof and had to follow her rules, that they couldn’t make decisions on their own, even with his own money.
But now, Eloise clearly didn’t think that way. She felt embarrassed that Thomas, the younger one, had to take care of such things.
Scratching her head awkwardly, she cleared her throat and said, “Why are you standing by the door? Come in and put the stuff down.”
Seeing that Eloise wasn’t going to scold him, Thomas relaxed, took out a deep plate, and cheerfully poured milk over the bread slices.
Eloise noticed the change in Thomas’s demeanor and pondered it.
When their parents were still alive, Eloise and Thomas had lived in a one-bedroom apartment with its own bathroom. Their parents worked on their boss’s ship, sometimes diving to catch fish and crabs, and other times gathering oysters and sea cucumbers on the shore. Though the work was hard and dangerous, the pay was good.
Their combined income fluctuated around thirty dollars a week. Back then, the siblings had even attended a private nursery school for a while and could enjoy milk and sweet jam from time to time.
But when the storm came, it destroyed their former life.
In the two years since they had moved in with their aunt, the original Eloise had always been overly cautious and restrained, constantly keeping Thomas in check, which had created a slight rift between the siblings.
Realizing this, Eloise smiled to herself. As the “cheap sister” who had taken over this body, she no longer felt the need to control Thomas’s choices. Instead, she might be able to bridge the gap between them.
Thomas took out a few plates, soaked the bread in the still-warm milk, added some honey, and shared it with Bella and Eloise.
Eloise could tell that Thomas was a good boy, and such a good boy shouldn't be buried in menial labor with no future.
She stirred the milk with a wooden spoon, her eyes downcast, and said, "Thomas, have you ever thought about what kind of work you want to do in the future? Would you like to learn a trade?"
Bella, sitting nearby, was engrossed in sipping the sweet milk. Hearing this, Thomas looked up in surprise at Eloise across the table.
His sister had never been one to concern herself with such forward-looking questions.
Thomas shook his head, his eyes filled with confusion. It seemed that Eloise's words had prompted him to think about the concept of "future" for the very first time.
He was just an ordinary boy, and without his parents, if it weren't for his aunt's kindness in taking him in and providing a place where he could find some warmth, he might have ended up as a beggar on the streets, suffering from hunger and cold, and being bullied by others.
With his background, what other future could he have besides delivering newspapers or doing hard labor?
Eloise pointed to the gloves spread out on the bed behind her and said, "It's only recently that I've come to realize I don't want to spend my whole life just sweeping stoves. That's why I've decided to learn how to be a seamstress."
"My plan is to start by making small things to earn a bit of money. Once I've saved up enough, I'll find a tailor's shop to work in, learn the craft, and see how real tailors make clothes."
"If I'm lucky enough to pick up a few skills, I hope to open my own tailor shop in the future."
Thomas didn't argue with Eloise's words. He had seen the gloves she made, and they looked no different from the ones in the second-hand shops—worth at least a few cents a pair. But he hadn't expected that Eloise would dream of opening a tailor shop.
The tailor shops on the street were so respectable, and the tailors themselves seemed so proud. The most famous tailors in New York rode around in carriages with their apprentices and assistants, visiting the mansions of the wealthy and powerful to make clothes for the upper-class ladies and gentlemen. It was as if they had one foot already in the unreachable clouds.
At first, Thomas thought Eloise was being a bit too ambitious, but then he reconsidered. She had only just started learning the craft, and already her work looked so presentable. Who was to say what she might achieve in the future?
"In the future, I want to become a lawyer," Thomas suddenly declared, putting down his spoon. If his sister could dream big, so could he.
This time, it was Eloise's turn to be surprised. Where had this little boy ever seen a lawyer?
Thomas chuckled and said, "Last night at the station, I met a gentleman who was a lawyer. He asked me to deliver a letter to the theater manager and paid me a good amount for it. He was such a kind man."
"Alright," Eloise said, finishing the last drop of milk from her plate. "Maybe you could start by working as an errand boy at a law firm, like me, and learn the trade by observing."
Thomas, seeing Eloise's serious expression, blushed and stammered, "How could I ever become a lawyer? I was just joking."
Eloise shook her head. "You won't know unless you try."
With that, she got up and cleared the plates, saving the leftover milk for her aunt and putting away the honey.
Then she returned to her gloves.
She planned to embroider flowers and polka dots over the worn-out parts of the fabric.
In her past life, she had worked in design and had made things herself, learning traditional embroidery along the way. This was no challenge for her.
She had chosen to start with simple gloves, and her conversation with Thomas today was also a way to lay the groundwork for her future plans as a seamstress. She didn't want her family to think she had been possessed by a witch, suddenly becoming skilled at everything.
By the afternoon, three neatly made pairs of short gloves had been washed and were left to dry overnight, ready to be worn.
In this era, wealthy young ladies often wore lace gloves that reached their elbows to balls, or gloves made of soft gauze adorned with tiny beads.
In winter or for everyday wear, they preferred gloves made of silk, suede, or velvet, trimmed with lace and ribbons—hardly suitable for work.
Some of these gloves came from tailor shops, while others were produced in factories specializing in women's accessories, where seamstresses worked on assembly lines to create items sold in accessory shops to the middle class.
Poorer families mostly used knitted gloves or the kind of cotton gloves Eloise was making, which only reached the wrists and had little decorative appeal.
Most of these were hastily sewn at home, with little regard for neatness, as long as they kept the wind out. Few people put as much effort into decorating them as Eloise did, and they often looked quite plain.
Any New York girl with a bit of ambition would save up a portion of her wages to buy a more fashionable pair from a second-hand shop or an accessory store.
That evening, when her aunt and Louise returned home, they saw the gloves Eloise had made, along with the socks she had washed, hanging by the window.
Even though Eloise had deliberately held back and not shown her full skill, Louise was still amazed, covering her mouth in surprise for a long moment.
She examined the gloves closely—the neat stitches, the delicate daisy embroidery that complemented the ginger-colored fabric, and the thoughtful design. It was clear that these weren't the work of an ordinary person sewing at home.
"Are you really giving these to me? If you sold them at a second-hand shop, you could probably get half a dollar for them!"
Eloise shook her head. She pulled Louise down to sit on the bed and explained, "Actually, this is what I'm thinking."
"I want to turn this into a long-term business."
"I could make gloves to sell on consignment. If I used new fabric, the price would be higher, and they might not be as cost-effective as factory-made gloves."
"So I was wondering if you and Auntie could wear these gloves at the hotel and show them off. If anyone asks, you can say I made them from old clothes. If they like them, you can suggest they bring their old clothes to me, and I'll turn them into gloves for a fee of forty cents a pair."
"Whether compared to second-hand shops, accessory stores, or tailor shops, this would be a much better deal." Eloise explained everything carefully to Louise.
Even her aunt understood and couldn't hide her delight. As she added coal to the stove to heat the milk Thomas had bought, she chimed in,
"This is simple. Louise doesn't have much else going for her, but she has plenty of friends. If she spreads the word for you, I'm sure people will come to you for business."
Louise laughed and lifted her chin proudly. "Of course! The girls I clean rooms with at the hotel are always looking for ways to dress up and catch the eye of a wealthy gentleman who doesn't mind their humble backgrounds."
"If you offer them something this beautiful and this cheap, it'll be easier than catching fish."
...
