The Lost Button

Chapter 2

The next day, Tara didn’t go to school because it was Saturday. She helped her sister and mother with chores, then headed to Mrs. Klara’s place. As soon as she entered, she noticed a red fabric draped over a chair. Ema was charging a customer, and once she was done, she turned to Tara. “Well, you finally got lucky.'' -“How so?” Tara asked.

“The woman who ordered two dresses changed her mind. She only wants one now. And she bought double the material. Mom said you can have the rest, so you don’t have to struggle with those scraps anymore.”

“Really?” Tara asked, surprised. “Is it possible? I’ll finally make a dress from one piece of fabric?”

“And in one color,” Ema added with a giggling smile, hugging Tara. Although Ema was two years older, they had become good friends over time. Ema had always wanted a sibling, and as an only child, she found companionship in Tara. They spent a lot of time together working in the atelier, which allowed them to grow close.

At that moment, Mrs. Klara entered. She was carrying bags full of materials for work. “That’s how I like to see you two. Help me with these bags, I’m about to drop dead,” she said, handing the bags to the girls and adjusting her bun. Elegant in her demeanor, in her fifties, Klara gave the impression of a true lady. She was strict but fair. She knew how to reprimand Tara and Ema when needed but also praised them when deserved. “I just told Tara about the red fabric. She got as excited as a little kid.'' -“And she should be. Dreaming is nice, but it’s even better when you make those dreams come true. And that won’t happen with tattered fabrics,” Klara said, pointing a finger in the air as if emphasizing something. “I picked out a dress for my next creation last night. It’ll finally look like something. I’ll show it to you as soon as I’m done.'' -“It better look like something,” Klara said in a stern voice, then added with a smile, “If you need anything extra—buttons, beads—take whatever you want.”

Tara got to work. She had finished most of today’s chores yesterday, so now she could focus on her dress. A moment of silence was interrupted by a customer entering. “Good day,” Ema said, approaching a middle-aged woman wearing a hat. “Dear, I need Klara. I have to thank her in person.” Ema went to fetch her mother, and the woman with the hat approached Tara. “Are you sewing something?” she asked curiously. “I’m making a dress, my first one,” Tara replied. “That’s wonderful. I knew Klara supported young talents.” At that moment, Klara entered the atelier. She had been in the tailor’s room with two employees, overseeing their work. “Oh, dear Klara! I had to come in person to thank you. Two nights ago, I wore your dress, you know, the green one with the open back. The whole evening, people kept asking me where I got it. They were certain it was the work of some Italian or French designer,” the woman said in one breath. “I’m glad you’re pleased. I’m very proud of that piece myself,” Klara replied. “Whatever you need, my dear, just call me. I owe you. Next month, they’re bringing me new fabrics, so expect me back.”

Klara escorted the customer to the exit and turned to Ema and Tara. “I don’t feel comfortable sewing for the occupiers’ associates. But I have to. Not so much for myself, but for all of us who depend on this atelier.”

“If it weren’t for those women who still want to dress up, we wouldn’t see even a scrap of these fabrics,” Ema said, gesturing toward the stacks of materials on the shelves.

“My Ema, everything comes at a price. I just hope we don’t end up paying too dearly for this,” Klara replied.

Tara worked until the afternoon; on Saturdays, the atelier closed earlier. She took the dress home, so excited that she couldn’t wait until Monday to continue working on it. She walked quickly through the streets when a scene caught her attention. Several boys, mostly Roma, were polishing the boots of German soldiers. The soldiers were laughing, smoking cigarettes, and talking in German. Some of the boys would steal a quick glance upward, but they quickly returned to their work. They were known for their skill, but as the occupation dragged on, they didn’t have enough work. Nor did they dare refuse to clean the soldiers’ boots. For a moment, Tara paused, recalling Klara’s words. She wondered if she could ever work for someone who supported these occupiers—or for the occupiers themselves. She convinced herself she couldn’t. “Maybe I’d deliberately make ugly dresses,” she thought to herself.

Tara felt sorry for those children. She couldn’t help them. She thought they must be even more afraid than she was around those people. She continued walking back home. Along the way, she looked at the shops. Some were completely empty—no customers, no goods. Others were full. In wartime, some always found a way to profit at the expense of others. Now was their time.

Tara remembered that Nera’s birthday was approaching. Her eldest sister was born at the end of September. “I could buy her something as a gift. But what? And with what?” She calculated how much money she had. She knew she had to save, as the food ration coupons they received weren’t enough. If it weren’t for the garden and Damian, who brought whatever he could from his farm, they would have struggled to get by. Before the war started, Nera had worked as a typist for a lawyer. When he was arrested for being Jewish, Nera lost her job. Thinking she didn’t have enough for a gift, Tara realized she was holding the dress she had started making. “Who better than my sister to wear my first real creation?” she thought aloud, a smile spreading across her face. “I need to take her measurements. The dress has to fit her perfectly. She already knows I’ve started making a dress. I’ll pretend I’m making it for myself. That way, the gift will be a real surprise.”

As she approached the neighborhood, she saw a familiar face—her classmate, Matthew. After finishing school, he planned to enroll in the aviation academy. He was determined to become a pilot. When he spotted Tara, he walked toward her and said, “I haven’t seen you in a few days. What’s that you’re carrying?” he asked, glancing at the large box.

“I’m making a dress; there’s a lot of work to do,” Tara replied. “Maybe you’d have seen me if you hadn’t skipped school. Where were you anyway?”

Matthew laughed and said, “I can’t tell you. Top secret.”

Tara teased him, mimicking his voice: “Top secret. You really think you’re interesting with all that mystery.”

“Come on, let me help you. Hand me that box,” he said.

“Since I’ve already carried it this far on my own, I’m good. Thanks for offering'', then she added, “Are you coming on Monday?”

“Where?” Matthew asked, confused.

“To school, where else?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m coming. You’ll have to help me with the lessons, as usual,” he said with a wink and a big smile.

Tara swallowed hard. She cleared her throat and said loudly, “We both know who’s the smarter one here.”

She felt her cheeks burning. Whenever Matthew smiled or winked at her, her heart would skip a beat. She swallowed her nerves, but her pride wouldn’t let her show it. Or at least, she thought she’d managed to hide it.