HISTORICAL FICTION By Michael G. Malaghan
As Kenji drove off, Haru padded over to her Singer. “A seamstress day,” she addressed the new machine, all the while thinking, You are the only good outcome of my meeting with Okumura. She sat down beside the pile of her sons’ trousers — some needed to be shortened, others lengthened.
Thirty minutes into her sewing project, the sharp, short ring of the front doorbell interrupted her stitching of Tommy’s cuffs. Seconds later, she heard a thunk, followed by the soft whishing of an envelope. She waited for the clunk of the wooden flap slapping the mail chute before investigating the day’s post, but, already, her mood had lightened. The thunk meant she had received a catalog. Which one? Last week, she had received the Montgomery Ward winter catalog. Upon entering the foyer, she was surprised to see an unfamiliar tome and stopped to read the spine: Spiegel.