last summer and helped me refinish. The morning ticked on and the bridesmaid’s dress took shape and I thought of how amazing it was to see a pattern come to life under my hands.
I would have stayed content that day, happy even, had it not been for Boohoo.
I was stitching a wide cuff when Boohoo came in for the umpteenth time. I didn’t look up, or listen as he chattered about what he’d found. I was too busy sewing and grooving to my Creedence Clearwater Revival album. “Evy, look. Look!”
“Just a minute,” I told him when he got louder than the stereo. I circled the fabric under the bobbing needle to finish the sleeve, keeping my eye on the seam I was stitching.
And then Boohoo started yelling loud enough to cut through the chorus of “Proud Mary.” “Get back here, Hoppy! You’re gonna fall and break your neck!”
I turned, and there was Boohoo, his muddy knee hooked on the edge of my worktable, one leg teetering on a footstool. “Boohoo!” I screeched. He was on the table by the time I got to my feet, his grubby hands reaching for the fat toad tangled with orange yarn that hopped over Jo’s gown.
“What are you doing?” I shouted when I saw the snow-whiteskirt folding like an accordion under Boohoo’s grubby knees, tiny clumps of damp soil dropping from his mitts as the toad leapt out of his hand and he reached for him again.
“Don’t worry, Evy, I got him! I got him!” Boohoo stood up on the dress, and when I screamed, he quickly leapt to the floor. He held up his hand, his fingers squishing the toad’s pale green potbelly, its legs dangling.
I looked down at the trail of dirt over the lace bodice, and the smudged, crumpled skirt. I clutched my head. “Boohoo, look what you’ve done!”
Boohoo’s smile faded and he looked at the table. “I’m sorry, Evy,” he said. And before I could stop him, he reached out and brushed the dirt into one long, dark streak, grinding it into the lace covered fabric. “Stop!” I screamed.
Boohoo tilted his wrist and looked at his palm. Then he moved the toad so he could see the dress, too. “You peed,” he told him.
I sent Boohoo back to Aunt Verdella’s, then sat down, my arms going limp between my knees. I’d never get our gummy, clay soil out of that dress without leaving a stain. Not in a million years. I could only hope that Linda had enough of the same fabrics on hand and didn’t need to run to Porter to replace them, if spot cleaning didn’t work. The wedding was in four weeks and the beading alone would take me forever.
I’d finish the second sleeve of the bridesmaid’s gown, then go across the street and call Linda. I’d tell her to take the new fabric out of my salary, if it needed to be resewn. I’d offer to remake the gown myself, and assure her that I
could
sew a wedding dress from start to finish. I’d apologize profusely to Marge, since she, not Linda, had sewn the dress, because Linda couldn’t sew even as well as me. She was simply a businesswoman who loved the glitz of weddings, and wanted to keep Ma’s vision alive since they’d been such close friends. She’d hired Marge and Hazel, sisters who worked out of theirhomes for years, sewing for family and neighbors who couldn’t afford the time or money for a trip to the Twin Cities, or down to the southern part of the state, yet needed something special to wear to a wedding or prom and didn’t want to show up at the event in a dress from the Montgomery Ward catalog, that at least five other women would be wearing. I sighed again. Even if the stains could be worked out of the gown, I’d be giving everyone extra work and worry.
The record was finished, the needle making
chh-it, chh-it
sounds as the turntable spun past the last track. Downstairs, Tommy’s truck started. I leaned back in my chair and reached for the lever to play the album again, but before my hand hit its mark, I heard Tommy shout, “Boohoo!” And then Aunt Verdella’s voice screaming the same. I
I would have stayed content that day, happy even, had it not been for Boohoo.
I was stitching a wide cuff when Boohoo came in for the umpteenth time. I didn’t look up, or listen as he chattered about what he’d found. I was too busy sewing and grooving to my Creedence Clearwater Revival album. “Evy, look. Look!”
“Just a minute,” I told him when he got louder than the stereo. I circled the fabric under the bobbing needle to finish the sleeve, keeping my eye on the seam I was stitching.
And then Boohoo started yelling loud enough to cut through the chorus of “Proud Mary.” “Get back here, Hoppy! You’re gonna fall and break your neck!”
I turned, and there was Boohoo, his muddy knee hooked on the edge of my worktable, one leg teetering on a footstool. “Boohoo!” I screeched. He was on the table by the time I got to my feet, his grubby hands reaching for the fat toad tangled with orange yarn that hopped over Jo’s gown.
“What are you doing?” I shouted when I saw the snow-whiteskirt folding like an accordion under Boohoo’s grubby knees, tiny clumps of damp soil dropping from his mitts as the toad leapt out of his hand and he reached for him again.
“Don’t worry, Evy, I got him! I got him!” Boohoo stood up on the dress, and when I screamed, he quickly leapt to the floor. He held up his hand, his fingers squishing the toad’s pale green potbelly, its legs dangling.
I looked down at the trail of dirt over the lace bodice, and the smudged, crumpled skirt. I clutched my head. “Boohoo, look what you’ve done!”
Boohoo’s smile faded and he looked at the table. “I’m sorry, Evy,” he said. And before I could stop him, he reached out and brushed the dirt into one long, dark streak, grinding it into the lace covered fabric. “Stop!” I screamed.
Boohoo tilted his wrist and looked at his palm. Then he moved the toad so he could see the dress, too. “You peed,” he told him.
I sent Boohoo back to Aunt Verdella’s, then sat down, my arms going limp between my knees. I’d never get our gummy, clay soil out of that dress without leaving a stain. Not in a million years. I could only hope that Linda had enough of the same fabrics on hand and didn’t need to run to Porter to replace them, if spot cleaning didn’t work. The wedding was in four weeks and the beading alone would take me forever.
I’d finish the second sleeve of the bridesmaid’s gown, then go across the street and call Linda. I’d tell her to take the new fabric out of my salary, if it needed to be resewn. I’d offer to remake the gown myself, and assure her that I
could
sew a wedding dress from start to finish. I’d apologize profusely to Marge, since she, not Linda, had sewn the dress, because Linda couldn’t sew even as well as me. She was simply a businesswoman who loved the glitz of weddings, and wanted to keep Ma’s vision alive since they’d been such close friends. She’d hired Marge and Hazel, sisters who worked out of theirhomes for years, sewing for family and neighbors who couldn’t afford the time or money for a trip to the Twin Cities, or down to the southern part of the state, yet needed something special to wear to a wedding or prom and didn’t want to show up at the event in a dress from the Montgomery Ward catalog, that at least five other women would be wearing. I sighed again. Even if the stains could be worked out of the gown, I’d be giving everyone extra work and worry.
The record was finished, the needle making
chh-it, chh-it
sounds as the turntable spun past the last track. Downstairs, Tommy’s truck started. I leaned back in my chair and reached for the lever to play the album again, but before my hand hit its mark, I heard Tommy shout, “Boohoo!” And then Aunt Verdella’s voice screaming the same. I
Similar Books
