expected and a lot harder than it looked. Her first practice scraps of material slipped and twisted under the needle. Her seams were so crooked, she wanted to hide them.
Grandma tsked her tongue but said only, “Never mind. It’s all part of learning.”
While they sat side by side at the machine, Lexie felt closer to Grandma than she ever had before. It confused her when she thought about it. She felt close to Grandma, but she wasn’t friends with Jack anymore. It was easier to keep her mind on the sewing.
Rocking her feet on the treadle while her hands guided the material was like patting her head and rubbing her stomach at the same time. Threads tangled and broke. Bobbin thread snarled. Sometimes she pulled the fabric too fast and the stitches got too far apart. Just when she had it, the needle broke.
That sharp
snap!
went through Lexie almost as if the needle had poked her hand. “Oh! I broke it!”
“We have another.” While Grandma unscrewed the tiny wheel and replaced the broken needle, she got a faraway look on her face. “Did I ever tell you about the first needle I broke?”
As they worked, Grandma told stories about her own first lessons on the treadle machine. She put her hand over Lexie’s to help guide the fabric. She felt warm and comfortable, and Lexie liked hearing her stories.
Jack had avoided Lexie since the fight on Monday. She told herself she didn’t care. If he didn’t talk to her, he wouldn’t play jokes on her, and that was just the way she wanted it.
On Friday, she hurried from school eager to finish the dress, but stopped in the hall. Grandma and Grandpa were talking in the kitchen. Mama always said eavesdroppers never heard good about themselves, but a sharp tone in Grandma’s voice held Lexie in the doorway, listening.
“I have more common sense in my little finger than that woman has in her entire body,” Grandma said, her voice rising. “It’s not right to raise the child’s hopes.”
Grandpa answered more quietly. Lexie couldn’t make out his words, but her breath caught when she heard her name. They
were
talking about her.
“Who would accompany her?” Grandma demanded. “She could not travel alone, and steamship tickets do not grow on trees.”
Lexie’s thoughts swirled. Steamship tickets . . . travel. The need to know more propelled her into the kitchen. “Have you heard from Mama?”
Grandpa glanced at Grandma. There was no gentleness on her face as she shoved an envelope into her apron pocket. “If a matter concerns you, young lady, you will know soon enough. Right now, I believe you have homework.”
Lexie looked at Grandpa, hoping he would say something, but he simply picked up his newspaper and settled into his chair by the stove.
Later
, Lexie decided, watching Grandma busy herself at the table with the envelope still in her pocket.
I’ll ask her again when she’s in a better mood.
That night, she dreamed letters flew about her, just out of reach. She grabbed for them, but they fluttered from the tips of her fingers while Mama’s voice laughed lightly from their folds.
The chance to ask about the letter crammed into Grandma’s pocket never quite came. Grandma kept busy and kept Lexie busy. Grandpa’s thoughts seemed always on his work at the bank.
Grandma helped set sleeves into the doll’s dress and make a sash of contrasting blue. There was enough of the blue material to make a matching collar. After supper on Sunday, Lexie sat at the kitchen table, hand-sewing the hem with tiny stitches because Grandma said machine stitches would show.
The brassy sound of big-band music curled around the room from Grandpa’s radio. He rocked in his chair near the cookstove, reading his newspaper. Nearby, Grandma worked on her ironing. A tempting smell of cinnamon apples from a pie set out for later scented the room along with the warm smell of freshly ironed cotton.
We’re a family
, Lexie thought, almost surprised.
We really feel like a family
Grandma tsked her tongue but said only, “Never mind. It’s all part of learning.”
While they sat side by side at the machine, Lexie felt closer to Grandma than she ever had before. It confused her when she thought about it. She felt close to Grandma, but she wasn’t friends with Jack anymore. It was easier to keep her mind on the sewing.
Rocking her feet on the treadle while her hands guided the material was like patting her head and rubbing her stomach at the same time. Threads tangled and broke. Bobbin thread snarled. Sometimes she pulled the fabric too fast and the stitches got too far apart. Just when she had it, the needle broke.
That sharp
snap!
went through Lexie almost as if the needle had poked her hand. “Oh! I broke it!”
“We have another.” While Grandma unscrewed the tiny wheel and replaced the broken needle, she got a faraway look on her face. “Did I ever tell you about the first needle I broke?”
As they worked, Grandma told stories about her own first lessons on the treadle machine. She put her hand over Lexie’s to help guide the fabric. She felt warm and comfortable, and Lexie liked hearing her stories.
Jack had avoided Lexie since the fight on Monday. She told herself she didn’t care. If he didn’t talk to her, he wouldn’t play jokes on her, and that was just the way she wanted it.
On Friday, she hurried from school eager to finish the dress, but stopped in the hall. Grandma and Grandpa were talking in the kitchen. Mama always said eavesdroppers never heard good about themselves, but a sharp tone in Grandma’s voice held Lexie in the doorway, listening.
“I have more common sense in my little finger than that woman has in her entire body,” Grandma said, her voice rising. “It’s not right to raise the child’s hopes.”
Grandpa answered more quietly. Lexie couldn’t make out his words, but her breath caught when she heard her name. They
were
talking about her.
“Who would accompany her?” Grandma demanded. “She could not travel alone, and steamship tickets do not grow on trees.”
Lexie’s thoughts swirled. Steamship tickets . . . travel. The need to know more propelled her into the kitchen. “Have you heard from Mama?”
Grandpa glanced at Grandma. There was no gentleness on her face as she shoved an envelope into her apron pocket. “If a matter concerns you, young lady, you will know soon enough. Right now, I believe you have homework.”
Lexie looked at Grandpa, hoping he would say something, but he simply picked up his newspaper and settled into his chair by the stove.
Later
, Lexie decided, watching Grandma busy herself at the table with the envelope still in her pocket.
I’ll ask her again when she’s in a better mood.
That night, she dreamed letters flew about her, just out of reach. She grabbed for them, but they fluttered from the tips of her fingers while Mama’s voice laughed lightly from their folds.
The chance to ask about the letter crammed into Grandma’s pocket never quite came. Grandma kept busy and kept Lexie busy. Grandpa’s thoughts seemed always on his work at the bank.
Grandma helped set sleeves into the doll’s dress and make a sash of contrasting blue. There was enough of the blue material to make a matching collar. After supper on Sunday, Lexie sat at the kitchen table, hand-sewing the hem with tiny stitches because Grandma said machine stitches would show.
The brassy sound of big-band music curled around the room from Grandpa’s radio. He rocked in his chair near the cookstove, reading his newspaper. Nearby, Grandma worked on her ironing. A tempting smell of cinnamon apples from a pie set out for later scented the room along with the warm smell of freshly ironed cotton.
We’re a family
, Lexie thought, almost surprised.
We really feel like a family
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