For Keeps (Aggie's Inheritance) (12 page)


Just rest. I’ll go get your water and a bowl of grapes or something.


No more grapes. You have enough in me to ferment and get me drunk already.


How about cookies,

he suggested on his way out the door.

I happen to know Mom brought a whole container that she has hiding in the truck. I could bring a few in…


Done.

Luke ambled down the stairs, out to his truck, and snagged four cookies. In the kitchen, he put a napkin on a plate, set the cookies on it, and covered them with another napkin. He hesitated over water vs. milk, and then reached for the water pitcher in the fridge. Milk would get too warm too quickly, and Luke considered nothing more disgusting than warm milk. After a quick peek to ensure that Ian was snoozing happily, Luke climbed the stairs, humming a hymn he’d heard Aggie sing, but didn’t know.

She was already asleep when he stepped into her bedroom. Beads of perspiration formed on her forehead and upper lip, but she slept as soundly as her nephew. Luke stood watching her for a moment, before he put the plate and glass on the floor next to her, set up an oscillating fan to cool her, and shuffled back downstairs again. He wandered from room to room, looking at every change they’d made. Luke observed the difference in how she’d decorated some parts of the house as he noticed others that looked like they needed something to make it feel homier.

With her asleep upstairs, Luke couldn’t work on the closet, which left the back yard or the basement. He knew she had specific plans for differing areas of the yard, so he opened the door to the basement, flipped on the switch, and started downstairs. There was enough trash, junk, and filth in the basement to keep him busy for days. It was truly the worst part of the house.

An hour passed, two. Luke had hardly cleared the area at the foot of the stairs. Old paint cans, an ancient toaster, piles of rotting newspapers, and boxes of old mayonnaise jars made their way upstairs and into the dumpster as Luke worked his way through the trash. He wrinkled his nose at the musty dank scent that came with an old abandoned basement. Just as he was ready to grab a broom and sweep that one area, he heard the bubbly sounds of a fully awakened Ian calling,

Gaaa
--
gieee.

Luke abandoned the basement, hurrying upstairs to change his shirt and wash his hands and arms before he went to retrieve the baby. As he pulled the child from the pack ‘n’ play, he said,

Boy, your aunt is never going to live down being called ‘Gaggie.’ That’s priceless. Absolutely priceless.

 

 

Friday, August 8
th

 


Ok, Aggie. For Vannie, we have four skirts, four dresses, and two skorts. Is that everything? Does she need nightgowns?

No one could say that Libby Sullivan was a slacker.


Oh, Aunt Aggie. All of my winter ones were at my knees and elbows by the end of spring. My summer ones are so short and thin they’re indecent. Can I make a new summer one and a couple of winter ones?

Absently, Aggie nodded as she continued to look through boxes of fabric. Lost in an eclectic pile of fabric, Aggie didn’t hear Vannie’s excited squeal. Instead, she held up a piece of fabric for Libby’s inspection.

What about this? The kittens are so cute.

Luke’s mother smiled indulgently.

Well, it looks like there’s about a yard and a half at most. It’d be enough for a jumper for one of the twins…

Her voice trailed off as she thought of something new.

Aggie, I have an idea. Why don’t we go get a few t-shirts, and you can start with t-shirt dresses. They’re an easy way to start, and it’s so encouraging to have something finished in a very short amount of time.

As she spoke, Libby dug through the boxes and piles, pulling out some of the smaller pieces of fabric.


If you think that’s best, I’m for it. I thought t-shirt fabric was hard to sew, though?

Aggie watched, fascinated, as Libby cut snips of fabric from each piece, glued it to a piece of paper, and wrote shirt sizes next to each piece.

How do you know what size shirt to do?


Aggie, I have granddaughters. I had daughters. It just comes automatic for me.

She held up a finished list.

Do you think Tina would mind a trip into Brunswick?


Tina will go wherever my liege sends her.

Aggie thrust Libby’s list at her friend, and waved her out the door.

Get out of here and don’t come back until you have shirts and a chocolate caramel crunch cone. You’re grumpy.


Look who’s talking.


Point taken. Now go.

As Aggie returned to her work, Libby’s and Vannie’s eyes met across the room, and each shook her head.

The idea that she could create
something
worth wearing, even for sleeping or playing, was a bit incomprehensible to her. No matter how hard she tried to feel confident in Libby’s ability to teach her everything she needed to know, Aggie’s experience had taught her that machines with needles and she didn’t mix. Oil and water had a better chance of homogenizing naturally.

Libby picked up the beloved kitten fabric, and ignoring Aggie’s agape jaw, found the middle, and tore the fabric in half. Before the would-be seamstress could protest, Libby snipped several inches from one side of the fabric and tore it again. Aggie cringed.


Doesn’t that hurt the fabric?


Not this kind of fabric. It’s the easiest way to ensure you have a nice straight line,

Libby mumbled as she worked.


Can I work on my dress?

Before Aggie could answer, Libby nodded.

Of course. If you need any help, just let me know.

Amazed, Aggie watched as Vannie pulled out what was obviously a skirt to a dress, odd shaped pieces of fabric that turned out to be the bodice, and a length of uncut fabric and a pattern. The confidence with which Vannie laid the fabric on the table, adjusted the pattern to exactly where she wanted it, and then laid butter knives all around the perimeter and center of it was astounding. The girl cut the weird looking piece out and folded scraps, leftover fabric, and all, dropping them back in the plastic work bin.

Libby nodded her approval as she continued to tear fabric into what were supposed to become the skirts to Aggie’s t-shirt dresses. It appeared to her as if she could learn a lot from her niece. Vannie wasn’t as fluid and confident as Libby was, of course, but for a girl not yet thirteen, it was quite impressive.

As Libby explained what she was doing, talked about different aspects of construction, and tried to infuse a little general knowledge into her uncertain pupil, Aggie realized that sewing had its own strange language. She was certain that even Ms. Slade had never said anything about things like cross-grain, selvedges, or rotary cutters. In her understanding, bias was a preference and a facing had little to do with clothing and much to do with courage.

To everyone’s surprise, Tina burst through the door shouting,

Success!

The door slammed shut with a bang as she almost skipped into the library with two Wal-Mart bags on her arm. She found Libby’s fabric piles and pulled shirts from each bag, matching it with the fabric and comparing it with the list she still had in hand.

There. Now what do we do?

Libby glanced at Aggie.

How’s the ankle?


I haven’t had a pain pill in twelve hours and it only throbs if I put more than a little pressure on it. It’s fine.


Good. Have you ever used a machine?

Aggie tossed an annoyed look at Tina’s clearly audible snort.

Tina remembers my futile attempts in junior high. She would be wise,

Aggie added, determined not to look any more foolish than necessary,

to remember that she wasn’t exactly Martha Stewart herself.

Disappointment washed over Aggie as she sat at the machine, her left foot trying to work the foot pedal. Minutes ticked by as she

familiarized herself with the machine

and

tested the tension.

Her foot felt awkward when she tried to press down on the foot pedal, and controlling speed was nearly impossible, but she kept working with every part of the machine until she knew that a presser foot had nothing to do with ironing. It took her even longer to remember how to turn it off. After thirty minutes, Libby declared her ready to sew her first seam
--
exactly at the moment Laird ambled into the room carrying Ian and asking for lunch.


Is it noon already? Arrgh! I wanted to
do
something. I’ve been in here all morning, and I haven’t
done
anything.

Seeing the look on Laird’s face, she hurried to add, as she rose from the table,

So, what are we having for lunch anyway?

Despite her forced cheerfulness, her frustration was evident to all.


Well, I don’t know what you’re having, but I intend to have whatever casserole I smell cooking. I can almost taste it, and I assure you, it tastes heavenly.

Tina gave an exaggerated sniff and reached over to rub Ian’s pudgy little belly.

You want some too, don’t you little man?

As if it appeared on command, the aroma of a chicken and broccoli casserole tantalized Aggie’s senses.

Oh, what is that? It smells so good.

She glanced around her.

Where are the girls?


Which ones? You have five, you know.

Tina’s mockery answered the question. Wherever the girls were, Tina not only knew their location but also what they’d been doing.


Very funny. Ok, so you know the kids are safe. That’s good. I guess we go dish up our mystery dish.


It’s not much of a mystery, Aggie,

Libby insisted. I just pulled a frozen casserole from my freezer this morning and had Luke pop it in while we worked. I suspected he’d be serving it for us while we sewed, but this’ll give him a break. He’s been playing hard.

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