That was when I remembered his finger pointing at me. The black on his fingertip. Was it grease? Or was it paint? Black paint from a spray can? Paint that wouldn’t wash off?
I put my arms around my big sister and held her again the way our mother used to. I wanted to tell her about the paint on his finger, how someone using spray paint would get it on their forefinger if they weren’t careful, but she didn’t need to feel any sadder than she already felt. I felt sad for her and for my flowers and for the church windows. I wanted to cry, too. “It’s OK,” I said. “It’s OK. Everything will be all right.” But I didn’t see how anything would be OK ever again.
My flowers were dead. Kelvin would go to jail. Angel would be sad, and Kayden wouldn’t have a father.
I wished my father was at home. Dad would know what to do.
Chapter 16
Two Days!
When Dad came home, he and Mum agreed that Angel needed to stay with us. Dad said that Kelvin wasn’t grown up enough yet to look after a family. He said Kelvin needed to finish school and prove himself worthy before he could think of stealing away his daughter. That made me feel a lot better, and I think it made Angel feel a lot better.
Sewing is a breeze now. I’ve been sewing nearly every day for more than a month, and instead of making just basic tote bags, I have started to branch out. I remembered the drawings Angel had made of purses, and I cut pieces of fabric to follow her designs. I made swimming bags with pieces of cord for straps, and fancy purses with curved flaps and fringes. One of my best ones had a brown and white pattern with a long fringe that danced when you touched it.
I sewed every night, not just because the African grandmothers needed help, but because I discovered that I loved sewing. I was worried that I would run out of material, but it seemed that every time my supply ran low, someone heard about what I was doing and donated something: fabric, thread, buttons, beads, tassels, and fringes. Mrs. Martinez, Mrs. Buchanan, and Lila seemed to be best at spreading the news. Every time I saw them, they gave me new things. Even people from Strathmore had heard about what I was doing and had started sending odds and ends. Sometimes they were big pieces of fabric and sometimes just scraps and bits that I could match up with another piece to make a purse. One of the boys at Sequoia brought in long, narrow scraps of leather that his grandmother had given him. We braided three of them together, and he sewed the ends onto a purse to make a shoulder strap. He also took a piece and snipped it evenly along the short edge to make a fringe. I sewed that piece onto the flap of the same purse. Another boy had an idea to make strings of beads to decorate the sides of some tote bags, so we tried that, too.
Soon basic tote bags were made unique
by adding pockets and decorative trim.
Shoulder straps had to be pinned carefully,
but made the bags look different.
Usually I sewed on the machine at home, and did the hand-sewing of buttons and fringes and toggles when I went to Sequoia after school. It helped that Dad was home more often now and that Mum was pretty much back to normal. I had less housework to do and more time to sew, sew, sew.
I just wished it was brighter inside the church basement. It’s hard to sew without the proper light. Two of the windows were still boarded up, so it was fairly dark inside, even when it was bright and sunny outside. Workers with a big window on the side of their truck were outside the church and working with power tools to replace the church window. I hoped it would have colored glass like the old one. I didn’t know what they were going to do about the awful words written on the side of the church. Some of the boys had scrubbed at the words with cleaners and wire brushes, but they hadn’t come off. I hoped the words wouldn’t be there forever to remind me about what had happened to my plants.
A lot of people – even boys –
became interested in the project.
A few of the girls at Sequoia were becoming interested in what I was doing. I had shown some girls how to do fancy embroidery stitches and some hand-sewing. Some of the girls – and the guys – were interested in learning how to use a sewing machine, so Mrs. B. said she would try to get one or two for the school. She said I could help teach the class, which was exciting. She was also going to ask my dad to help. She said he would be a good role model for the boys.
I was hand-sewing the diamond pattern I’d beaded with Kahasi onto a purse when Trisha asked, “Can you make something for me? Come on, I need a bag to carry things now that I have a baby.” She’d had her baby three weeks before, a little boy with hair so black and thick that it looked like fur.
I told her I couldn’t make something for her because I was making purses for African grandmothers.
“Why do African grandmothers need purses? I need a purse. I don’t think they need them,” she said.
“Come on, Trisha. You know I’m going to sell them,” I said. “When I get enough finished, Mrs. B. is going to take them to Calgary and give them to the Grandmothers to Grandmothers group there. They’ll sell them and send the money to Africa to help the children. So, if you want one, you have to buy it.”
“But I don’t have any money to buy one. This one is really nice,” she said, picking up the tote bag with the big sunflowers on the sides and bottom. She put it on her shoulder and walked around. “I like this one, but it should have a pocket on the outside,” she said, putting it down and picking up another one. “Oooo, this one is nice.”
“That one’s not done yet,” I said. She had picked up one made of soft blue corduroy. “That sparkly part is just pinned on, so be careful.” She held it up to the light and moved it back and forth so it would sparkle.
“I could show you how to sew,” I offered. “Maybe you could help me, and I could help you, and we could both help the grandmothers.”
Trisha glanced over at Mrs. B.’s desk, then she picked up a needle and snipped a piece of blue thread from the spool. “OK, what do I do?” she said, trying to fit the thread into the eye of the needle. I showed her how to wet the end of the thread before threading the needle, and how to roll the thread in her fingers to make a knot in the end.
“You can work on that applique if you want – the bird-shaped one you like so much.” She picked up the blue purse, and I taught her how to make the running stitch that Kahasi had first shown me. “Small stitches,” I said, just the way my grandmother had. “The smaller the better.”
Trisha stuck out her tongue a little as she concentrated on making a line of stitches along the side of the sparkly bird. She was slow, but her sewing was neat and surprisingly straight.
“Trish-a…” Mrs. B. called. She said her name very slowly, so Trisha knew to move fast.
“I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to be doing something else. I’ll finish this tomorrow, OK?” she whispered.
I nodded and went to pick up one of the babies, who needed his diaper changed. When I came out of the bathroom, Mrs. B. was talking on the phone and looking straight at me. As soon as she hung up, she said, “Lacey, you will never believe this! The grandmothers are coming. They are coming here! To Gleichen! To Sequoia!”
“You mean the African grandmothers? They are going to come all the way here?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she said. She had jumped up from her desk and was bouncing up and down like a little kid. “Two of the African grandmothers are in Canada right now. They are here promoting the Grandmothers to Grandmothers campaign, telling people about it and trying to get more support. It turns out they have an extra day, and rather than go to Banff or Jasper or anywhere else for a little holiday, they want to come here. They want to meet you!”
“Me? But I…I’ve hardly done anything yet. I…well…I…I guess it would be nice to meet them. But I…” I put the baby back in the playpen with some toys and picked up the blue purse. All these piles of fabric and buttons made me want to keep on sewing and never stop.
“Maybe we can have a party,” she said. “Yes, of course we’ll have a party. Oh my, we have so much to do.�
�
“Don’t worry,” I said. “The grandmothers must be very busy. It will take them a long time to get here.”
The elders taught the boys how
to set up the school’s tepee.
“No, they are in Calgary right now. They will be here in just two days!”
“Two days?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Two days is not enough time.”
“It may not be enough, but it’s all that we have,” said Mrs. B. “Let’s see. We’ll get the school tepee set up, and we’ll have to invite the elders. Oh, and some of the people from the school board. We’ll have to have food, lots of food…” She went on talking but I wasn’t listening. I wasn’t worried about food or the tepee or guests. I had a much bigger problem.
How was I going to make enough purses for the grandmothers in just two days?
Chapter 17
Help!
That one next,” I said, pointing. “Use this pattern. Angel, I need that silvery thread. Hurry up! We can’t waste time.” I felt like an army sergeant ordering my mother and my big sister around, but it felt good to have the help. The pile of purses beside Angel kept growing. My mum cut out the patterns, I sewed, Angel trimmed the threads and ironed the seams, and Dad added buttons and snaps. Trisha had stopped in for a little while to help, but her baby was fussing and cranky, so she took him home. A few other people stopped by, too, because they had heard about the African grandmothers coming and were curious to see what was happening. I wouldn’t let anyone talk very long. I’d just say, “Hi,” and “Could you sew on that button?” or “Can “ you check that that zipper works properly?” or “Can you spread out that material on the counter for Mum?” I kept putting people to work. We needed all the help we could get, even if it was just for five or ten minutes each. But mostly, it was just me and my family that night.
“Isn’t this enough, Lacey?” Angel whined.
“How many are finished?”
“Twelve,” she counted. “I’m tired. Can’t twelve be enough?”
I looked at the clock on the stove. Almost ten – way past my bedtime. I hoped my mum and dad wouldn’t notice. “We have to keep going,” I insisted.
Angel pouted, but she didn’t put down the scissors. Fabric that people had given me was spread all over the kitchen counter, the table, and the coffee table from the living room. Kahasi was sitting in a comfortable chair we had moved into the doorway, half in the kitchen and half in the hall. She was helping with the detail work, sewing on appliques and buttons and braiding shoulder straps. She did all this nearly at the same time as she was beading little crosses. For someone old, she could sure do a lot of things. The Siksika grandmothers were making rosaries with beaded crosses to give to the African grandmothers. They would be a sign of love from the Siksika grandmothers.“I don’t want to let anyone down,” I said. “Look at all this beautiful material. How would you feel if you gave me material to make purses, and then, on the day of the sale, you couldn’t find any made from your material? Besides, the more we make, the more we can sell. And the more we can sell, the more money we can give to the African grandmothers.”
Twenty-seven purses were finished by the time
the late-night sewing session ended.
Angel sighed loudly.“Yah, yah, I know. The grandmothers need our help, but how many will be enough?”
I looked at Mum. “I’ve only got until tomorrow. I’d like to keep going until I’m too tired to make the stitches straight or until I run out of material.” Angel groaned dramatically. “Am I allowed to Mum? Can I stay up late?” I wished the sewing machine was quieter when it sewed. I wished I were invisible.
But I don’t think Mum heard my question. She was too busy concentrating on the cutting.
A wrestling match was going on in the living room, and Dad had put down his sewing to play. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s the Elimination Chamber,” he said in a loud announcer’s voice. “Look out, crowd. Here comes…the Term-in-a-tor!” He threw away his pretend microphone and jumped into the middle of the boys who were sprawled and play-fighting all over the living room. They’d keep at it until someone was crying, and then Dad would send the younger ones to bed. We were all allowed to stay up late because no one was going to school tomorrow. Everyone was coming to the celebration for the African grandmothers.
Finally, my mum answered me, nodding ever so slightly, a tired smile crossing her face. “Yes, you may stay up late, but maybe not as late as you want,” she said. She didn’t mention that we’d been sewing almost nonstop for nearly six hours.
Neither she nor Kahasi could help with the machine sewing, because they didn’t know how, but Mum turned out to be swift and accurate with a pair of scissors, and Kahasi just kept on and on at the detail work, as if she were a machine. With every seam I sewed, I thought about those African grandmothers and their dying children. Staying up late and sewing was easy compared to having family members pass on, especially if they passed away young.
“You’ll be there, Kahasi, won’t you?” I asked.
My sister rolled her eyes as if it was a stupid question.
“I don’t know,” said Kahasi. “I’d like to see how these women look, but it might be too many people there for me. Besides, me, I don’t know what I would say to someone from Africa.”
“I think you’d say, ‘Hello, I’m glad to meet you.’”
She chuckled her soft laugh. “Yes, I suppose that would be a good place to start.”
It was as dark as a cave outside when I looked out the window. Not even the moon was shining. I blinked my eyes slowly. They felt full of sand. My eyes were begging me to sleep, but my mind said to keep going.
“Lacey, my girl, I think it’s time,” Mum said, laying both her hands gently on my shoulders.
“How many?” I asked. We counted the purses as we put them in a big plastic bin.
“Twenty-seven,” Mum said. “Twenty-seven! I can’t believe it.” She smiled, and I smiled too. In my mind, I added the twenty-seven, plus the ones I’d made in the past few weeks, and the one I still had to finish. There’d probably be a good selection, and if people bought them, I could probably make a couple of hundred dollars for the African grandmothers. I was snipping the threads of the last one – number twenty-eight – and thinking about what the African grandmothers might buy with the money, when Mum took it from my hands and dropped it in the bin. “Twenty eight,” she said. “I think twenty-eight is the right amount for one girl and one mother and one sister and one old grandmother to make. You need to get some sleep. Tomorrow is a big day, and you’ll need to catch the early bus.”
“But can’t I just finish…”
“No,” Mum said. “It’s time for bed.”
I stumbled down the hallway to my pink bedroom. I didn’t stop at the bathroom to brush my teeth, and I didn’t bother with my nightdress. I just crawled into bed wearing all my daytime clothes. I hoped my teeth wouldn’t rot during the night, but I was willing to take the chance.
Chapter 18
Kelvin Speaks Up
“What do you mean, I can’t take this on the bus?” I asked Cheryl, the school bus driver. “I have to take this to school. It’s really important.”
“No, it’s too big. It’s against regulations. There’s no place to put it. You’re not allowed to block the aisle and it’s too big to put under the seat.”
“I can put it on the seat beside me, and the sewing machine under the seat,” I said, lifting the bin with the twenty-eight purses onto the bus.
“We’d have to leave someone behind. There wouldn’t be enough room, Lacey.”
I looked at my sister yawning at the bottom of the bus steps. She had Kayden in her arms and the sewing machine in its case by her feet. “Angel will stay behind and catch the later bus,” I offered. “That leaves one seat empty, plus Kayden’s car seat space. So then there’s enough room.”
Cheryl looked down at Angel. “That OK with you?”
“Sure,” Angel said, yaw
ning again. “I had a late night. Too bad I didn’t know before I got out of bed.”
I beamed at Angel. “Thank you! I’ll make it up to you,” I promised, as I took the sewing machine from her.
Unusual things were already happening by the time Cheryl dropped me off at Sequoia. A television crew was there, and a reporter introduced himself. The reporters all wanted to talk to me, but there was still work to be done. While TV people were setting up cameras, the boys from Sequoia were rearranging the church pews. They even set up a table for the sewing machine.
“Can you set up some tables for a display, too?” I asked. “I have a lot of purses I’d like to show.” I left the sewing machine and the purses on the table and ran downstairs to help Mrs. B. and Lila with the feast. Two of the reporters followed me and took pictures of me and the other people helping. They asked everybody questions while we chopped vegetables and mixed frozen juice.
Mrs. B. was stirring a huge pot of chili on the stove, and Lila was talking quickly, firing off commands to everyone within earshot. “Lacey, peel those carrots and cut them into sticks,” she said, as soon as she saw me. “Trisha, get back here. This lettuce needs to be torn into smaller pieces. Think bite-size. Where are those boys? We need set-up down here, too.
“Come on! Hurry up! Eh stu! They’ll be here soon, and we have to be ready.”
Lacey and the African Grandmothers Page 8
