For Keeps (Aggie's Inheritance)

by Havig, Chautona

  Libby and Tina, sensing Aggie’s growing irritability with immobility and the constant noise, called for the children to don their swimsuits and get in the van. Libby set up the pack ‘n’ play in the mudroom and put Ian down for a nap in there, leaving strict instructions for Aggie to get Luke’s help instead of trying to lift the boy. “We’ll be back by six.” Libby stuck her head up the stairs and called, “Luke!” She waited for him to jog down the stairs before she continued, “Please put the casserole in the oven at five o’clock.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Can Aggie come supervise construction?” Luke’s wheedlesome voice sounded like a little boy who brought home a dog that “followed” him and begged to keep it.

  “How do you plan for her to get up two flights of stairs?” Libby’s tone made Aggie’s heart sink. The woman would say no; she was sure of it. Even as she thought it, Aggie realized how ridiculous she was. If she wanted to go upstairs, she didn’t have to get Libby’s permission. The whole thing was ridiculous, yet, she felt obligated to follow Libby’s advice.

  “I thought I’d throw her over my shoulder like a continental soldier.”

  “But her ears don’t hang low. She’s a girl, not a basset hound.” Libby threw Aggie a look that clearly said, “that boy,” and sighed loud enough for him to hear two floors above her. “If you can get her up there without whacking her foot on something or letting her put pressure on it, more power to both of you. Take Tina’s air mattress up there so she’s comfortable, though.”

  “Yes’m.” Luke’s feet thundered down the steps.

  While Tina and crew drove away from the house and toward the pool in Brunswick, Luke tried to find a way to safely carry Aggie upstairs. “I’d throw you over my back and use your arms, but I think I’d pull them out of their sockets.”

  “You don’t need to carry me. Just help me to the steps and I’ll go up backwards on my bum.”

  “What if you bang your foot? Mom’d thrash what’s left of me when I got done beating myself to a pulp.”

  Laughter rang out through the house, echoing against empty walls. It sounded strange to her--lonely. “I’ll be careful. I’ve done it before, you know.”

  With him hovering like a mother hen, Aggie scooted up each step. It took her longer than she’d expected, and by the time she limped to the air mattress, she was drenched in sweat and completely drained. “Wow. That second floor is a killer.”

  “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 8th

  “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.”

  “Playing?” Aggie hobbled into the kitchen and pulled the large pan of bubbling chicken and broccoli out of the oven and placed it on the stove.

  “He’s not going to get much done today. He played hide and seek, tag, red light-green light, Mother, may I, and what I think is an improvisation of steal the bacon all morning.”

  Before Aggie could respond, Tina’s cell phone began playing Heartland’s I Loved Her First. Sliding her phone open, Tina greeted her father, asking how things were at home. Her delight in hearing from him dissipated visibly as she listened, and at last she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and promised to be home by Saturday evening. The near-curt goodbye sealed Aggie’s opinion.

  “Well, Aggie, it looks like I’m going home for another ‘dinner’ tomorrow. I’ll probably leave before you’re even up in the morning.”

  “Lance?” Tina’s parents regularly scheduled “dinners” in order to give Tina and Lance, a young ambitious junior vice president of Tina’s father’s company, a chance to get “better acquainted.” As far as Tina was concerned, they’d been sufficiently acquainted since thirty seconds after the initial introductions.

  “I’ll miss church on Sunday, but I’ll be back by dinnertime.”

  ~*~*~*~

  Stitch by agonizing stitch, Aggie worked diligently on the two little t-shirt dresses. Before she ever lowered the presser foot, she asked Libby, sometimes twice, if she was doing things correctly. She’d made several jump starts at the beginning; her foot seeming to consider the pedal as a car brake, so she tended to slam her foot against it sending the needle flying across fabric and nearly into her fingers. As a result, she over compensated and managed to keep the machine sewing at a pace usually reserved for garden slugs.

  However, after ripping and sewing more seams than she’d ever imagined and asking more questions than she’d ever before asked in the space of three hours, she proudly hung the two little dresses on hangers in the doorway where she could see and admire them. To her disgust, while she’d plugged away at her two little dresses, Libby had cut out at least half a dozen garments, and Vannie had completed her dress and had almost finished cutting out a skirt.

  “It took me three hours to sew eight seams. Is there something wrong with this picture?” The stifled amusement on the others’ faces was less than hilarious.

  “I think we can blame this one on the gathering threads,” Libby assured her. “You forgot to count those. Gathering threads are the worst part of any garment, particularly for a beginner. They almost always break.” A twinkle appeared in Libby’s eyes as she winked at Vannie. “Particularly when you make your stitch length smaller than normal rather than larger…”

  Luke, hearing giggles erupting from the library on his way to rinse the primer from his paint roller, stepped into the room and leaned against the doorjamb. “It looks like she did a good job! Those are very pretty little dresses. I think the girls are going to like them.”

  Libby, nodding agreeably, chuckled. “Well, I don’t want to stomp on Aggie’s triumph, but adding a skirt to a premade t-shirt isn’t exactly difficult. It took her two hours to sew two seams, gathering threads, pull the threads, and then sew the skirt to a premade top and hem it. Most of the girls in my classes manage to do their first one in forty-five minutes to an hour. I can do it in fifteen minutes.”

  Stunned by Libby’s words, Aggie’s forehead wrinkled, and she pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering. She felt childish and foolish, but her feelings were a little bruised. Before she could become too upset, Libby continued. “She stressed about every step--second guessing herself all the way. I think she’s actually a natural, but she made everything twice as hard as it really was. Will you tell her to relax and trust her instincts? The world won’t implode if she doesn’t produce a perfectly finished garment. It just needs to be presentable.”

  Laughing, Luke winked at Aggie and said, “Did you get all that, or should I repeat?”

  “Got it.” Though the words still smarted a bit, she tried to take Libby’s gentle teasing as the encouragement she knew Luke’s mother meant it to be.

  “Aggie?” Libby waited for Aggie to meet her gaze. “I forgot to t
ell you my sewing motto. ‘Perfect isn’t without flaw. Perfect is finished.’”

  Now Aggie’s smile was genuine. A look, one Aggie hadn’t yet categorized yet, settled over Luke’s face. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he hurried out of the house, and after climbing into the truck, he drove toward town. At a loss, Aggie turned to the others and threw up her hands in exaggerated disgust. “Is it so terrible to be slow? I’m now beneath his company because I tried to do a good job? Oy!”

  Tina picked up Aggie’s sarcasm and ran with it. “Well, you know, had you finished in say two hours and fifty-eight minutes, he might have been able to tolerate your existence, but those two minutes are a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, you girls are so silly. I know my Luke. He’s planning a prank of some sort; we’d better be on our guard. In some ways, my Luke is still a little boy; he enjoys teasing people a little too much.”

  The women tried to guess his plot and plan a defense, but before they could come up with a plausible idea, Lorna came dancing past on her way to the bathroom singing, “I will salt Him. I will saaaallllt Him. I will, I will, salt you, oh Lord!”

  “Hmm,” Aggie remarked dryly, “I thought the Lord was supposed to ‘salt’ us so we could season our conversation with grace.”

  “Well,” Libby said, still stifling back chuckles, “I guess it proves that the Lord’s words apply to all of us. ‘Give and it shall be given unto you.’” Lorna danced past still salting the Lord with her song of praise, prompting Libby to add, “However, it might be good to explain the difference between salt and exalt. Just in case.”

  “I would say,” Tina added, “that usually salt is bad if you over-indulge. I just don’t think that there’s any way that child could raise the Lord’s blood pressure with her version of ‘salting’ Him.”