Lacey and the African Grandmothers (8 page)

“Each piece of fabric has a special memory. This one is the oldest,” she said, pointing to a shiny, white piece. “It's from my mother's wedding dress. This is from my graduation dress, and
this
piece is from my favorite pair of jeans – the ones that fell apart because I wore them so much.”

“
Matsowa'p
,” I said, without thinking. Kahasi had told me that in the old days children were punished for speaking Blackfoot at school, but Mrs. Martinez just smiled at me.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means it's beautiful,” I said. “I like how all the colors don't match, but go together anyway.”

“Me too,” she said. “That's why I wanted to make a quilt. I thought it would be pretty. I also thought it would be like sleeping under all these memories. But I'm very slow at sewing by hand, and some of the pieces – like this bit from the edge of a blanket I loved when I was a baby – are so small. I'm kind of impatient, so I used a sewing machine in the end, and made a big purse instead of a quilt.”

“My grandmother tells me I'm impatient, too.” I smiled a bit, but kept my lips covering my teeth. I could feel the grandmothers nudging me to ask what I really wanted to ask. “Do you think…do you think you would mind showing me sometime how to use a sewing machine?”

“Well…” Mrs. Martinez twisted her mouth as if she was trying to slow down the words before they came out. “I can't exactly do that.”

My heart fell, but I lifted my eyebrows to ask why without seeming rude.

“The truth is, this bag is the only thing I've ever sewn. When I was done, I decided I'd never, ever try to sew again. I just hate sewing with all my heart. I'm afraid it's one thing I simply cannot teach.”

My heart started beating wildly again. Maybe Mrs. Martinez still had a sewing machine she didn't want. I didn't know what words to use to ask her about it. I ran my fingers gently over the hand-stitching she'd done on the edge of each piece.

“Do you still have that machine?” My voice rushed ahead of me, saying all the things that were in my head. “You see, I want to make purses to help some grandmothers in Africa, but I need to make a lot. I need a sewing machine to do that. Could I borrow yours, maybe? I'd take special care of it and make sure my brothers didn't ever touch it. Ever. I could bring it back to you whenever you wanted it.”

Mrs. Martinez's mouth twisted again, as if she was thinking, as if she didn't want to tell me something. My heart and my hopes fell.

“It's OK,” I said. “I understand. I probably wouldn't want to lend my sewing machine, either.”

“No, Lacey, that's not it,” she said, touching my arm. “If I had a sewing machine, I'd lend it to you and teach you what I know, but I don't have one. I used my mother's machine, and she lives way off in Manitoba. I'm sorry.”

“That's OK. I'll think of something else,” I said.

But what was I saying? What was there to think of? I didn't know anyone – even Kahasi, who knew everyone, didn't know anyone – with a sewing machine. I wished those African grandmothers hadn't said yes. I had to do those purses, especially since they were putting my letter in their report. But how? How was I going to do it?

Chapter 10
Kahasi's Big Surprise

I
was starting to get worried about Mum. She seemed to be getting sicker and sicker, and she wouldn't let us tell Dad when he phoned. Most days, she was lying on the sofa watching soap operas or snoozing when I got home from Sequoia. When she was awake, she seemed to have a lot of pain in the middle of her back. Angel had started taking the early bus home at two o'clock so she could practice her nursing on Mum. She would rub her back and help her get washed and dressed. Auntie Michelle would bring my youngest brothers, Davis and Colton, back from her place where they spent most of the day playing with their cousins. My other brothers came home on the later school bus with me.

I was spending so much time looking after Kayden that I was starting to think I was her mother, not her auntie. This was a bad thing because I didn't want to be anybody's mother. I liked it better when Angel had time to be the mother, and I had time to spend with Kahasi. I missed being able to visit her every day and having time to sew.

Dad and my oldest brother, Liland, were usually the cooks at our house, but when they were on the road with the band, it was mostly my job. I liked cooking when I helped Dad and when I helped Lila at Sequoia, but it wasn't much fun being stuck in the kitchen by myself. Usually I made spaghetti or scrambled eggs, because those were the things I could make best. Tonight, though, I was going to make fry-bread tacos because I thought they might make Mum feel better. I had asked Kahasi to come over so she could tell me how to do it.

Thinking of my grandmother coming to visit made me happy. I missed my dad less when I could spend time with her. I hadn't seen her for a few days, because I had been so busy with school and Kayden and cooking. Soon our quiet times together would be over. Already cardboard boxes were appearing at Kahasi's house. She was going to stay with Uncle Douglas and Auntie Michelle.

Kahasi was sitting at the kitchen table showing me how to mix the flour, baking powder, and water with a fork to make the dough for the fry bread. She showed me how to stretch the balls into flat circles, and dimple the edges with my thumb and fingers. Flour was everywhere – over the table, on the floor, on my shirt, even on her face. I reached over to wipe a spray of flour from her cheek, but I made it worse. Now there were pieces of dough there, too. “You look so funny!” I laughed.

Kahasi reached over and stuck some sticky dough on my nose. She laughed. “Now we are twins. You look funny, too.”

It was easy to see which pieces of fry bread were the ones I had made and which were the pieces my grandmother had made. Hers were so perfect they looked as if they had been made by a machine. Mine were all different shapes, and some had holes in them. “Don't worry how they look, they will all taste the same,” she said.

We kept busy, making lots of fry bread so we would have some left over. As her hands worked quickly to make the circles, Kahasi told me, “I have something I think you will like, Lacey. It is something of your father's from long ago. I think it is something you should have.”

I looked at her expectantly, thinking she'd take the gift out of her pocket.

“It was too heavy for me to carry. When your dad comes, he can bring it to you.”

“But Dad's not going to be home for days yet. Can't you tell me what it is?”

“It is something old and maybe broken,” she said. “But, like most things, not so broken it can't be fixed.”

Who would want something old and broken? “What is it? Please tell me.” Her riddle was making me crazy. But she must not have heard my question.

“It doesn't seem to have any rust,” she added. “We found it in the basement when your uncles were moving my things. It must have been there a long time. I had forgotten all about it. Your father, too, maybe.”

“What
is
it?” I asked again.

“You come home with me to Uncle Douglas's, and I will show you.”

It was a good thing Kahasi was moving in with family. She had gone deaf, I was sure of it. I didn't bother to ask again. Even if she heard me, she would just tell me to practice my patience and wait.

I tried to think of what the present might be as I stirred the hamburger in the big frying pan. When I heard the sound of tires on gravel, I glanced out the window above the sink. It was Uncle Douglas's green van! Dad waved wildly out the window when he saw me, then reached over and honked the horn, “Beep! Beep! Beep, beep, beep!” “It's Dad!” I yelled. “Dad's home!”

I rushed from the kitchen and down the stairs so I could be at the front of the stampede. I wanted to be the first to hug Dad. I was so happy to see him that I started to cry. He lifted me up as if I were little. “How's my princess?” he laughed, as he swung me in a circle. When he set me down, he was dusted with flour from my shirt. My brothers had flooded out of the house and surrounded Dad and me. The little boys pushed and wormed their way to him. Auntie Michelle came running from her house to clutch Uncle Douglas in a hug. All of his kids mobbed him, too. The side door of the van slid open, and Liland and Jack crawled from the back seat. By now, Kahasi had come out of the house, and Angel had brought Mum. After he hugged his mother and Angel, Dad drew Mum into the biggest hug of all, and kissed her.

Liland and Jack gave high-fives to all their brothers, then pulled open the back doors of the van. Piled on top of the guitars, drums, and amps were bags and bags of groceries. It looked like enough food to feed an army.

Dad kept his arm wrapped around Mum's waist as they walked to the house. Davis, my smallest brother, held my dad's other hand. “You coming in?” Dad called to Uncle Douglas.

“No, I think I'll let these kids carry me home. We'll come over a bit later, so I can correct all your stories,” said Uncle Douglas.

Making the fry-bread tacos with my dad and Kahasi and all my family around was one of the happiest times of my life. It didn't even bother me that Kelvin was there. Dad and my big brothers kept smiling as they told stories about being on the road, and how the people in one town liked the band so much that they asked them to play for ten days straight. “We're rich, by the way,” Dad laughed. “At least, we were rich until we stopped at the grocery store!”

It was a noisy night at our house. There were stories and laughter and singing, and as much happiness and love as there possibly can be in one house.

By the time the darkness started to come, Kahasi said to Dad, “I am tired now. Perhaps, my son, you would take this old woman home to rest?”

“Of course, Mum. Of course,” he said, letting go of my mum's hand.

“Lacey, maybe you could help too,” she said to me. She gave me a big wink with her left eye, and I remembered the surprise she'd promised. The three of us went to my uncle's house.

“It's up here, in my room,” said Kahasi. She opened the door of her closet.

“A sewing machine?” I exclaimed. “A sewing machine! You found a sewing machine?”

“It was back there at my old house all the time. Hidden in the basement.” She smiled. “Sometimes old women forget about things.”

“I can't believe it,” said Dad, lifting the machine from the closet. “I bet this thing hasn't been used for twenty years. Remember I used to use it when I started dancing – to make traditional outfits? I had so much fun with this machine. I don't know why I ever stopped sewing.”

“Perhaps the machine stopped sewing,” suggested Kahasi.

“I don't know if it works.”

“Well, that should be easy enough to figure out. We'll plug it in and see. And if it doesn't work, we'll get Kelvin to have a look. He can fix anything with a motor.” He said these words with pride in his voice. How could he be proud of Kelvin? I didn't want that creep touching the sewing machine.

Dad kissed his mother on the cheek and wished her good night. I gave her a kiss too, and a hug. “You're the best, Kahasi. You're the best,” I told her. She smiled at me, took my hand, and didn't let go.

“Talk to your father, Lacey. Tell him your troubles,” she said. Then she called after me, “Be careful, you. Don't be getting better at sewing than I am. Old women have pride, too, you know.”

I kept smiling as we walked from Uncle Douglas's house to our house through the cool darkness of night, with Dad carrying the sewing machine. I wanted to tell him about all the terrible things that had happened while he was gone, but I was afraid of spoiling his homecoming. He seemed so happy that I pushed the difficult things from my mind.

“This was yours, Dad? I can't believe you never told me you could sew.”

“Well, my girl, I guess you never asked. Besides, I didn't know you had such an interest,” he said. “You've been busy while I've been gone. I'll be anxious to have a look at your beading.”

That was when I remembered that he didn't know yet about the African grandmothers or the letter I had sent, so I told him about it. He also didn't know about Kelvin and Angel's problems, but I didn't tell him that.

“That's quite an offer you've made, Lacey, very generous,” he said. His smile told me he was proud. “But do you really think you can do it? After all, you're just beginning to sew. To raise enough money to make a difference, you're going to have to sew – and sell – a lot of purses.”

“With a machine, I'm sure I can do it,” I said, but I wasn't really as confident as my words. If Dad wasn't sure, how could I be? What if it turned out that I was bad at sewing with a machine? What if no one had money to buy the purses? What then? I pushed thoughts of failing from my mind. Instead I asked, “Will you teach me?”