The Oysterville Sewing Circle

by Susan Wiggs

“The bus trips are super fun. All the cutest boys are on the football team, too.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Sierra said, as smooth and diplomatic as her father at a Sunday social. “The outfits are really cute.”

  When Rona was out of earshot, Sierra muttered, “And by really cute, I mean yikes.”

  Caroline was delighted. “So it’s a no on the cheerleading.”

  “I’m kind of into cute boys, though,” Sierra said. And she didn’t even blush when she said it.

  “Well,” said Caroline, “who isn’t?”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” Sierra asked.

  “What?” Caroline was taken aback. She thought about last summer’s kiss—the moonlight, the hand brushing her hair from her cheek, the touch of his lips against hers . . . The whole thing had lasted maybe a few seconds, but ever since, she’d spent hours thinking about it. Too many hours.

  “No,” she said. “I mean, there are dances and stuff. I’ve hung out with boys at school, but they’re just friends.”

  “Well, you’re totally cute, and if you wanted a boyfriend, you’d have one,” Sierra said.

  “So . . .” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Sierra about Will Jensen, but she didn’t, mostly because she had no idea how to talk about that moment.

  There was either way too much to tell or nothing at all to be said.

  Saying nothing seemed safer.

  Thanks to her friendship with Sierra, school was more fun than Caroline could have imagined. The peak event of the year was the annual spring banquet, an extravagant affair that gave students a chance to dress up and act like almost-grown-ups. This tradition dated back to who knew when; kids’ parents all reminisced about the celebration. A volunteer committee worked for months to come up with the theme, the menu, and the music.

  “‘The Awesome Eighties’?” Sierra studied the flyer that accompanied the banquet tickets. “Seriously? Was there anything awesome about the eighties?”

  “Um, blue eye shadow?” Caroline suggested. “Leg warmers? Disco music?”

  “We have a design challenge, then,” Sierra declared. “Our outfits need to be amazing.”

  “Don’t worry. They will be. Let’s watch some old movies and make a plan.”

  They went to the video store and checked out what Caroline’s mom said were the classics—Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Flashdance, Footloose, Say Anything . . . They watched them over a stormy weekend at Sierra’s house, a preternaturally quiet and painfully neat home near the golf course. The girls were mesmerized by the dance tunes and torch songs, kids angsting about cars, parents, and detention.

  Caroline was inspired by the bold fashions—miniskirts, huge belts, flashy jewelry, off-the-shoulder tops. She and Sierra planned and styled themselves for days in advance.

  On the day of the banquet and dance, they got dressed at Caroline’s house. Even though the Shelby house was ridiculously crowded, it was a better place to dress up. Sierra said her parents wouldn’t approve of the skirt length, despite the colorful leggings.

  “Big hair and bold makeup,” Sierra said, crowding next to Caroline at the bathroom vanity. “Do we dare?”

  Caroline laughed, tossing the teased ponytail that sprouted from her head. “We dare!”

  Chapter 18

  School finally ended for the year. Caroline knew the glorious Pacific Northwest summer would be a revelation to Sierra. The days stretched wonderfully long, with the light lingering on the horizon later and later each evening.

  Caroline had convinced her parents once again that working at the fabric store was the perfect job for her. To reinforce her point, she applied her sewing skills to her mom’s bottomless basket of mending she never got around to. Caroline hemmed jeans and altered blouses to fit perfectly. She replaced zippers in her brothers’ favorite jackets, and even made a quilt to donate to the library auction. She left her parents no room to suggest that the restaurant would be a better choice for her.

  Sierra was thrilled, too, because Caroline was working on her most challenging project to date—summer outfits for the two of them.

  “I love this weather,” Sierra exclaimed, bursting into the shop. “It’s almost worth surviving that miserable winter.” She spun around happily, admiring the array of colorful fabric bolts.

  “It’ll only get better from now until Labor Day,” Caroline promised, reshelving bolts of quilt fabric. She was excited for her friend to experience her first summer on the peninsula. They were going to have such fun on the beach, and thanks to her job at the shop, she could go crazy making things. Sierra had turned out to be her biggest fan.

  “Oh, she’s right about that,” Mrs. Bloom agreed, adjusting the reading glasses perched on her nose. “It’s nice to see you, Sierra.”

  “Likewise.” She executed a little curtsy, bumping into a roll of teal georgette, and it tumbled across the floor. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry,” she said, making a dive for it.

  Mrs. Bloom grabbed the roll at the same time, and together, they set it on the counter. “It’s fine,” she said. “No harm done.”

  “Oh my gosh,” Sierra said again. “What’d you do to your arm?”

  Mrs. Bloom looked flustered as she quickly adjusted the sleeve of her sweater. “Oh, that. I banged it on the car door. I’m such a klutz, and I tend to bruise like a banana. Always have.”

  “Looks painful,” Sierra said.

  “I’m fine. Now, I need to tally up the till for the day. So if you girls want to work on your sewing in the back, go right ahead. I don’t expect a rush of customers at this hour.”

  “Are you sure?” Caroline really wanted to finish the dress she was making for Sierra. She’d already finished her own, and it had turned out great. But Sierra’s was going to be incredible if she got the fit just right. “I mean, if you don’t need me for anything else, Mrs. Bloom.”

  “Go.” She shooed them toward the workroom in the back of the shop. “Be creative. It does my heart good to see you girls doing so well with your sewing.”

  “She’s the one,” Sierra said loyally, nudging Caroline. “I can’t wait to see the final look.”

  Caroline beamed with pride. As far as she was concerned, Sierra was the ideal dress model. Her patience for standing through fittings and adjustments was endless. She wasn’t like Caroline’s sisters, who sighed and fidgeted and made her rush through her work. Also, Sierra knew how to do makeup like a professional, and she had really good taste when it came to styling a look. She subscribed to all the fashion magazines and studied them like the Dead Sea Scrolls.

  The girls went to the small sewing studio at the back of the shop. Lindy happily shared the space with Caroline and other students who wanted to sew.

  “Ooh, it’s fantastic,” Sierra said, inspecting the sundress on the dress form.

  “We’ll see. Let’s get it on you.”

  Sierra eagerly shucked her skirt and blouse. Underneath, she wore a bikini bra and panties that would probably send her folks into a dead faint if they knew she had ordered them in secret from a lingerie catalog. She had an amazing figure, with perfect boobs—not melons so big they made her self-conscious, just the right size for her tall, slender frame. Her abs were defined by the yoga she rigorously practiced, and her hips had just the right amount of curve. She was obsessed with an Australian TV show, Search for a Supermodel. She recorded the show on the VCR and watched each episode again and again, practicing her signature walk and fierce expressions.

  Though only six months younger than Sierra, Caroline was light-years behind. Her boobs had barely sprouted and her hips were so straight she could easily fit into her little brother’s jeans. The only thing that marked her as a budding teenager was the least attractive thing about being a teenager—pimples. Yuck. Sierra, who was a genius with makeup, showed her how to cover up the spots, but Caroline was totally self-conscious, not even wanting to look in the mirror some days. Why couldn’t she have been blessed, like Sierra was, with pretty,
unblemished skin? And silky long hair, for that matter? Instead, she had an unruly mane scraped into a messy bun that did her no favors at all. Worse yet, she got braces this year. It was a trifecta of ugly.

  She wasn’t jealous of Sierra’s looks, though. She was grateful to have a friend who loved fashion and looked like a model and had patience for fittings.

  She helped Sierra slip the dress over her head. “Okay, lift your arms.” She reached for a pincushion. “I need to fix the bodice.”

  “It feels amazing,” Sierra said. She gamely raised her arms while Caroline made the adjustments. “I can’t believe you designed this yourself, Caroline.”

  “Hold still,” Caroline said around the pins in her mouth. She used them to make a tuck in the dress so it would mold perfectly to her body. Seeing the garment on her friend, she was totally excited, because she was pretty sure it was going to be the best thing she’d ever designed. “Okay,” she said, “don’t scratch yourself on these pins.”

  “It’s cool you get to use all of Mrs. Bloom’s gear,” Sierra said, looking around the well-organized space: a wall of spools in every color of thread, original patterns hanging from clips, drawers of notions, jars of buttons and embellishments.

  “Totally cool. My parents freaked out when I told them I want to work here for the summer again instead of the restaurant. They just don’t get why I’m not obsessed with the restaurant the way my sisters are.” She spoke in a joking tone, but the truth was, it bugged her that her parents didn’t even try to understand how much she wanted to learn to design and make things. They seemed to think it was some passing fancy, like the time Virginia was dead set on getting a horse of her own. They had cured Virginia of the desire by having her work at Beachside Stables, taking care of the horses for tourists to ride on the beach. The plan worked. After a few weeks of cleaning stalls, picking hooves, and scraping horse sweat, Virginia was ready to hang up her spurs.

  In Caroline’s case, the plan backfired. Even though she started out working at the lowest level in Lindy Bloom’s shop, sweeping the floor, shelving bolts of fabric, and filing patterns, she couldn’t wait to get to the shop each day. Instead of getting sick of the chores, Caroline only wanted to do more. She felt happy every minute she was making things.

  She finished marking the back seams of the dress with a flat piece of tailor’s chalk. “Okay, I’ll finish it up for you real quick.”

  “Cool.” Sierra peeled off the dress and handed it over. Still in her underwear, she browsed through the samples hanging on a rolling rack. She was totally unselfconscious. Totally poised. Caroline had no idea what that must feel like.

  She sat down at Mrs. Bloom’s machine, which she coveted with every fiber of her being. This was the real deal. Not a home crafting machine like most women had stashed away in a closet somewhere, but an industrial wonder. She was saving up for one of her own, though even a secondhand machine cost the moon.

  Feeling herself vibrate along with the hum of the motor, she finished altering the dress and then Sierra put it back on, smoothing her hands down the sheer cotton fabric, an unusual print of hand-drawn arrows. “It feels great,” she said.

  “The fit is just right,” Caroline declared, positioning her in front of the cheval mirror. “Check it out.”

  Sierra put on her wedge sandals, which made her even taller, and studied her reflection. “Oh, Caroline . . .”

  “Let’s see,” said Mrs. Bloom, joining them. “Oh, Caroline,” she echoed, “that’s really something. What a lovely, unusual dress. So beautifully cut and sewn. I thought the fabric choice was risky, but with that tonal wash and the lining . . . Wow. Good job.”

  “Thanks.” Caroline beamed with pride.

  “Is that a Vogue pattern?”

  Caroline and Sierra exchanged a glance. Sierra twirled in front of the mirror and said, “No, ma’am. This is a Caroline Shelby original.”

  Mrs. Bloom inspected it further. “Wonderful work. Who knew I had a designer and a fit model right here in my shop?”

  The girls couldn’t stop grinning as they looked at each other. “Thanks, Mrs. Bloom,” Caroline said.

  Sierra fanned herself. “It’s still really hot out. We should hit the beach.”

  Caroline glanced at Mrs. Bloom. “I need to stay and help close up.”

  “Nonsense.” Mrs. Bloom made a shooing motion with her hands. “I’ll close.”

  “Well, thank you.” Caroline hesitated. “Um, would you like to come out to the beach for a bit?” Sometimes Mrs. Bloom seemed lonely, like she could use some fun in her life.

  “It’s nice of you to ask, but no. I need to run along and fix dinner for Mr. Bloom.” She always called her husband Mr. Bloom, like he was her boss or something. He was a VIP at the bank, so maybe he liked being called Mr. Bloom.

  “See you later, then,” said Caroline.

  “I imagine the two of you are looking forward to wearing your new things to the clambake tomorrow,” she said.

  “You bet,” Caroline said. She’d made a cool outfit for herself, too. It was another original design—a wraparound utiliskirt with pockets and grommets for everything. She needed a lot of pockets because according to her mom, she was a magpie, collecting every shiny thing that caught her eye. It wasn’t as dramatic as Sierra’s dress, but it suited Caroline and would do just fine for the clambake.

  The clambake was the official kickoff to summer, one of many celebrations that took place each year on the peninsula. There would be food and music and games on the beach—pure heaven. Some people said, only half joking, that if not for all the festivals, nothing would ever happen here. This one was sponsored by a coalition of local churches to benefit youth services.

  When she thought of summer, Caroline’s mind flitted automatically to Will Jensen. It seemed like forever since she’d seen him. It was forever. An entire school year had passed. She assumed he was coming to spend another summer with his grandparents, but she wasn’t sure. The two of them didn’t stay in touch during the school year. She didn’t know why. Probably because they were summer best friends, and the rest of the time they lived totally different lives. She sometimes saw his grandparents in church, but she never asked them about Will. She didn’t want to seem too eager. Or like she cared too much, which she totally did.

  She was still amazed that he’d kissed her goodbye—a real, actual kiss, which was pretty much the best thing that had ever happened to her in her entire life. She thought about it all the time. So when she and Sierra ran into Mrs. Jensen walking Duffy on the boardwalk that day, she felt a guilty start, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.

  “Oh,” she said, flustered. “Hi there, Mrs. J.!” She hastily introduced Sierra to Will’s grandmother.

  Mrs. Jensen offered a smile. “It’s nice to see you, Caroline. I was just thinking of you.”

  Whoa. “You were?”

  “We’re going down to Portland to get Will from the airport tomorrow,” she said.

  Caroline’s heart stuttered. Tomorrow.

  “Um, that’s, um, that’s great, Mrs. J.”

  “I’m sure he’s eager to see you again.” Mrs. Jensen winked. “The two of you always have such a wonderful time when he comes for the summer.”

  We do? She swallowed hard. Oh my God, what had he told her?

  “He’ll be at the clambake, I imagine. He wouldn’t want to miss that.”

  “Also great.” Caroline was sure her face had turned a dozen shades of scarlet. “Well, see you around, Mrs. J.!” She scuttled away, veering off the boardwalk to the beach path through the abundant fountains of dune grasses.

  “Who’s Will?” Sierra followed close behind her.

  Only the most important person in my life, thought Caroline. In the world, maybe. “Oh, just a kid I know,” she said, adopting a casual tone. “That’s his grandmother I just spoke to.”

  “So does he go to our school?” Sierra persisted.

  “Nope. Comes here for the summer. You heard her say he�
�s flying into Portland.”

  “How come you never mentioned him before?”

  Good question, thought Caroline. She shrugged. “Dunno. His grandparents have a place up the road, and he doesn’t really know anybody around here, so when he comes for the summer, we hang out sometimes.”

  “Is he cute? Because if he’s cute, I’m going to be totally jealous of you.”

  Caroline’s cheeks burned. She forged ahead to hide the blush. She didn’t understand why she was so reluctant to tell her friend everything. It was as if Will belonged to a unique, private part of her that she didn’t want to share with anyone else.

  “So is he cute?” Sierra prodded.

  “I don’t know. Maybe, I guess. We don’t—it’s not like that.” Liar. Why was she lying to her best friend?

  “Not like what?”

  “Not like it matters whether he’s cute or not.” Caroline veered off the boardwalk, kicked off her sandals, and jumped down the soft sandbank to the beach. The sand felt gloriously warm under her bare feet.

  “Well, that’s good to know,” Sierra said.

  “Why’s it good?”

  Sierra jumped, landing in the sand next to her. “Because that way, if I get a crush on him, I won’t be stealing him from you.”

  “How come it’s called a clambake if you bury the clams in the ground?” Sierra asked. “Wouldn’t that make it a clam burial?” They were in the downstairs bathroom at Caroline’s house, getting ready for the event. They had barricaded the door against Caroline’s annoying brothers, and Sierra was expertly demonstrating the way to put on makeup so it didn’t look like they were wearing makeup at all.

  “The clams don’t really bake—they steam.” Caroline leaned toward the mirror and scowled at the lone pimple on her chin, which had appeared overnight like an evil mushroom in the dark. “See, the way it works is, somebody—usually my dad or someone from the restaurant—digs a big hole in the sand, and it’s lined with stones and then hot coals, and a layer of seaweed. They put in the clams and corn on the cob and little red potatoes and cover it up and it all steams together until they dig it up and serve it.”