The Oysterville Sewing Circle

by Susan Wiggs

  There was a palpable, collective held breath in the room.

  “I’m moving away,” Amy said.

  The collective breath turned into sighs of disappointment. “Is everything all right?” someone asked.

  “Bolton is getting out of prison, but that’s not why I’m leaving,” Amy explained. “I’ve been training to be a long-haul trucker, and I just got a job. A legit job. Even though I’ll miss everyone, I couldn’t be happier.”

  “We’ll miss you, too,” Echo said. “Change is good. If we all stayed the same all the time, we’d just be stuck, right?”

  “That’s really cool, Amy,” said Nadine. “I’m getting better at setting boundaries. It’s made me a better mom, that’s for sure. My kids were getting rude and demanding—no surprise, given what they saw. I’ve changed and they’ve taken note. Most of the time, anyway.”

  “I want to be brave again,” said Yvonne, a relative newcomer to the group. “I used to dare to do so much. I lost all that when I lost myself in a relationship with an abusive man, and I’m sick of being afraid. The truth is, I’m lonely. Like, really lonely. I quit trusting myself to know what love is supposed to be. But I do know. See, there’s a guy . . .” She looked down at her hands twisting in her lap. Then she seemed to realize what she was doing and lifted her head high. “He knows what I went through. He’s been super patient and understanding. I’m pretty sure I’ve loved him for a long time. I want to find the courage to tell him. What do you think?” She looked around the group. “Am I crazy?”

  “What’s the worst thing that will happen if you tell this guy how you feel?” asked Georgia.

  “He’ll say he doesn’t feel the same way about me, and then he’ll feel terrible and I’ll feel awkward, and—” She stopped. “Yeah, so the world won’t come to an end.”

  “And what’s the best thing that could happen if you tell him?” asked Georgia.

  The mechanical hum of industrial machines filled the air. After all the hard work and struggle, it was sweet music to Caroline’s ears—the sound of her garments being made. She was designing like never before—the stadium seat jacket. Another jacket that lit up in the dark. A smart signal jacket that responded to a cyclist’s hand signals. Everything the workshop produced was beautiful, because she supervised every stitch.

  The barn had been transformed into a pleasant space that felt safe and productive. No one was getting rich, but sales were steady and the operation was at least solvent. There had been write-ups in the press and on fashion blogs. Following a successful outing at a trade show, they were shipping garments to indie boutiques every week, and she’d hired two trainees and an intern.

  The Oysterville Sewing Circle offered more than she’d ever imagined, yielding surprising dividends—the mostly untapped talents of the women themselves. Sometimes it seemed like a kind of magic. If something needed doing, there was a good chance one of the women here could do it or knew someone who could. Echo was becoming a skilled patternmaker and sample sewer, and she had connected Caroline with laid-off workers from her former factory. Ilsa ran the website and was an expert at flawless, bright product shots. Economic survival was one of the most crucial elements for these women, and it was gratifying to be able to help. Caroline and her sisters had secured a grant to fund training and job programs throughout the county. A few other local businesses were now involved, and there was a pilot program at the high school.

  One of her best moves had been bringing on Willow from the Sewing Circle. Caroline now had an LLC and a solid business plan, expertly crafted by Willow. C-Shell Rainwear was getting a reputation for garments that were ethically sourced and made with love and skill. One of the girls had machine-quilted a wall hanging with that message: Made with Love and Skill. It became the company motto and was proudly hung under the Justine figurehead.

  Sometimes, when the work seemed overwhelming and the balance sheet looked totally unbalanced, Caroline would panic and call herself crazy for trying to make her enterprise work. Other times, like now, when everyone was hard and happily at work, it felt exactly right. Amy arrived with her trainee to pick up a shipment, and they started loading bagged and tagged garments into the back of the van.

  There was so much noise and activity that Caroline almost didn’t hear the ping that signaled an incoming email message.

  She went to her computer and checked the mail. She blinked and sat down slowly. Maybe she made a sound, because Echo stopped what she was doing and came over to her makeshift desk.

  “What’s up?” she asked. “You have an oh shit expression on your face.”

  “More like a holy shit expression.” She sat back and stared at the screen. It was a photo of Catherine Willoughby from Vogue Celebrity Style, an obsessively followed media feature. The compelling, doe-eyed actress, currently starring in a smash-hit superhero movie, was wearing a C-Shell raincoat.

  “Holy shit,” Caroline said again, mesmerized by the surreal idea that one of the most famous women in the world was wearing her coat. It was one of her best and most expensive designs, a fantasy of frosted white with a clear hem filled with silk flower blossoms. “‘Cat’s go-to coat on a rainy day is the April Showers anorak from C-Shell Rainwear. Check it out at c-shellrainwear.com, where one percent of profits go to the Sisterhood Against Domestic Violence.’”

  “Well, well, well.” Echo beamed at Caroline. “You’ve got an A-list star wearing one of your designs. She’s got, like, forty-five million followers on Instagram. How cool is that? And how cool that they posted about the Sisterhood Against Domestic Violence.”

  Willow had set up the affiliation, and Caroline was quickly discovering that her platform had grown larger than any of them had ever anticipated. She only wished Angelique could be around to see what they’d created.

  Amy came over with her intern and her digital inventory monitor. She was spending her last two weeks on the job training her replacement before moving to Reno to train as a long-haul truck driver. To Caroline, she looked like a different person, carrying herself with swagger, not shame. With confidence, not fear. “What’s up, buttercup?” she asked.

  Echo grinned at Amy. “We’re looking at Vogue Celebrity Style.”

  “My fave.” Amy referenced her skater hoodie and combat boots.

  “Cat Willoughby is wearing one of our coats.” Echo turned the monitor so Amy could see.

  “No shit. Isn’t she the lightning-bolt girl in that new movie? Hey, that’s fantastic. Now everyone’s going to want one. You’re hitting the big time, Caroline.”

  “I’m stunned,” Caroline agreed. “It’s a really beautiful coat, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely,” Echo said. “I worked on that one. Made all the clear hems with the brilliant silk flowers. I knew that would be a hit.”

  Caroline tapped her keyboard, forwarding the news to Willow, who usually worked from home.

  “Speaking of hits . . .” Ilsa, who was now running the website, came over. “We just had our biggest hour of all time. Check it out.” Her tablet showed orders coming in, one after another. “Ka-ching, ka-ching,” she said. “The April Showers in white is already sold out. We have back orders.”

  “Here’s why.” Echo showed her the picture in Vogue. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow, eh?”

  “Do we ever.”

  Caroline pushed back from the desk. “Look at the time. You girls go home for the day. I’ll close up.”

  After they’d left, Caroline stared at the photo for a few minutes more.

  She knew the value of an influential celebrity endorsement. She knew the value of a mention in Vogue. Designers stalked the media in search of publicity. Though she lacked the funds for a campaign, she’d sent samples to Daria and Orson Maynard in New York, hoping to get her garments into the right hands. The process usually involved huge sponsorship fees, which she couldn’t afford.

  Finally, somehow, her coat had ended up on a major star. She couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful photo, a candid shot of Cat,
who had paired the anorak with high neoprene boots. She was strolling past a wrought iron fence, and she looked as fresh as the springtime.

  Ordinarily, Caroline worked late after everyone had gone for the day. This was her design time, when there was music drifting through the barn and a vision in her mind. The brush with celebrity inspired her, so she noodled with a design she’d been thinking about. It was a trench with a capelet that could convert to a hood. “You’d look amazing in this, Cat Willoughby,” she murmured, clicking on the digitized illustration. “Blue serge? Maybe dotted swiss is due for a comeback . . .”

  “I like the way you think.” Will stepped into the shop. His adopted dog, whom he’d named Fisher, trotted at his heels. He was in his teaching outfit—chinos, a long-sleeved shirt, striped tie. “I’ve always been a fan of dotted swiss.”

  She snorted. “You don’t even know what that is.”

  “It’s due for a comeback.” He unknotted his tie and leaned his hip against the counter.

  “How was school?” she asked. When they ran into each other, coming and going, they tended to linger, shoot the breeze.

  Like old friends, she told herself.

  But the truth was, since his divorce, things were different between them. She did not examine this too closely. Evidently Will didn’t either. He dated women. Lots of different women. He was a regular man-about-town these days. She even teased him about it sometimes.

  “School was amazing,” he said. “I’m amazing. I gave a group of sophomores a tour of the calculus and showed them how it will actually be useful to them later in life. Let me tell you, they were riveted.”

  She grinned. “As am I.”

  “How are things at the C-Shell Sewing Works?”

  “Ha! So much more amazing than calculus. And I mean that. Check it out.” She clicked to the window showing the photo from Celebrity Style. “Cat Willoughby is wearing one of my coats. It was posted about an hour ago, and the website already sold out.”

  “Hey, that’s fantastic. All the kids at school are nuts for that movie she’s in. Way to go, Caroline.”

  “Thanks. It’s a shot in the arm, for sure. We’re going to have to work overtime to fill orders. I don’t have the infrastructure here to make things fast. I’m trying not to panic.”

  “Don’t panic.” He gestured around the shop. “Look what you’ve done so far. You can handle anything.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “I like the way you think. And honestly, I couldn’t have done it without you charging me a pittance to rent this place. But I—”

  Another email ping sounded. She glanced at the subject line and couldn’t suppress a gasp.

  “More news?” he asked.

  She opened the message. “Oh my God. Eau Sauvage wants a meeting.”

  “Oh-So Vage? Never heard of it.”

  “Eau Sauvage is French for wild water. It’s a high-end fashion label. Massively successful.”

  “I assume wanting a meeting is the start of something big.”

  She gripped the edge of the desk and looked up at him. There was a part of her—the biggest, most impulsive part of her—that wanted to leap up and throw her arms around him. Down, girl. He probably had a date tonight. He always had a date.

  “It could be huge for me,” she said. “Complicated, though. I hope it’s not a be-careful-what-you-wish-for situation.”

  “What do you wish for?”

  She leaned back in her chair. “Being discovered by a big label used to be my greatest wish. Since I came back here, though, since the kids . . .” She pictured herself back in New York, going to meetings, living a dream that didn’t quite fit anymore. “I’ll listen to what they have to say. They might just steal my designs the way Mick Taylor did.”

  “Man, I hope not. What ever happened to that guy, anyway?”

  “He’s still going strong,” she said. She shut down her computer and grabbed her bag, suddenly eager to see Addie and Flick and hear about their day. They’d changed her perspective. They’d changed her life. “I try not to think about him because it makes me crazy. I still have revenge fantasies.”

  “You ought to change channels, have a different kind of fantasy.” Will winked at her. Winked.

  “Fuck off,” she said, certain he was teasing.

  “Here’s a question: If this thing suddenly happened for you, for real, what would that look like?”

  Her stomach churned. “I’d be back in New York in a New York minute. I admit it wouldn’t be easy with the kids, but it wouldn’t be impossible either. They might even go back to their same school.”

  “You’d leave here, then.”

  “I might. I’m getting way ahead of myself, though.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. I shouldn’t have asked about your plans. I have a way of screwing up people’s plans.”

  She kind of wished he would screw hers up. “Knock it off. Quit feeling sorry for yourself.”

  And there it was. That smile. The smile she had fallen in love with, once upon a time.

  Caroline designated Cat Willoughby her new best friend, because after the Vogue feature, her rainwear became a trend—and not just for the garments. The Sisterhood Against Domestic Violence invited her to Atlanta to tell the story of the Oysterville Sewing Circle.

  “You’re going away?” Flick asked as she was packing her bag. Blackie scampered around the room, wrestling with a knotted rope.

  “To talk to a group about our domestic violence program. It’s just for the weekend. I’ll be back Sunday night.”

  Addie brought Wonder Woman over to the bed. “I don’t want you to go.”

  Caroline stopped what she was doing. In the whirlwind of all the attention, she realized she had never spent a night apart from the children since they came into her care. Every time she woke to the fact that she was important to these kids was a small epiphany. “Oh, baby. It’s just for two nights, and you’ll be with Grammy Dot and Lyle.”

  “It’s not the same.” Flick glowered at her.

  “I think you can handle it, though.”

  “We’re just getting to the good part in Ramona,” Addie said. Caroline was reading the book to them, a chapter a night.

  They’d been doing so well lately that sometimes Caroline forgot how absolutely vital it was for them to feel secure. “Tell you what. We can do a video call and I’ll read to you.”

  “It’s not the same,” Flick repeated.

  “Why do you have to go?” Addie asked.

  Caroline had discovered the one thing that always worked with these children—honesty. “Because it’s important,” she said. “Because your mama’s life was important. The most terrible thing in the world happened to her and she died. There’s nothing we can do to change that. But there’s this organization that can help other families dealing with violence, and they want to hear our story and what we’re doing about it now. If we keep talking about it and teaching people that violence is never okay, maybe we can help others.”

  Both were quiet. She let them think about it. She still didn’t know what Angelique’s children had seen, what they’d heard. She wondered if Angelique had coached them to keep silent, possibly because she feared being separated from them thanks to her immigration status. Had they seen her injuries? Overheard arguments? Maybe one day they would open up to her. She wouldn’t push or nag them for answers.

  “Why d’you gotta go?” Flick asked, echoing his sister.

  “When the organization called, I asked them the same thing. And we talked about the group I started up and the job-training program we have. But mostly we talked about you. And how you were left all alone and how important it was to keep you safe. They want to hear about that. It could help people.”

  “It can’t help us,” Flick pointed out. “It can’t help our mama.”

  “I know. But you like helping others, right?”

  He thought for a moment. Reached down and scratched Blackie behind the ears. “Yeah,” he said. “
I guess.”

  Caroline sat on the bed and opened her arms. “Come here, you two.”

  They clambered up, and Blackie jumped into Flick’s lap. She gathered them all into her arms. They filled her to the brim, and she rested her lips on their sweet warm heads. “I’ll be back before you know it. Okay?”

  “Yeah,” Flick said.

  “Okay, Mom,” Addie whispered.

  “She’s not Mom,” Flick said.

  “She’s not Mama,” Addie told him. “But she’s our mom.”

  The words burned into Caroline’s heart. “Addie, you’re so nice. Why are you so nice?”

  The little girl shrugged her shoulders. “Guess I’m just a good person.”

  “You are. Both of you are. And Blackie, too. She’s a good girl. And I feel so lucky to have you all.” Caroline hesitated, then decided this was the moment to bring up something she’d been thinking about for a long time. “You can call me Mom or Caroline or anything that makes you happy. There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you two. When your mama died, I became your guardian. That means I’m responsible for giving you a home and keeping you safe. I love being your guardian. But lately I’ve been thinking . . . How would you feel if I adopted you?”

  They were silent for a few moments.

  “You mean the way we adopted Blackie?” asked Flick.

  “Yes, like that. Nothing will change. I’ll still be responsible for you in every way. But if I adopt you, I’ll become your legal parent. I won’t ever replace your mama. No one will. But it means you’ll have a parent again, forever and ever.”

  “Forever and ever until the end of time?” asked Addie.

  “Yes. What do you think?”

  “I think yes,” Addie said.

  Flick stayed silent. His arms tightened around Caroline. He sniffed, and her shirt was warm and damp. “Okay,” he said in his raspy whisper. “Okay.”

  Chapter 26

  Caroline heard a car door slam and glanced at the time on her computer. Everyone had gone for the day, and she’d just called her parents to let them know she would be working late—extremely late. The proposal from Eau Sauvage was a huge opportunity. They wanted to do a pop-up rollout of her designs in a limited run, and when it caught on, it would expand from there. Prior to the scheduled meetings with the marketing team, she had to craft an irresistible presentation. This would make her preparations for the ill-fated Chrysalis line look like child’s play.