My Soul to Win

by Robin Roseau

  I thought it was very sweet.

  One boy was struggling with a picture frame, and I thought he might be on the edge of losing his temper. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just suck,” he said.

  “Is this the first time you tried to make a car?”

  “What? It’s a picture frame.” Then he caught my expression. “Funny.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah. It’s just four pieces of wood. And I suck.”

  “Show me.”

  He took it apart. “I used these biscuits,” he said. “At the joints.”

  “Good. That will make it strong when you glue it.”

  He assembled it, and then said, “It’s not flat. Look.” There were clear ridges at each joint, a little like an Escher eternal staircase if an army man walked around the frame while it sat flat, a little step down at each corner.

  “I see,” I said. “May I see?”

  “Sure.” He pushed it all towards me. I spent a minute seeing if there was another way of assembling it that worked better. Finally I said, “I think I know what happened.”

  “What?”

  “Did you use a machine to cut the slots for the biscuits?”

  “Yes,” he said. “There’s a machine over there.” He gestured to a work station along the wall.

  “Here’s what I think you did.” And then I mimed cutting one biscuit. Then I flipped the wood around and cut the other end.

  “Yeah? So?”

  “The slot isn’t in the exact center,” I said. “It’s offset just a little bit. Now, if it’s offset the same distance on each piece, that won’t matter. But here’s the thing.” I took one of the four pieces. “I’m setting it down face up.” And then I mimed feeding it into the biscuit machine. “With me so far?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then you flipped it end for end.” I did that. “Now it’s face down. You did one end face up and one end face down.”

  “That’s exactly what I did? Is that wrong?”

  “Well, if the slots were exactly centered, it would be fine, but that’s really hard. So yeah, it’s wrong. This is what you should have done.” I flipped it back. “Face up.” I fed it through. Then I rotated it, but I didn’t flip it. “It’s still face up.”

  “It’s pointed the wrong way.”

  “Did you use a jig?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, you would have had to turn it around. The jig I had you could turn it around. So do one end of each, all face up, then flip the jig around and do the opposite end, still face up.”

  “Oh. What do I do now?”

  “You have choices,” I said. “You could start over.”

  “This was really expensive wood,” he said. “It’s for my parents. I’m going to put their wedding picture in it.”

  “That’s really sweet,” I said. “So we need to fix it.”

  “Can we?”

  “You have two other choices. You can glue it like this then spend a lot of time with sandpaper.” He made a face. “Or.”

  “Or?”

  “Or we do the slots again. They’ll be extra thick slots, and the biscuits will be loose, so you’ll actually have to use two biscuits. But that will be too thick, so you’ll have to sand them down a little. It’s going to take you time, but it’s not hard. Is there a power sander?”

  “Several,” he said.

  “That’s what I would do. Do you want me to help?”

  “Could you?”

  “I’ll get you started, anyway,” I said. “Do you have enough biscuits to use eight instead of four?”

  “There’s a whole bag,” he said.

  “Then we’re set.” Together, we picked up his frame. I let him lead the way to the biscuit machine then laughed. “This is the same model machine I used to have, and even the same kind of jig.”

  “Cool,” he said. “So it flips.”

  “It flips. So, we have to do them all both face up and face down.” Together, we got the jig settled. I tested with a piece of scrap, and then I stepped aside. “Go for it.”

  “Could you do it?”

  “I think it will mean more to you and your parents if you do it,” I said. “I’m right here, though.”

  “All right,” he said. He planted his butt onto the stool, and then I watched as he did each end of the four frame pieces. He shut the machine off and then asked, “How do I change the jig?”

  I showed him, and then he did all four pieces again. He showed me where the biscuits were, and I showed him how one was loose, but two wouldn’t fit. “I would do it this way. I’d put one biscuit into a hole and then sand another one until they both fit, just a tiny bit snug. Show me the sanding machines.”

  Ten minutes later, after we’d gotten one pair of biscuits to work, I said, “Do you have it from here?”

  “I do,” he said. “Thanks. What’s your name?”

  “Sorry. Teigan.”

  “Teigan what?”

  “Just Teigan.”

  “No one around here is just Teigan,” he said. He held out his hand. “James Jet. Everyone at school calls me Jim, but here I’m James Jet.”

  I shook with him, but he wouldn’t release my hand. I laughed. “Fine. She calls me Teigan Dove.”

  “Teigan Dove,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “You’re a good boy, James Jet,” I said. “If you get stuck again, I can help.”

  “Thanks. I should be good now.”

  “Do you know how to make sure it’s square?”

  “There are clamps for the corners,” he said. “I tried it all before I cut the biscuit slots.”

  “Do you know about measuring the corners?”

  “No.”

  “The clamps should work, but go get a tape measure, and I’ll show you.” That just took a moment, and he handed the tape measure to me. I had laid out the frame with just one biscuit per slot, and I carefully showed him. “You measure opposite corners, like this. Then the other diagonal. If it’s square, the two distances will be exactly the same.

  “Oh. Cool. Geometry for the win.”

  I laughed. “Exactly.”

  “So clamp it up but then check, just to be sure.”

  “Right. Those corner clamps are good, but they aren’t always perfect. If you have a piece of glass cut, you can always use that to be sure, too.”

  “Gotcha. Thanks, Teigan Dove.”

  “You’re welcome, James Jet.”

  * * * *

  I wandered a moment longer before coming to a stop behind Sue Ellen and Lisa Jean. They had a supply of wood sticks and were sanding them. It took me a minute. “You’re making wooden spoons?”

  “Yep,” Sue Ellen said. She looked over her shoulder. “Hi, Teigan Dove.”

  “How are you going to round the handles?”

  “Sandpaper, I suppose.”

  I thought about it then looked around, then looked back. “There might be a better way, and it’s really cool.”

  “I can handle cool.”

  “Give me a moment.” Mr. Garner was helping another one of the kids. I stepped up to his side and asked, “Mr. Garner, are the kids allowed to use the larger power tools?”

  “With proper supervision.”

  “I used to have that same model of wood lathe.”

  He said something to the boy and then straightened, turning to me. “Convince me you understand the risks.”

  “Loose clothing or hair.”

  “What else?”

  “Kick back on the tool.”

  “You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “It’s been a while. I’m not sure this is going to work. I have to figure out how to clamp the work.”

  He looked me in the eye. “Get me if you can’t figure it out.”

  “Right.” I stepped back to the girls. “Ever used a wood lathe?”

  “That’s that thing?” Lisa Jean asked, pointing. “No.”

  “Well, in my opinion, that’s the coolest tool in the
entire room. Want to learn?”

  “Sure.”

  “Bring one of those. We’re going to have to figure this out together.” And then I led the girls across the room.

  The lathe was the exact model Evaline and I had used, even down to the head chuck that was currently mounted. With most power tools, what you’re working on is held tightly in one place, and the tool is motorized. With a lathe, it’s exactly the opposite. The lathe is like a drill press on its side, but instead of spinning a drill bit, you spin the wood, and then the woodworker uses various chisels held against the wood to work it. The chisel is still and the wood spins. This gives you perfect circles for making things like vases, candlestick holders, or, in this case, the handle for cooking spoons.

  I explained all that to the girls, and then I took the spoon blank from Lisa Jean. Spending a few minutes of fiddling, I found a way to clamp it into the device, with the handle centered at the center of the spin. A little adjustment was required before I was satisfied. And then I turned to the girls and explained safety.

  “So you two need to make sure you have no loose clothing, and I want you to braid your hair then tuck it into the backs of your shirts.”

  While they did that, I collected the tools we’d use. The chisels were good, so I just had to spend a minute sharpening them. And then both girls were there, one on either side of me, and they began working on my hair.

  I’d never had to do that before; I’d always worn my hair short. But Theophania had made it grow. I’d forgotten, and I laughed, but I held still while they braided it for me. “Your hair is amazing,” Sue Ellen said.

  “Thank you.”

  “How do you know all this?” Lisa Jean asked.

  “I’m a bit older than I look,” I replied. “Okay, we’re going to do a safety check.” I looked them each over, even telling them what I was looking for. Then I thought it was cute when they did the same with me. I also made one last check of our work area. Then I moved in place before the lathe.

  “You can rotate it by hand. You’ve seen me do that.” I showed them. “You can see how I have it centered. Now, the lathe works quickly, but the temptation is to work even more quickly. That’s a mistake.” I showed them how to set the tool rest. And then I turned the machine on, adjusting the rotation speed. It’s not a loud machine, and I could readily talk over it. “Don’t jostle me. I’ll show you.”

  And then it took only about a minute or two before I had completely roughed out the handle. I turned the machine off and turned to the girls.

  “That part was going to take us forever!” Lisa Jean said. “Can I touch?”

  “Yes. It’s not quite done. It has the shape, but if you’re careful, you can also sand it here. And you’ll see I didn’t go all the way to the spoon part. You’ll have to do that by hand so it melds well with the spoon itself.”

  But I had sandpaper, and so I showed them the safe way to sand the handle.

  “That’s so cool,” Sue Ellen declared. “Can we do another one?”

  “We can do all of them,” I said. “As long as we can get them clamped properly.”

  * * * *

  I helped the girls. And then I roamed a bit. And everywhere I went, I was reminded of Evaline. It was as if someone had taken our shared workshop, the one we’d once kept in my garage, and transported it here. There were a few additions, but if there was a power tool, it was the same make and model as we’d had.

  I stood holding, of all things, a mallet. It was just a mallet, a sort of hammer with a rubber head. I held the mallet, thinking of a project Evaline and I had done together.

  And everything came crashing in on me.

  I began crying, crying over a mallet.

  All right, I wasn’t crying over the mallet itself; that was simply the trigger. But I stood there, staring at it, tears running down my cheeks, and then I knelt down and went from simple crying to outright sobbing, making a fool of myself, I’m sure, although I didn’t have a mind for that at all.

  People clustered around me. I barely noticed. But I heard Mr. Garner tell someone, “Go get Pastor Grace. Run.”

  I didn’t notice a gap in time. I don’t know if I scared the kids. But then there were warm arms around me, and Grace’s soothing voice in my ear. “Oh, Teigan Dove,” she said. “You’re safe here now. You’re safe, my darling.” She held me for a minute, crooning to me, and then slowly got me to stand up.

  I still held the mallet. Grace didn’t ask questions, but she took it from me and held it out. Someone took it. Then she said, loudly enough for everyone, “Everyone has a story. Some stories can be overwhelming sometimes.”

  I’d stopped sobbing, although I could barely see, and I was sure I was a mess. Grace began moving me out of the room. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Sue Ellen asked.

  “You can just let Teigan Dove know she’s welcome here,” Grace said. “She’ll see all of you tomorrow.”

  She turned me for the door. Sue Ellen and Lisa Jean both found an opportunity to squeeze my arm for a moment, and then Grace led me away.

  * * * *

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered some time later.

  “What happened, Darling?”

  “It’s stupid,” I said.

  “Tell me.”

  “Just memories,” I said. “I told you I’ve had good teachers.”

  “You used a hammer during lovemaking?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “You were holding a hammer.”

  “Mallet,” I said. I snorted. “No. In a past life, I lived with someone. She and I took woodworking classes together. It all just came rushing in.” I didn’t try to explain the rest. I wasn’t ready. “I’m sorry. I probably scared the kids.”

  “They were concerned for you,” she said. “But you also showed them why we open our arms. While you perhaps didn’t care to be the example, I think a chance to see compassion in action is good for them. Don’t you?”

  “I suppose it is,” I agreed.

  “You don’t have to go back down there,” she said.

  “I’m going to,” I said. “I have never believed in hiding from anything, and I’m not hiding from good memories. Least of all, I’m not hiding from good memories.”

  “Then maybe we’ll go down together,” she said. “Do you want to teach me, or would that be too hard?”

  “I enjoyed teaching the girls,” I said. I nodded. “I’d like that. Grace, could I be Mr. Garner’s official assistant?”

  “I think that would be lovely. His hands…”

  “He showed me. He is beyond all doubt far more knowledgeable than I am. It was just a hobby for us. I’d love to learn from him. But I know enough I can help the kids.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Grace declared. She gave me a little kiss. “You’re a good woman, Teigan Dove.”

  * * * *

  The Sunday morning prayer breakfast included a full room. Grace and I arrived early, but we still weren’t the first. I was amused to see Sue Ellen and Lisa Jean directing several teenagers for the setup. Grace looked over at them and smiled. “Two of my favorites,” she said. “They’ll be back at school tomorrow, but we have youth activities Tuesday and Thursday, so you’ll see them then, and you’re coming to the event next weekend.”

  I thought about it and then said, “I’d like that, Grace.”

  “Good.” She squeezed my hand. “During the service, I want you to sit in front with them.”

  “Discounting weddings and funerals, I’ve never been to a church service, Grace. Could I please sit in back?”

  “I’m not going to force you, but please do it this way for me, Teigan Dove.”

  “All right.”

  “Thank you, darling.” She kissed my cheek. “Do you want to meet people?”

  “Do you mind if I head to the kitchen?”

  “No, but we do Sunday a little different. I’ll tell the girls to guide you.”

  “All right.”


  So I headed in one direction. She headed in another. There was a woman in the kitchen, working alone. She appeared to be about forty, but she looked at me and smiled. “From the description, I believe you’re Teigan Dove.”

  I shook my head at the ‘Dove’ part, but I crossed the room. “I am.”

  “I’m Sasha Horne,” the woman replied. “Lisa’s mother.” We clasped hands.

  “Horne does not sound like a middle name.”

  “It’s not,” she said. She sighed. “Sasha Sarafina.”

  “Is that the name your parents gave you?”

  “No. Someone who shall go unnamed saddled me with it. I bet your parents didn’t name you Dove either.”

  “No,” I said with a laughed. “This is only my fourth morning, and I’m told things go differently on Sunday.”

  “Well, there are more people here, and we do the prayer shortly, before we actually start cooking. Pastor Grace isn’t able to stay. She has a little bite but then goes upstairs to get ready. And anyone who is helping with the service eats first so they’re free to clean up and be ready.”

  “She wants me to sit in front with your daughter and Sue Ellen,” I said.

  “I guess the four of us will be in front, then,” Sasha said.

  “Tell me what to do.”

  Sasha ran the kitchen. It wasn’t long until we had help, preparing to cook, but then she ushered all of us to the main room. Grace welcomed us and offered a simple prayer, and then she called on Sasha to deliver a longer prayer.

  It was nice, and at the end I got my cheeks kissed, which was at least as nice.

  And then the girls grabbed my arms and quietly asked, “Are you all right?”

  I let them draw me back to the kitchen, where I said, “Yes. I’m sorry about yesterday. Old memories.”

  “Bad memories?”

  “No, actually. Good memories, but old memories. I miss the person I made those memories with.”

  “Oh,” Sue Ellen said. “I catch my mom crying sometimes, too.”

  “Mine, too,” Lisa Jean said, very quietly. “Being an adult sounds like it sucks.”

  “Sometimes, but being a teenager sucks sometimes, too,” I said.