Moon over Madeline Island

by Jay Gilbertson

  “Who wouldn’t?”

  It’s around one. The boys spent the better part of the morning finishing the wiring for the sewing machines and Howard was able to get my mom’s Singer going, too. Ruby and I have reorganized the fabrics for the hundredth time and now are in the office setting up the desk and trying to get my laptop to behave.

  “There! Done. You can run scores of machines and not worry about an overload on the circuits,” Howard says.

  “Thank you, Howard darling,” Ruby says. “The sky is still not sure if it wants to be sunny or cloudy today.”

  “Good day to lie around and relax,” Howard suggests. “Anything else we can do before the big day tomorrow?”

  “Not a thing.” I look up from my computer. “I’m going to call the ladies to make sure everyone is on for the morning. Then it’s full steam ahead.” He and Johnny good-bye and head out the door.

  “What say you and I have a girls’ day,” Ruby suggests with a glint in her eye. “A late lunch, followed by cool showers. Then we can brew a spot of tea and do each other’s nails over a lovely fireside chat.”

  “You—my partner-in-aprons—are on!”

  “Oh double drat…it’s raining cats and bats.”

  “Shut the lights off and follow me,” I say.

  “We haven’t umbrellas. The tunnel?”

  “Don’t be such a nudge. Come on.”

  “Oh…super,” she says less than enthusiastically. I ignore this and grab her hand and give her a yank.

  Down the wooden stairs and into the now torrential rain two crazy women scoot! Between my laughter and Ruby’s cackle, we make enough noise to wake the dead. I pull Ruby along the path to the cottage: by the time we reach the back porch, we’re soaked to the skin—feels wonderful.

  “Oh my God,” Ruby says between gasps of laughter, “I am frozen clear to the bone!”

  “Me too. What a marvelous rain.”

  We’re wrapped in fuzzy robes, yellow tissue between our toes. Our feet are happily warming in front of a crackling fire in the living room. Our toenails are a gleaming red. We’ve managed to polish off a kettle of tea. Our jaws are busy munching on a frozen chocolate bar that still has some of the wrapper stuck to it. I’m filing my fingernails while Ruby braids my hair.

  “Now that we know Ed’s grandfather’s money was made from bootlegging,” I say, “what in the world will we ever do with all that booze down there? I mean, we can’t sell it…can we?”

  “I have no idea, darling.” Ruby gives the fire a poke. “It obviously keeps well. Pity it’s not wine though. The hard stuff is so—”

  “Strong.” I wince at the memory of tasting it. “They sure went to a lot of trouble. What a riot.”

  Looking into the mirror underneath the stairs, I check out Ruby’s handiwork. She has braided my hair into a thick rope that travels from the top of my head all the way to my nape, ending in three braids down my back. How in the world am I going to get this out? I do like the way it pulls my face back tight. Who needs a face-lift?

  “Oh Ruby,” I singsong, heading into the glow of the kitchen and the clatter of pans.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Down at the boathouse, Ruby and Johnny are fussing in the kitchen. Howard is working in the office. Me, I’m having a smoke out on the deck. It’s nearly nine; I’m beginning to think that maybe no one’s coming. Then I hear a knock.

  Looking up to the sky, I say. “Thank you.” Turning into the boathouse, I announce to everyone, just like I used to in the salon as the first client of the day came in, “It’s Show Time!” Before reaching for the screen door, I give everyone a thumbs-up. Howard and Johnny offer it back. Ruby’s eyes twinkle.

  I pull open the door. There stands Sam, dressed in bright yellow, with Bonnie close behind. “Well, look at you girl,” Sam says through sensuous lips. “I have chucked my Wal-Mart gig and decided you need me far worse than those folks. I will miss the discount though. Hello—you-all must be Johnny and Howard.” Sam hands me her sewing machine and saunters over to the boys, extending a hand. A waft of Sandalwood floats behind her.

  “I sure hope…” Bonnie says, snubbing out a cigarette on her hiking-boot heel and dropping the remains into her jeans pocket. “…I’m not late. Al, my husband, woke up with a hangover and wasn’t too thrilled he had to drive me over. He left before I could grab my sewing machine.”

  “I’m sure someone can give you a lift home,” I say. “I’m really glad to see you.” Ruby comes forward, offering her hand. “I’m Ruby.” She clasps her other hand over Bonnie’s. “Nice to meet you, darling.”

  “Hello? Hello?” A shrill voice calls from outside.

  Walking over to the edge of the balcony, I look down and see Lilly. She has on the same trench coat. Her glasses are perched on her nose at half-mast, silver-white hair looking as though it’s being sucked up to heaven. I wave her up.

  Marsha’s following down the path, I hurry over to the top of the stairs in time to take Lilly’s machine and wait for Marsha to catch up. Letting the screen door smack behind me, I reach up to push my hair away, then smile, remembering the braids. The boathouse is alive with gabbing women and an occasional cackle from Johnny or Sam—hard to tell the difference.

  “Good morning.” I walk over, stand next to Ruby and face the group. “It’s wonderful to see…well…everyone.” The assemblage regards one another. “How about we start with something to sip, then take a seat and we’ll get acquainted before I crack the whip.”

  After everyone gets coffee and finds a chair, I lean on the edge of a table up front. “In a nutshell, for the next”—I look under the deer head, checking the Chippendale calendar Johnny placed there—“month or so, we’re going to be making…aprons. Not just ordinary aprons, mind you, but aprons with—”

  “Attitude!” Ruby offers, lifting her chin for emphasis. Laughter.

  “Ex—actly,” I continue while walking slowly around the room. “It’s a simple pattern, not too many pieces and…we’re planning on selling them at the Apple Festival in October. We’re also going to offer them online—but our goal is to get them around as many waists as possible and we think the festival will be the ideal testing ground.”

  Sam claps her hands together. “Girl…” she drawls, “you are going to take that town.”

  “Thank you, Sam.” I take a slug of coffee. “This is how we’d like to run things.” I set down my mug and look around the room. “Pay is fifteen an hour.” There’s an approving murmur. “An hour for lunch…we provide. You can bring a dish tomorrow, if you like. I need a commitment of at least four days a week. no overtime and maybe someday soon I can offer you health benefits of some sort.”

  Lilly raises her hand. “In all fairness and seeing as the morning is getting on…” Her half-moon glasses enlarge her eyes. “Let’s get started!”

  There’s an overall nodding of heads, then we hear the clomp of footsteps coming up the stairs. The screen door smacks open and a man steps into the room carrying a sewing case and breathing heavily. It’s Al. Our eyes lock and I feel this queer chill run down my spine. He nods ever so slightly in recognition. I squint my eyes in return.

  Sam shakes her head, then says in a low voice, “Mmm, mmm. Trouble has just come a knockin’, yes sir.”

  He’s dressed in tight jeans, a beer belly straining his shirt buttons. He reaches up to flop back in place his greasy, combed-over hair. I don’t think a new do could help this guy. ’Course, if the comb-over went; lose the belly and new clothes—Nah, hopeless.

  He pants out, “Looking for Bonnie…she forgot this.” He looks around, catches her eye and he clumsily sets the machine down. Turning to leave, he says, “You know I close late tonight, so you gotta find a ride—”

  “Don’t you fret about your wife, Mr. Smitters,” Sam assures him. “I’ll be more than happy to bring her home.”

  “Fine by me….” The door smacks. His footsteps fade down the stairs along with the smell of liquor and a sweet/sour cologne odor.<
br />
  “Thank you,” Bonnie says to Sam, who pats her on the hand. “Sorry about…him.”

  “Well…as I was saying”—I arch my brows a touch—“before that charming young man interrupted us, let’s get started, shall we?”

  Everyone moves around, looking over the fabric, exploring the back rooms and setting up their sewing machines. I crank up Ella Fitzgerald, who belts out, “They Can’t Take That Away from Me.”

  Purses are put away, windows and doors are opened and bolts of fabric are being unrolled. An order falls into place as each gal creates a space to work in. Johnny, Sam and Lilly look over the cardboard apron pieces while Marsha and Bonnie thread their machines. Howard heads back into the office.

  “Who was that?” Johnny asks, following me into the kitchen area.

  “Bonnie’s husband,” I say.

  “Oh yeah,” Johnny says. “Owner of the Liquor Lounge. That’s the wife? She’s too pretty for—”

  “Meow.”

  “Lovely, isn’t it, darling.” Ruby comes over beside me. “I think Sam’s right, you know. We’re going to take this town!”

  “You know, I think she is too.” I head back to the office to check on Howard.

  “Hey, Eve.” He leans back, clasping his muscular arms behind his head. “Have a seat and listen.”

  I thump down into one of the chairs opposite him. We overhear Sam and Lilly deciding just who should cut the pieces out and who should assemble. Lilly declares she’s an okay cutter, but “Eve’s probably faster,” and then we hear the buzz of her electric scissors going at it. One by one, sewing machines rev to life, and the drone makes my stomach vibrate. Howard and I chat about the hundred and one details concerning the festival.

  Johnny appears in the office doorway looking suspicious and I notice the silence out in the workroom.

  “We have something to show you two,” he says, and we follow him to the front.

  The four women are grinning—Rocky’s sprawled out on the table in front of Sam’s machine, wrapped in a colorful apron covered with ladybugs and flowers. It’s silent for a beat, then Rocky meows and his tail slaps the table.

  “This what you had in mind?” Sam asks, and all eyes are on me.

  “Oh yes!” I lift Rocky into my arms, unwind the apron and admire it.

  “Honey,” Sam drawls, “the day we met I felt something powerful special about you and this is just the beginning, child.” She looks deeply into my eyes.

  Then all four ladies stand up. Ruby comes around the counter and everyone shows off their fancy aprons! Johnny comes over and ties one around my waist. A tear trickles down my cheek.

  I clear my throat. “I’ll take it!” Everyone laughs.

  Ruby gives my shoulder a nice pat and heads back into the kitchen area. After some minor task adjustments, the team jumps into production again. I take over cutting fabric after a few lessons from Lilly. With five sewing machines roaring away, not to mention these fancy cutters of Lilly’s, the room is filled with life. I hand a stack of apron ties to Johnny and we grin. Several hours whiz by before my stomach starts to growl.

  “Lunch,” Ruby announces right on time. The sewing machines go silent. “Pick up a plate and help yourself. Let’s eat out on the balcony. No sense in letting all that sunshine go to waste.”

  Chairs scrape as everyone stands to stretch, Rocky included. Ruby has set out a tasteful buffet of sourdough baguettes, thinly sliced cold meats, cheeses, salad fixings and several pans of gooey desert treats. Are we good bosses or what?

  “My land.” Sam takes a plate from Ruby. “Wal-Mart, with all their money, only ever gave us coffee. You are going to spoil us something fierce.”

  “Totally fat-free desserts.” I nod to Ruby. “Just don’t swallow.”

  “Ha ha, very funny,” Lilly says over her glasses. “I’d better try one of these—well, one of each maybe, to make sure they’re—”

  “Safe,” Johnny finishes.

  “No one’s fallen dead…yet,” Ruby remarks.

  “Hmm, now there’s a thought.” Bonnie takes a bit of this and that. “Food poisoning.”

  I try to picture Al with that beer belly and her scrawny little body naked and then cough to clear my mind. Maybe a class on nutrition would help; we could convert the loft into a yoga/workout room. I’d have to start with yours truly. But Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups must have some health benefits. I’ve read the label a thousand times and at least I recognize the ingredients.

  We spend a quiet lunch chewing and enjoying the sun. After everyone finishes eating, Sam, Lilly, Bonnie and Marsha all go back into the boathouse. Seconds later they return with purses, root around in them and produce cigarettes. Oh boy.

  “This is not a good sign,” Sam says through a cloud of smoke. “I think besides yoga, we need something to help us kick this nasty habit.” I blush, remembering her “gift.”

  Ruby and I join in the smoking. The boys retreat into the boathouse, where the air is cleaner, but not before Johnny makes several comments about lung disease, the horrible smell in one’s clothes, hair and on one’s breath. He has a way with words.

  “This really is pathetic.” I blow smoke out of my nose. Cute huh?

  “I’ve smoked since I was ten and—” Bonnie offers.

  “Ten!” Sam declares. “You must have come into this world smoking, girl. I picked it up when I moved up here. Never touched one before and that’s the God’s honest truth.”

  “When was that?” I ask.

  “I moved up here about…twenty years ago, I guess.” Sam ponders this.

  “I think it must have been when Lud died that I really got the hang of it,” Lilly says. “If I didn’t smoke, I’d be big as a house. It keeps my mouth busy. ’Course I’d rather be crunching.”

  “Crunching?” Marsha asks, putting her cigarette out, checking her makeup in a tiny mirror.

  “Chips…I am addicted to potato chips,” Lilly proclaims with pride, holding open her enormous purse, showing us all several chip bags in various states of consumption.

  “You know,” I say rather conspiratorially, “there’s something about a good crunch that—”

  “Beats sex cold,” Sam throws in and we giggle. “I’d rather be crunching with Lilly here than dealing with men.”

  “You ever been married, Sam?” Ruby asks, handing her a fish-shaped ashtray quickly filling with lipstick-coated butts.

  “No, ma’m, never have and I can’t imagine I will. Nothing against it, mind you. I just never had any use for it. Doesn’t seem right, spending your life with just one other person. Besides, with the sight I got gifted with, well, I see too much as it is.”

  “What do you mean…sight?” Lilly asks. Marsha and Bonnie move in closer.

  “Oh, it’s nothing really; everyone has it,” Sam says apologetically. “Most folks are too busy thinking about the future—not living in the present. Gives me room to take a look around in their heads.”

  “You can see into my head?” Lilly asks, her eyes wide.

  “Only if I’m invited, if it’s in your best interest. That’s what my momma told me, anyway.” Sam shakes her head. “Sometimes though, I see things that make me so sad. Guess that’s why I like living up here at the end of the world. Folks here seem to have mostly found their peace.” I notice her casting a worried look in Bonnie’s direction, but it quickly vanishes.

  “I had my palm read by a woman once and she had everything all mixed up. Charged me twenty bucks for nothing,” Marsha says, giving her hair a pat. “I believe I have spent half my life thinking about the past, what might have been if my husband hadn’t gone off and left.”

  “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with remembering, wondering now and again,” Sam observes. “It’s when you sit there in your head and don’t see what’s in front of you—that’s the rub.”

  “Lordy,” Lilly says, getting to her feet. “We have talked right through an hour out here and it’s high time we hit the machines…ladies.” She heads back into the b
oathouse.

  “You can root around in my head anytime the feeling hits you, darling,” Ruby says. “Just be forewarned, I can’t be held responsible for what you find in there.” Sam smiles.

  We move back inside and everyone digs right back in. Around four o’clock the sewing machines all come to a halt for the day.

  “Well, that’s that and what a that it’s been,” Ruby announces to the group and I nod. “The way you all moved today…was super! Won’t be long and we’ll have hundreds of aprons for the festival.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not very fast,” Bonnie apologizes to the group. “It’s been a long time since I’ve sewn anything with more than a couple pieces.”

  “Not to worry, child.” Sam waves her hands around for emphasis. “In no time at all you’ll be sewing up a storm just like Miss Lilly there.” She has a sizable pile of aprons next to her machine.

  “I’ve sewn drapes to dresses and even worked with upholstery,” says Lilly, adjusting her glasses. “Takes time and experience. You’re doing fine, dear.”

  “Maybe some of us should sew certain sections and others, other ones,” Marsha suggests. “I bet we could get more done if we each get real good at putting together the same parts.”

  “Excellent idea,” I say from the kitchen. “If you can work out what you’d like to sew yourselves…”

  “Oh, sure we can,” Sam drawls. “Can’t we, ladies—and man?”

  Everyone nods in agreement and this is how our first day comes to a close. Sam and Bonnie leave together. Marsha and Lilly exchange phone numbers and go out laughing about how they can’t wait to see Mr. September seeing as Mr. August is such a “hot number.” I go over to the deer head where the calendar is tacked up and have a peek myself. Oh my.

  “It’s a shame the festival is so far away.” Ruby lifts an apron from a pile on Sam’s table. “’Course, we do need time to get all the kinks worked out, but, Good God, they’re quick!”