The pulse of the needle stops as I set the cup on the table.
“Thanks,” she says, without looking up.
She pulls out another pin. The machine rattles on. Not the smallest deviation from the straight and narrow strip of binding. Stop. Pin. Start. I’m mesmerised. Holding my breath. Afraid to break the thread. I’ve always been in awe of anyone who can use a sewing machine. She comes to the last corner.
“Oh, I’ve finished. I thought there was another side to do.”
She sounds disappointed. I’d be punching the air if I’d done what she has. She runs the needle back and forth a couple of times. Cuts the thread. Shakes out the quilt.
“Another one done. Two more and we’ll have the money for the new machine.”
Susie’s been quietly making quilts for a couple of months now. Fund raising for a new sewing machine. Today, her…
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