Chapter 10 - Blood on the White Fabric
I kept my foot on the treadle because if I stopped I knew I wouldn't start again.
The white fabric bunched a little under the presser foot and I tried to smooth it flat with my right hand while it was still moving. That was stupid. Mom always told me to lift the foot first. The needle came down and caught the edge of the gauze on my middle finger and pulled.
It didn't hurt at first. It just snagged. The thread jerked tight and the machine made a hard clack sound and stopped. Then I saw the red spot bloom through the gauze and onto the white cotton underneath.
I lifted my foot fast.
"Don't," I said, before he even moved.
The man in the black suit was standing too close to the table now. He'd been holding the end of the fabric like Mom asked, keeping it from dragging on the wood floor. When he saw the blood he let go and stepped in.
"You're bleeding," he said.
I pressed my thumb hard against the finger over the bandage. Blood pushed up around the edge. The white fabric under my hand had a small round stain the size of a dime. I stared at it and my stomach turned because Mrs. Delaney at the church would not pay for stained work.
"It's nothing," I said. "It does that."
He didn't back up. He reached into his inside suit pocket and pulled out a folded white handkerchief. Clean, ironed square. He held it out without touching me.
"Use this. It's clean."
I didn't take it right away. My hand was shaking a little and I hated that he could see it. Behind us, from the bedroom doorway, Mom shifted on the bed.
"Lily," she said, low. "Let him help."
I took the handkerchief. It smelled like soap. I wrapped it around my finger over the old bandage and squeezed. The bleeding slowed. The man watched my hand, not my face. His watch caught the daylight from the kitchen window.
"You need to change that bandage," he said quietly.
"After," I said. "I have to fix the stain."
I lifted the fabric and checked how far the blood had gone. Just the edge. I could cut around it if I was careful, or rinse it quick in the sink before it set. The machine needle was bent a little to the side from hitting the gauze. I could see it.
He saw it too. "The needle's bent."
"I know."
"You'll snap it if you run it like that."
I looked up at him then. His face wasn't serious like at the door anymore. He looked tired, and his eyes kept going to my finger and back to the machine, like he wanted to fix both and didn't know how.
I unwrapped his handkerchief and handed it back. There was a small red mark on it now. "Sorry," I said.
"Keep it," he said. He didn't take it. He put his hands back on the table. "Tell me what to hold."
For a second I just breathed. The kitchen was quiet except for the refrigerator humming and Mom breathing slow in the other room. The brown envelope was still on the counter by the sink where I'd put it, sealed shut. I hadn't forgotten it. I just couldn't deal with it and the blood at the same time.
"Hold it flat here," I said finally, and pointed to the left side of the fabric. "Don't pull. Just keep it from folding."
He did what I said. His hands were big with that small tattoo on the side, but he was careful. He held the cotton steady while I raised the needle and worked the bent tip free with my left fingers. My right finger throbbed under the gauze.
Mom's voice came again from the doorway, weaker but clear.
"Will you stay?" she asked him. "Just till she finishes this piece. Please."
He didn't answer right away. I felt his hands hold still on the fabric. I looked down so I wouldn't have to watch him decide.
"Yeah," he said after a beat. "I'll stay till it's done."
May you like
I nodded and lowered the presser foot again. My finger hurt when I guided the fabric, but the blood had stopped coming through. He held his side straight and even, and I ran a slow test line on the scrap edge to make sure the needle would still catch.
It did.
