The Charm Bracelet(21)

Mary shut her eyes for just a moment and bowed her head in prayer.

I know it is nearly impossible to complete such an intricate dress in a matter of hours, but I am asking for your hands, and my mother’s hands, to help me.

When Mary opened her eyes, the entire room of women had stopped and were praying with her.

Mary gulped, took a deep breath, and said softly, “To opportunity.”

As if one chorus, the women sang, “To opportunity,” and—though they worked at separate machines—they worked in unison for the rest of the day. Finally, hours later, Mary stood, walked to the front of the room, and held up her dress.

The room exploded into applause.

“You must show him now,” a woman said to Mary, nodding past the curtain toward Mr. Edwards. “He must inspect it.”

Mary’s heart was in her throat as she took the dress to Mr. Edwards.

“Took you long enough!” he barked.

He unfolded the dress and began to examine the zipper and the stitching.

Mary felt as if she might faint. He was silent, save for the exhale of air that ruffled his moustache.

“I worked very hard on the ruching,” Mary said, her voice filled with tremors.

“Ssshhhhh,” Mr. Edwards said.

How will I ever pay the woman back? How could I have believed I could do this? How could I have ruined her material? Mary worried.

The owner studied the collar and waist, the bow and bag, his face slowly filling with admiration, his moustache twitching in excitement.

“Would you like to work here?” he asked.

Mary jumped at the sound of shouting, and turned to see a crowd at the curtain. “We have only the one machine you used today available.”

Mary began to cry.

For the next few months, Mary worked in the dress shop and saved money, sending as much as she could spare to her parents while saving enough to earn fare west to Grand Rapids. Near the end of summer, Mary approached the owner and asked, “How much for the old sewing machine I have been using?”

“You want to leave?” Mr. Edwards asked. “You can’t!”

“My aunt and uncle are in Michigan, and I must reach them before winter. I have finally saved enough money, and I would like to buy your sewing machine. It is a part of me now, and I will need it to earn money.”

Mary used the last of her savings to purchase the treadle sewing machine, and on her last day at the shop, as Mary was saying her goodbyes to the women, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Rima Jablonski, who had introduced her to the machine, was pointing a bulbous finger toward the back door that led into the alley.

“I have something for you,” she said. “A gift.”

“No!” Mary protested. “I can’t.”

“You must,” Rima said. “Is tradition of my country.”

She began to tell Mary the tale of Jadwiga, who was a female monarch of Poland before queens were recognized. As a result, Jadwiga became king, renowned for her kindness.

“Jadwiga once took a piece of her own jewelry and gave it to a poor stonemason who had begged for her help,” Rima told Mary. “When ze king left, he noticed her footprint in plaster floor of his workplace, even though ze plaster had already hardened before her visit. That footprint can still be seen in one of Krakow’s churches.”

The woman stopped and sighed, a rattle coming from deep within her chest. “My mother always told me, ‘Give a piece of yourself. You will never realize how deep of a footprint you might make on a stranger.’ So, to you, I give a piece of my life. I am old. I have little time left. But you … you have whole life ahead of you.”

The old woman unlatched the bracelet from around her wrist. It sparkled in the alley’s summer sunlight. The bracelet was filled with stones and pieces of amber, and charms of unusual design.

“Yes,” the woman said, finally locating the right item on her bracelet. “Here it is!”

She handed Mary a small, worn silver charm with her aged fingers. Mary held it up in the air, until the sunlight illuminated it: It was a charm of a sewing machine.

“Just like the one you use here,” she said, nodding. “Yes? Just like the one you will take with you.”

“I can’t,” Mary said again. “It’s too important to you.”

“Which is why I must pass it on,” she said. “You are like me: You come here from another place. You have left your family.”

Tears began to form in Mary’s blue eyes, and she lowered her head and cried.

“This simple charm has much meaning, my child,” Rima said. She took Mary’s young hands in her old ones, and held them tightly. “This is to a life bound by family … no matter how far away they may be. As long as you wear this, they will always be near.”

The woman undid the naked slim bracelet around Mary’s wrist, one her parents had given her when she was younger, and added the charm. Mary held up her wrist; the charm looked as if it had always been there.

As Mary traveled by covered wagon with others seeking family in the north and west, her bracelet danced, and Mary’s fingers felt for the charm to calm herself. The charm made Mary feel safe, protected, surrounded by family. On her trek to Michigan, Mary stopped to do seamstress work in towns along the way, where she earned enough money from her sewing machine and her skills to get her to the next town.