Out on the fire escape, Roberta lay on her stomach, looking down at the alley below. The metal was colder than she thought it would be for October but she couldn’t stop looking. Purrsephone, her cat, whom she nicknamed Miss Pea, hadn’t come in for her breakfast. And today of course they were scheduled to go to the animal doctor’s office for her check-up and a shot. There was a knock on the window from inside their house and her Auntie Esmerelda gestured that it was nearly time to leave. Roberta opened the window, climbed back inside. “I still don’t see her!” Roberta signed to Esmerelda, who was hearing impaired. Taking her key on its chain, Roberta looped it around her neck and darted out the front door. Her heart was a bit heavy but then she felt it leap. “Silly girl!” She called to Miss Pea as the little cat appeared from behind their trash cans and leapt into Roberta’s arms. She held her pet firmly and stepped back inside the door. She fastened Miss Pea’s harness to the lead and they went out. Esmee knocked on the front window this time. So, they waited until she came to the stoop, sat on the top step and tied on her kerchief. Roberta took her arm and they began walking.

It was funny to Roberta to watch the reactions of people when they saw Purrsephone walking on her leash. It was tricky, too, for her to weave in and around the people walking on the sidewalk. But she did it with ease—had never yet been stepped on or tripped over. Nor had any of the people been frightened by her. Some people, she knew, didn’t like black cats because they were superstitious. Which was extremely silly because Miss Pea was friendly and wouldn’t harm a fly! Well, maybe she would, Roberta though to herself, but she wouldn’t hurt a human. Unless they tried to hurt her first.

In the office, Roberta watched as the nurse held Miss Pea while Dr. Mathesino examined her. She blinked at him in her typical mischievous way and yowled when he gave her the ­­shot. “Aww Miss Pea,” the doctor said, “Sorry about that.” Pea glanced up at him and it seemed to Roberta that her cat’s eyes glowed in the bright light of the exam room. Pea jumped away from the nurse and back onto Roberta’s arm, licked Roberta’s chin and she giggled.

“One more shot.” The doctor said. He reached out quickly with Roberta still holding and gave it before Pea could react. Then she did; yowling again and jumping to the floor. She rubbed against Roberta’s sneakers and rolled on to her back. Dr. Mathesino reached down to rub her belly briefly. He said, “You’re a good cat, Miss Purrsephone,” and she nipped playfully at his fingers. He said to Roberta “Keep taking good care of your cat. Try to stop her from going outside if you can.”
 

Roberta snapped Pea’s leash back on and went to meet her aunt in the waiting room. They paid the bill and left. Esmee signed to Roberta that she wanted to stop in the Ethiopian shop to get take out for lunch. Her stomach growled at the thought of food and as they walked down the street, Roberta carried Pea. The sidewalk was very crowded with people hurrying home from work. She sat outside the shop while Esmee gave the shopkeeper her order. Pea curled up on her lap and they watched the crowds together. Esmerelda returned and they walked back home.

 

Roberta and her family lived in a brownstone house across from the City College where her mother, LaVaughn, was a teacher. Her great-grandparents brought the house when they were married in 1930 and had come to New York from their ancestral home in the South Carolina Sea Islands. Her father Daniel cleaned windows and ran his business from the basement of their house. Every morning while getting ready for school, Roberta stopped to watch his workers load their equipment--buckets, rags, soap, squeegees and ladders--into their van.

Today, when she and Esmee returned with lunch, her parents came in to join them. Esmerelda was fussing, slapping the injera on a plate, setting each place at the table. There was a loud crash in the hallway, and then Roberta’s cousins came running in, drawn by the food smells. The look on Esmee’s face was so comical that Roberta burst out laughing. Esmerelda groaned, smacked her forehead.

“Weren’t goin’ to have enough food!”

“Auntie Esmee, sit down. We got a fridge full of food.” Roberta signed to her, yanked open the refrigerator door, took out a bottle of juice, a pie her granny made, a bowl covered with tinfoil.  “Look, spaghetti and meatballs, yum!” She emptied it into a pan, turned on the burner to heat it.

“Got no bread!” Esmee moaned. Roberta laughed, rolled her eyes but patted her aunt’s arm.

“We don’t need any.”

Ginger, Steph, Hank and Bobby Joe, her cousins who lived upstairs, pulled up folding chairs to the table, started dishing out the food. Roberta tore up some lettuce in a bowl, placed it in the center of the table. The door to her grandparent’s bedroom open and Granny came out. “My word, what’s all this racket!!”
“Come, sit, Granny!”

Her Granny pulled up the chair between Steph and Roberta. Instead of getting herself a plate right away, she looked at Roberta, glanced around for Miss Pea.
“How was Pea at the vet doctor’s today?”
“Oh, fine,” Roberta replied around a mouthful of salad. “She got two shots.”
“Vaccines.” Granny corrected her. “How’s that cute doctor?”

Roberta blushed. “He’s fine, I guess…He said we should keep Pea indoors.”

Granny snorted. “He could try. Can’t keep that bad girl inside, no way. Too sneaky.”

“I think the shot made Miss Pea’s eyes glow.”

Granny snorted again. “No way that can happen.” She laughed, hugged Roberta briefly. “Your imagination!” She got herself some salad, greens and potatoes.

Roberta’s mother leaned in. “You ready for school on Monday, baby?”
“Yes, Momma.”

“Show me your homework later, okay?”

Roberta nodded. Her father, who’d been sitting, silently eating, looked up. “I’d like to see it too. How about you come with me on the van this afternoon?”
She bounced in her chair. “Yes!” Her father grinned, squeezed her shoulder gently with one hand.

“Can Miss Pea come with us?”

Both her parents and Granny shook their heads. “No.”

“No – she would jump out and be lost.” Father said. “We’d never be able to find her in the city if she did.”

Roberta opened her mouth to speak. Granny cut in to agree, “No, Pea should stay home.”

“Ok--” she said. “You’re right.” Roberta got up, picked up Miss Pea and got her food from the cupboard.  Pea wriggled loose, jumped and waited by her bowl.

Roberta fed her, sat back down in her chair. The door rattled open again and her other aunties came inm Steph and Hank,’s mothers. Ginger and Bobby Joe lived upstairs with them too, as their parents were in training for the army. Her aunt Silby was a nurse and she was going to Germany to work in an army hospital there. And Uncle Hank was a tank driver. When Roberta thought of him she imagined him driving his tank up their street in Harlem. She thought about that now, imagined she and Miss Pea riding in the tank with army helmets on. She giggled aloud. Granny looked over at her plate and Esmee grumbled, “You gone eat that? Don’t waste my food girl!” Roberta quickly shoved the rest of her potatoes and greens in her mouth, wiped her fingers on a piece of injera. She ate that too and jumped up from her seat, put her plate in the sink. It was filled with water, so Roberta pulled her sleeve up, reached in to open the drain. There was a swirling, gurgling sound as the water went down. Roberta washed her plate, put it in the dish rack and dried her hands. She grabbed her coat and hat, and sat on the bench by the door waiting for Father.

 

Outside on the street it was chilly. Father unlocked the door and Roberta jumped up onto the squeaky leather seat. It was cool and smelled like ammonia cleaner. She fastened her safety belt, leaned back, looked up the house and saw Purrsephone peeking her nose through the curtains. She waved her fingers at the little cat and it seemed to her that Pea’s eyes glowed again. Or was it the sun glinting off the glass? She looked down the hill of their street, at the shimmering water of the river below. Huge boats and barges sailed slowly by as if from another world. The engine started up and Roberta again thought about the tank and the expression on people’s faces if they saw an army tank driving down the hill. She waved again at Miss Pea, Father got in the driver’s seat and they drove away.

For the first stop, they went to a tailor’s shop on Eighth Avenue. Some of the workers lived in the neighborhood and met them there. Roberta knew them--they waved to her when she rolled down the window and leaned her head out, rested it on her folded arms. She looked in to the back of the van as they began to remove the buckets and cleaners. One of the men, Elberto, pulled the ladder out which extended so he could reach the third story windows. He put his supplies in a bucket and hooked it to his belt so he could use both his hands to climb up.

 

The owner of the shop came out to watch. She was an Irish lady who told Roberta her name was Davy.

“Davy? Like Davy Crockett?” Roberta asked her. And the lady put her hands on her hips in mock anger.

“No! little girl,” she said in her growling accent. “Dav-nawt! So! Come in and have a biscuit!”

Roberta glanced at her father and he nodded. She grabbed her book from the dashboard and followed Daimhnait inside the shop. There was a comfy chair by the door, and Roberta plopped onto it with a sigh. She curled up, book on her knee, while Daimhnait gave her a paper napkin with a biscuit in it that looked like a round cookie.

 

“Tis a cookie.” She followed Roberta’s thoughts and the little girl jumped. “We call ‘em biscuits and they’ve got butter in ‘em and they’re good.”
Roberta bit into the cookie, and tasted how it flaked off against her tongue. Daimhnait placed a cup of cambric tea on a table next to the door. Roberta took a sip: a lot of milk and sugar made it sweet and creamy. She finished her cookie, took another sip of tea and leaned back again, finding her place in the book. It was called A Room Made of Windows and it had been a gift for her birthday from one of her school friends. She like the main character who was a girl nearly the same age as she, who had a cat also, two cats actually, named Gretchen and Sandy. They weren’t black like Pea, but tiger striped.

 

Daimhnait walked past her, went outside to watch her father and his helpers wash the windows. When she came back in, she glanced at the cover of Roberta’s book.

“Ah, I know that one, read it to my girl a time ago.” She growled. Her voice was rough but not in a frightening way. “Tis an old Irish lady in it like me. Except she played piano, not the sewing machine.” Daimhnait gave a chuckle. “What d’ya think, are you wanting to see the machine?”
Roberta considered this, and then nodded. She followed Daimhnait into the back of the shop where it was cool and dark. Daimhnait turned the switch on an  ancient-looking floor lamp, brass with a rosy purple shade that had tassels and fringe, kicking at it so that it flickered and the light came on.

 

Just then Roberta’s father called from the front door.                                                         

“Roberta, come on now, we’re done here, leaving.” Roberta sighed, looked longingly at the sewing machine on its black iron stand and slowly began to walk towards the exit. As she reached for the door handle, she heard Daimhnait call out.

“Mr. Tremblay! Let your girl stay here while you work. I’ll teach her sewing.” She paused, “If its ok with you?” Father stepped back inside the shop. The glass and metal door whooshed closed. He looked around, intensely, and back at Daimhnait. Roberta held her breath, hoping.
Her father considered this, glanced down at Roberta’s face and leaned back out through the door, where one his employees sat smoking a cigarette. 

“Mason,” he said to the boy, whom Roberta also knew. Mason was one of her father’s youngest workers who was working to earn spending money while he was in college. He had been in one of Momma’s classes at her school. She brought him home to dinner one night to see if Father had a job for him.
“What did you need, sir?” Mason asked.

“Roberta is going to learn to use the sewing machine. I’d like you to stay with her. No, offense, Mrs. O’Doyle, but I’ve got to keep an eye on my daughter. I’m sure you understand.”

“’Course I do,” Daimhnait replied. He reached in his pocket, pulled out a billfold in a gold clasp. He peeled off a ten-dollar bill, handed it to Mason. “Here’s money for your dinner” he said to them.

Mrs. O’Doyle objected, briefly. “I can make dinner for them…” Her voice trailed off.
“That’s kind of you. Would you like to eat here Roberta?”

She nodded, “Sure I would.”

Mason went to the van, came back with a lunchbox and Roberta’s book bag.

Mrs. O’Doyle jumped up, said “You’ll be putting your things behind the counter.” She motioned to the glass display case and Mason leaned over it, put his lunchbox and Roberta’s bag on the floor. Mason was very tall; Roberta imagined he could bend over the counter and touch the floor with his fingertips.

 

Father bent down and kissed Roberta on the forehead. “You can have dinner here, but if you need something else you let Mason know, ok?” Roberta nodded. Sometimes her father worried a lot. She smiled at him, hugged him around the waist. When he turned around toward the door, Roberta hooked her fingers in his belt and pushed him outside. He laughed, a deep bubbling sound that always reminded Roberta of chocolate sauce. “I’ll see you again at six.” He said, “Make sure you’re ready.”

 

“Well then!” Daimhnait exclaimed when he left. Mason looked around, picked up a magazine laying on a table. He sat down, began to read, but then promptly fell asleep. He had slumped down, his head resting against the back of the seat.
Daimhnait chuckled, “This place has that effect. Sends you off into dreamland if you’re not careful.” She shook herself. “But not us!”

Roberta asked, “Why did you think of teaching me to use the sewing machine?”

“ ’Cause you want to dearie. I know these things. There’s this. How’s your little cat?”

Roberta ‘s jaw dropped “How do you know about Miss Pea?!”

Daimhnait just smiled. She shook her head. “Let’s start.” She said. “First thing I want you to do is pick out a fabric that ye like. From there.” She motioned to the back corner of the shop. Roberta looked to where her finger pointed. She walked over, squinted at the pile of fabric, picked out a shimmery pink, a dusky colour.

“Nice.” Daimhnait said. “T’will go well with your brown eyes. Now, we’re going to make you a nice new shirt to wear.” She stood up, clapped her hands together and a cabinet door opened. Roberta gasped. “How do you do that? You’re like Mary Poppins!”

Daimhnait blushed bright pink. “Nah, I’m not! Not like her, but it’s a compliment to be sure. She could fly up to the ceiling.” Daimhnait patted her hips. “I certainly can’t Miss Roberta. Too many biscuits.” She winked. “So, here we go.” She looked in the cabinet, pulled out thread, needles, scissors, and a tape measure. She had Roberta stand up straight with her arms extended to either side. Daimhnait measured her arms, legs, and across her shoulders. Then she laid out the piece of material, made marks on it and cut it expertly.

Roberta watched with interest. Once the pieces of the shirt were laid out on the counter, Daimhnait got a needle and showed Roberta how to thread it.

“You’re going to baste these pieces together so they’re ready to be sewn on the machine.

Roberta looked at the machine again, carefully reached out one finger to touch the smooth black metal and the golden writing on it.

“Singer” she read aloud.
“Yes.” Daimhnait said. “He’s the man who invented this machine. He’s from New York too. When my parents came here with us from Ireland, I was still in my mother’s belly. They opened this shop and sold his machines to people.” She sighed, stared intently at the wall. “They sent me back to Ireland to school when I was old enough. That’s why I’m talking this way. I sure do miss it … I guess I’ll go back sometime soon. So. I keep telling myself.”

 

She stopped talking abruptly. Daimhnait held out her hands to Roberta, took the needle and thread, and showed her how to make the first stitches.  

“Keep the stitches small as you can.” She leaned close, watched Roberta’s hands as she drew the needle in and out of the fabric. “See what I do.” Daimhnait picked up the other sleeve, began applying tiny stitches. Quickly, Daimhnait had sewn one sleeve together, while Roberta fumbled with the thread, watched in dismay as she dropped and tangled it. She muttered under her breath. Daimhnait patted her shoulder.

“Be easy. This is the way you learn.” She snipped the thread, slipped it back through the needle’s eye. “Here, try again.” Daimhnait laid her sleeve on the counter so Roberta could see it. And she slowly started again, one stitch at a time, the needle went round, through the material until she looked down in surprise and saw that she had finished it! Daimhnait grinned at her and Roberta held her sleeve next to one Daimhnait had compleated to compare.

 

“Very nice! Now we can finish the bodice and we shall sew the sleeves onto it. And you can pick out buttons.”

She pointed to a metal cabinet with little plastic drawers. Each drawer had a button fastened to the outside of it. Roberta ran one finger down one row, her finger stopped on a gold metal button with a star in the centre.
‘That one would be too big,” Daimhnait said. She thought a moment, looking.

“Here.” She pulled out a drawer with no button on it. From it she took a tiny pink and brass button that was etched with interlocking squares. She set it on the half- finished shirt. “That. Yes, that’s the one. What do you think, child?” Roberta put the button down in the middle of the bodice and then picked it up, looking closely at the etching, the frosted pink glass. Roberta touched the glass part with one finger. The button dropped from her hand and she gasped.
“Ouch! That was hot!”

Daimhnait leaned over Roberta’s shoulder.

 “Guess that one’s not for you.” She reached again for the buttons, this time picked out one that was a vine with little leaves growing in a circle. Daimhnait closed her eyes, held the button in her clenched fist. She breathed into her hand, and after a moment, dropped the vine-y button on the shirt. She drew her open palm over the button in a circle, made a fist again and threw her fingers open. When Daimhnait moved her hand away, Roberta was surprised to see that the button was now sewn on.

“How do you do that?” Roberta shook her head, perplexed.

“It’s magic.” Daimhnait said simply.

“But… how do you know how?

“Well I learned it from my ma. Didn’t you?”

“Didn’t I what? Learn magic?” Roberta’s eyes widened. “Of course not. How could she do that?”

“Lots of mothers know magic. I bet if you asked, she would tell you about it.”        

“Where did they learn it from? I mean at first?”

“That I don’t know. Some people, scientists, think the first people came from Africa. I don’t think they really know for sure. But magic has been around a long time, maybe even before there were people. It’s said to be a mystery.”

Roberta thought about this for a long time. She looked down at her hands, the needle and thread she held.

Daimhnait began speaking again, slowly. “It’s also said that the beginning of human civilization was when people starting weaving and sewing clothes. Bet your teachers in school don’t tell you this.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But what that means, dearie, is that sewing, making stitches with a needle, or with a crochet hook, or weaving cloth, is a type of magic. A transformation. Don’t you agree?”
Roberta nodded slowly. “Yes.” And then she asked, “Do you know how people discovered magic?”
“That’s an interesting question. I suspect it started when people saw things happen they couldn’t explain. That’s why churches happened to be sure.”
“What’s churches?

“Lucky child! Parents who don’t take their children to church.” Daimhnait grinned.

“My parents only have me. But I have lots of cousins. I don’t think they go to the church either.” Roberta paused. “So, what happens there?”
Daimhnait thought for a moment about how to explain a church and its ceremonies to someone who’d never seen one.

“It’s a … religious service...in a building that’s just built to hold the ceremonies.”

“Oh.”

“There are many different types of churches and they are called by many different names.”
“Oh...you mean like the ladies at the mosque? They come to our school with lunch, I mean, they bring food for us to eat. To make sure that no one is hungry.”
“Ah, good.”
“It sure is. Sometimes they bring food from the Greek shop. I love the spinach pies, especially. When they bring the pies, I sneak one to take home for my auntie. She … she reminds me of you. Except she doesn’t hear very well. So, we have to sign for her. And she can’t sew.”

Daimhnait looked impressed. “Sign… you mean like with your fingers?”

“Oh yes.” Roberta agreed. And unconsciously she signed yes at the same time.

“How did you learn it?”

“The doctor said we had to. Otherwise, Esmerelda, that’s my aunt, she wouldn’t learn. She’s … ah … stubborn.”

“What happened to her, I mean, how did she lose her hearing?”

“I’m not sure,” Roberta replied. “She had some kind of … attack, Momma said. And after that, she couldn’t hear very well.”

“Sorry...” Daimhnait said.

“It’s okay, I mean, I guess she’s okay now. She was in the hospital a long time though.” Roberta looked down at the carpet for a moment.

 

Daimhnait said, “Let’s finish so we can have some dinner. And we should probably wake up your friend there.” She glanced over at Mason, who was still asleep. “Now we’ll attached the sleeves. Look in the cabinet, child, see if you can find a box of straight pins.”

Roberta went to the cabinet that Daimhnait had opened by clapping her hands. “I think it’s on the second shelf, near the floor.” Daimhnait said from behind her at the counter. Roberta crouched down, saw the pins, and hanks of wool, cardboard boxes that were open, which had ribbons in them, sequins, Ric Rac and tiny flowers made from material, like miniature rosebuds. Roberta picked one of the flowers up carefully.
“May I use one of these? How do they make them so small?”

“It’s a skill some people have.”
“Not magic?” Roberta was dismayed.

“Child … magic is a skill, like any other, that some people have and others, don’t.” She patted Roberta’s shoulder. “Plus, you learn … anything, in stages. Not all at once. Like you have grades in your school. See?”

“Yes, I do. But I don’t see how I could learn magic.”

“The trick of it, is not believing that you can.”

“I definitely don’t understand that.”

“Yes, you do, Miss Roberta. Tis easy. If you think so hard about doing a thing…you make it impossible. But if you don’t fret about it and let it happen…it will. Just like when you finished your sleeve.”

Roberta drew a sharp breath of understanding. She picked up the material, stared at it.
“Now. Let’s finish.” She motioned to the pin box, and Roberta opened it. There was a round pillow with some pins already stuck in it. She picked it up, and Daimhnait took it from her hand. She pulled a pin from it and Roberta watched her fold the edge of the sleeve, slip it into the shoulder of the bodice. She pinned it firmly and handed the cushion to Roberta who placed one hand over the sleeve to hold it still. She pulled another pin out, thrust it through the fabric as Daimhnait had done. As she finished pinning the sleeve in place, Daimhnait moved to the sewing machine. She pulled a metal stool over, began winding a thread through the machine parts. She leaned over, took the sleeve from Roberta and waved at her to stand by to watch. Roberta looked closely at the metal workings of the machine. A lever moved the foot which held the fabric in place, as it went up and down. Daimhnait pressed one of her own feet against the pedal on the floor and slowly the machine began to whir. Roberta leaned close to watch it. The sleeve moved quickly as the needle rose and fell.  When the first was done, Daimhnait had Roberta come stand between herself and the sewing table.

“You’ll place your hands like this.” She said. “One here—to the left of the needle, and one in front to help guide the material.” Daimhnait rested her hands lightly over Roberta’s and as Daimhnait ran the pedals, they moved the fabric together. Roberta watched as the stitches poked back and forth through the material. It moved faster, in a blur and a rattle, stopped as the sleeve came around. Daimhnait handed Roberta a pair of scissors, and she cut the threads. Roberta held the shirt up in front of her.
“It looks small. Momma says she always has trouble finding shirts for me because I’m tall.”
“I think this one will fit.”
“Really?”

“Yes m’dear, I tell you, this is a magic shop. Been here for a long time. So, it’s built up a lot of power. My clothes, they fit to whomever wears ‘em.”

Roberta looked at her, unbelieving.

“Tis true,” Daimhnait nodded. “You can go into the dressing room there and try it on.”
She pointed to a hanging curtain. Roberta took her new shirt and walked slowly over to it, pushed the curtain aside and looked. There was a full-length mirror on one side, a bench and potted plant next to it. She took off the sweater she was wearing, laid it on the bench. Pulling the new shirt over her head, it felt stiff, but as she did so it seemed to stretch—so it was just elastic, not magical--Roberta smiled to herself in the mirror. She tugged at the fabric with both hands and it was firm. She pulled it over her head again and while it fit snugly, it was not as tight as it had appeared. She pulled it all the way down over her jeans, looked in the mirror again. The pink shirt fell midway to her thighs and waved gently in the breeze from the heating vent. Embroidered patterns in a deeper pink appeared along the neckline and the hem of the sleeves. Roberta gasped, jumped back out of the dressing room. She held her arms out to Daimhnait.

“Look! Did you do this? The stitches?”

“Nope, child, you did it. Nice job.”
Roberta laughed. “I didn’t.” she said.

“How do you think it got there?”

Roberta thought for moment. “I don’t know. It’s a mystery?”

Daimhnait clapped her hands. “Yes! You are a smart child. That shirt looks perfect on you. Now let’s have your dinner.”