Catch the Wind: My Journey with Caroline

I tell Mrs. Livingston I’d love to help. She smiles and asks if I’ve ever assembled a garment before. When I say no, she hands me hemming work instead—several of the nightshirts are already finished except for their hems. I open one up, and it looks almost like a boys’ nightgown.

I copy Caroline, threading my needle and knotting the end before I start stitching, but hemming turns out to be far harder than I expected. The linen is stiffer than anything I’ve sewn in school, and without a drawn line to follow, my stitches come out crooked and much too big. My fingers grow sweaty, the needle keeps slipping, and the thread tangles over and over.

Only a few minutes in, I jab the needle into my pinkie and yelp. Noticing my lopsided stitches, Caroline offers to help. She says she loves to sew. I grit my teeth and thank her, then try another stitch, but the thread knots again, and when I cut it loose, the scissors slip and cut straight through the cloth.

My stomach drops. I’m sure I’ve ruined the nightshirt, and I apologize to Mrs. Livingston, bracing myself for her to be upset. She hardly blinks. Spreading the shirt flat, she tells me to just stitch the little slit shut again. The soldier wearing it probably won’t even notice, and if he did, he’d be doubly grateful for the girl who fixed it for him. She smooths my messy stitches with one finger and promises they’ll even out with practice.

Quietly, I tell her I’d like to keep trying. Mrs. Livingston bends down until our eyes meet and tells me giving up is the only real failure. She says that as long as I do my best, things will work out.

I grin and nod my head. I check my finger has stopped bleeding, pick the needle back up, and decide to keep trying until the hem is finished.