Back - yes again

An updated version of an old post. I had been lax in posting anything at all for some time when the original version of this story appeared. After another lapse of time (much longer) I am reworking some of my older challenge articles from Faithwriters. The challenge subject- Sewing. 150-750 words.

A New Beginning for Sylvie

Sylvie sat near an open window staring out at the front lawn, unmindful she had massaged her knuckles until they were nearly raw. In her lap lay an officious-looking letter, unopened. She hadn’t been able to attend her church for some time now and her giving was next to nothing. For that reason she feared the letter had to do with removing her from the church roster.

As she watched, a few dispirited, brown leaves circled in their own personal, small tornado before an instant gust of wind sent them scooting across the lawn. “Just like me,” she thought, dry and useless as an old, dead leaf, spent and good for nothing but the burn pile.”

The elderly lady’s birdlike features pinched into a knot as she sought to hold onto the flood of weeping mounting in her throat. “Oh Lord, just take me home,” she sobbed, bending nearly double into her lap. “What good am I to a blessed soul on earth? What good am I to You Lord, for that matter?”

“Ma’am?” It was Torie, Sylvie’s care-giver. “I got the soup all heated up now and don’t it smell good! And if you want we can have some of those nice oyster crackers you like so much! C’mon now sweetie, you hadn’ had a bite all day,” Torie’s narrow, plain face widened in a smile of encouragement.

Ashamed to be caught in such an emotional display, Sylvie righted herself, pulled a tissue from its container and began to dab at her face. Then with some difficulty, she sought to release the hand-brake on her wheel-chair. “At least I can still do that,” she chirruped in an attempt to sound more upbeat. But as sharp pain stabbed through her arthritic fingers she winced and had to stifle a moan.
---

For over half a century, Sylvie had been the unofficial seamstress for her church. Over the years she had stitched her way through mountains of sewing projects: choir robes that needed hemming or altering; velvet covers for the kneeling pads at the altar; curtains for Sunday School rooms and tapestries for the vestry; more kid’s pageant costumes than anyone could keep track of.

Her church pals used to stand in amazement, “Sylvie, you hop around like a flea – don’t know how you get a thing done. But if you don’t accomplish more than all the rest of us put together my name isn't (and here you may place whoever's name it was that was poking harmless fun at Sylvie)! Must be your gift!”

Sylvie was certain they were right; and what joy to one whose only family had been her church sisters and brothers. Sylvie was an orphan and had never married.

But now her gift and the days of her usefulness were all behind her. What with that new, young man they had hired as a pastor, and most of her friends having passed over, Sylvie felt very few even knew who she was: much less the role she had played in the life of her church.

--

“Would you like me to open your letter for you?” Torie broke in on Sylvie’s gray thoughts.

In days to come Sylvie would muse over how her heart leapt when Torie asked that simple question.. How it pounded with hope as it hadn’t done in months, maybe years. And why she answered her as she did when only a few moments before she had been droopy as a wet sheet. “Yes, I think I would. And read it aloud to me, if you don’t mind.”

The letter began with a greeting from Pastor Tom, his family, and the members at large. After that came something that left Sylvie dumbfounded: Pastor was thanking her for her many years' service to the church and inviting her to a special banquet to be held in her honor next Sunday. And if that weren't enough, he wrote, “if you feel up to it, would you consider heading up the new prayer chain the church is forming?” The council had been unanimous in naming her as their first choice.

Would she? My limbs may not be what they used to, but there’s not a thing wrong with my pray-er. And after all, since the chain-stitch has always been my favorite, how can I refuse? ”