I gaped at her. “You’ve been learning what, now?”
“Knot magic. It’s when you imbue the threads with your thoughts and desires as you tie the knots—”
“Yes, I know what knot magic is. But you say you’ve been learning this from Graciela?”
She nodded. “I went to her, asked her for help. Believe it or not, Lily, my estrangement from you has been the saddest aspect of my life. If only you knew how much I regretted that day in the tent, at that terrible revival meeting. I never knew. . . . First, I was so ashamed. Just so ashamed of myself, and of you, or what I feared you were.” Her voice dropped to a hush. “Can you comprehend what it feels like, to be ashamed of one’s own child? It’s like a sin against nature.”
How many times, I wondered, had I dreamed of my mother acknowledging my pain and apologizing for her role in it? I felt myself letting go of the years of festering bitterness, felt myself accepting that my mother had truly loved me and had done the best she knew how.
“I imagine I was pretty scary,” I said in a quiet voice, thinking of Selena.
My mother shook her head. Again, the gray hairs startled me. I still remembered her as she had been when last I saw her, in that tent with those hateful people. When I was seventeen. A lifetime ago.
“Yes, you were scary to an uneducated person like me, who didn’t know better. I’m . . . I’m sorry, Lily. What you were was a child who needed her mother. Thank goodness Graciela was able to take you in, to understand you and help you to control your talents.”
How many times had I dreamed of this moment? I wondered again. I reached out and put my hand over hers. She patted it. Her hands were soft as velvet and warm as love, just as I’d imagined them for years.
“Since then . . . Well, it took a while, but I’ve educated myself. I’ve read a lot. And I’ve come to understand that ‘strange’ isn’t a synonym for ‘wrong.’”
I smiled. “And I’m strange, am I?”
She looked at me, startled, as though worried she’d hurt my feelings. She relaxed upon spying my smile, and returned it.
“Oh, aren’t we all, darlin’? Aren’t we all?”
• • •
Half an hour later, the bell tinkled over the door as I led my mother into Aunt Cora’s Closet.
She lingered in the doorway, as though unsure about whether to enter.
“Come on in, Mom,” I said. “Welcome to my store. It doesn’t usually look like this, though, I have to say.”
“You named it after my cousin Cora?”
“I used to love playing dress-up in her closet, remember?”
My mother had insisted on bringing a big sewing bag in with her, and it slipped off her shoulder, falling to the floor.
“Oops,” I said. “Nothing breakable, I hope.”
“Not at all. It’s a . . .” She looked around at everyone in the store. “I didn’t mean to make a scene in front of everyone, all your friends. . . .”
“Everyone, this is my mother, Maggie. Mom, these are very important people to me. They’re my San Francisco family.” I was proud to introduce her to Bronwyn, and Maya, and Conrad, then Lucille and Selena and Imogen, and Wendy and Starr and Wind Spirit and the others from the Welcome coven. I only wished Sailor could be here, but I trusted that he would be in my arms soon enough.
“Well, then,” said my mother, bringing a gown out of the bag. “I thought I should bring this to you. Maybe it’s too soon, but I wanted you to try it on here because Graciela said you had a seamstress who could make alterations. . . .”
“That would be me,” said Lucille, stepping forward. “That looks like a lovely gown, Maggie.”
“I wore it when I got married,” my mother said. “It was also my mother’s and her mother’s before that. My mother told me my grandmother’s mother and sisters sewed it for her.”
The dress was from the late 1920s, and was made from a champagne-toned slippery silk satin. The bodice featured a sweetheart neckline, a high back, and dolman-style sleeves. A self-sash was looped through the neckline and finished at the shoulder, where it could be used to tie the sleeve. Tea-stained floral lace appliqués highlighted the front of the bodice. The skirt was asymmetrical and fell from the banded drop waist, which was adorned with sparkling rhinestones in a swirling pattern. There were a few snags in the fabric, and a couple of the rhinestones were lost or loose. A little smudging at the neckline, no doubt evidence of a former bride’s lipstick.
But otherwise the dress was pristine. Lucille would be able to alter it to fit me, and I felt confident I could remove the lipstick stains with a tiny bit of ammonia or hair spray—an old vintage clothes dealer’s trick.
“It’s . . . stunning,” I said when I was able to catch my breath. “Truly, absolutely stunning.”
Best of all, without even trying it on, I knew it was perfect for me. The vibrations were strong and happy and hopeful, and I detected something I had never before felt in a vintage garment: family. This dress had been made by my great-aunts, worn by my mother, and my mother’s mother, and her mother.
I had never before worn a family hand-me-down.
“I know there are some issues with it, but Graciela said you’d be able to fix it up, no problem.”
“Lucille is amazing,” I said with a nod.
“Mom will be able to make it perfect,” said Maya, looking over at her mother, who nodded. “And with a good laundering, it will be right as rain.”
“Try it on,” said Bronwyn.
“Yes, try it on, already,” urged Graciela.
“Dude,” said Conrad.
I
