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Boxed In(33)

By:Karen Kelly


Annie pried off the lid, delighted to find Gram’s jelly bags nesting there. Used for draining the juice from the boiled rose hips, frugal canners used all sorts of things to make their own bags. Some used old stockings, worn pillowcases or even cloth diapers, but Gram had sewn her own from muslin. Annie pulled out three folded bags, each bottom section a faint orangey pink from the juice, before reaching in to feel a different kind of fabric. Much thicker than the jelly-bag muslin, the folds fell open as Annie lifted it free from the tin. It was a child-sized apron, the one Betsy had made for Annie when she was six years old. When she had first put it on, the hem fell to below her knees, and the ties made giant bows as they drew the sides of the apron to almost meet in the back. No matter what kind of mess Annie made, the clothes beneath remained pristine. Each summer that followed, the apron’s length was a bit shorter and the back bows a little smaller. Gram’s foresight had given Annie an apron she had used until adolescence hit, and her last growth spurt had finally forced her to exchange the special apron for a larger one.

Annie spread the apron out on the shelf, looking for tears or worn areas. The cheery fabric was a touch faded, but the seams were strong with no broken threads. Gram had sewn it with her usual meticulousness, and Annie had no doubt Joanna would be able to wear it for several years, just as she had. Refolding the apron, she placed it, and the jelly bags, back into the tin and set the tin on top of the box of jelly jars. She removed the final item from the third shelf, a box of miscellaneous old linens and doilies, and slid it on top of the bench. Only one shelf remained to be cleared, and Annie didn’t waste any time digging into the boxes that lined the bottom of the rack. Two boxes—one wide and squat, and one tall and narrow—contained various instruments and supplies from her grandfather’s veterinary practice. As Annie carried them over to pile in a wedge of space near the vanity, she wondered if Cecil had held any of the things as he helped Grandpa with the animals around the Stony Point area.

The last two boxes, containing the jelly-bag tripod Grandpa had rigged for Gram and quart-size canning jars, joined the collection by the door to be carried downstairs. Only one thing remained to be found before Annie could start picking the rose hips—Gram’s recipe. Annie finished cleaning each of the rack’s shelves and stepped back to admire her work. Free of decades-old dust and grime, the oak’s warm tone would look cozy and inviting against the jersey cream color of the kitchen walls.

Her last task of the morning was to clear the path for the rack to be moved downstairs when Alice came later to help. The solid piece of furniture was heavy enough without it catching on a box or dragging a bench along with it. By the time Annie had shifted the piles of miscellany to one side of the attic space or the other, her muscles were ready for a break. Sliding the bucket over her left arm, she curled her right arm around the Charles Chips tin to carry it down to the kitchen. The pasta salad had been calling her for the past hour, and Annie’s throat was parched.

A squall dashed rain at a slant against the windows of the house. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Annie saw Boots curled up, napping on the couch, and she felt like curling up next to her. But she went to the kitchen instead and dipped up a bowl of pasta salad and poured a giant glass of cool water, adding a long squeeze of lemon. The simple meal didn’t take long to finish, but its effect was almost immediate. Annie decided, rather than napping, to use her renewed energy to work on the pillow until Alice arrived. She settled down on the unoccupied end of the couch and lost herself in the steady rhythm of champagne Tunisian knit stitch and French blue Tunisian purl stitch. After several rows, Annie fastened off the French blue, completed a forward pass with champagne, turned it, and began working with the cream yarn for the return pass. “Hmmmm, nice,” Annie nodded to herself. “But will it reflect the urchin basket design? I just can’t tell.” Boots opened one eye, as though about to weigh in with her opinion, only to shut it again.

As the afternoon wore on, the rain wore out. By the time Alice came knocking at the door the water was dripping from the eaves sporadically.

“Wouldn’t you know it, the rain stops as soon as I make it home and change into comfortable clothes,” Alice said as she stepped into the hall.

“Terrible weather for heels.” Annie took Alice’s anorak to hang it on the coatrack. “Did any of your profits blow away with the wind?”

“Thankfully, the profits stayed put and made the messiness all worthwhile. My hostesses were thrilled. I think they’ll be regulars.” Alice combed her fingers through her hair. “So while I’m in a good mood, tell me what we’re tackling tonight.”