The Singer | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: The Singer | Previous Challenge Entry
By Teresa Oswald
12/03/08
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Brooke glared at the spare bedroom wall. Well, actually, she was trying not to glare. It was, after all, Christmas day. It was just that the wooden monstrosity covering the wall was an outward manifestation of all her frustration with Derek for the last three months.

It all started when they moved. The new house was so much smaller than their old one. So things had to go and Derek took charge, making most of the decisions about where everything would go and what had to go. He had (of course) pressured her into giving up her auntie’s old Singer sewing machine.

“It just takes up too much room,” he’d said. “It won’t fit in any of the bedrooms.”

“It would fit in the living room very nicely.”

“You know that there will be stacks of fabric scraps and threads and pattern pieces scattered all over the place. I just can’t accept having that be the first thing people see when they come into our house.”

Brooke was furious. “You can’t accept? What you can’t accept is me and my creativity! I express myself with my quilts and you’re taking that away from me. Along with all the memories of Aunt Mary teaching me how to sew. I don’t know if you just don’t understand what that sewing machine means to me or if you just don’t care.”

She had stormed out of the room and not mentioned it again. But the anger was still there, simmering inside her like a pot ready to boil over as the sewing machine sat inside its wooden table gathering dust in the garage. Derek was just so bossy and selfish. And he just couldn’t see into her heart. Or didn’t want to.

Then the pastor had preached that sermon on “pruning”. How we needed to turn loose of the things we hold onto to be ready for service to Christ. Brooke really hadn’t wanted to hear that, but God had started to soften her heart toward her husband that same weekend and she decided it was time to let go…right or not.

So she had given the sewing machine, and its beautiful wooden table, to her niece. Allison had nearly jumped out of her skin when Brooke had given her the machine. She had memories of Aunt Mary, too, and Brooke knew that the Singer would be truly cherished by its new owner.

But she hadn’t totally forgiven Derek. For fourteen years of marriage, he usually made sure that he had the final say, even about things that should be her in her domain -- like arranging and choosing furniture in the house.

And here it was, Christmas day, and he had gone and done it again. The entire wall of the spare bedroom was covered in some kind of cabinet work. He hadn’t consulted her or even let her know what he was up to. He had shuffled her off to her sister’s for the last four days, to get this huge permanently built in…thing… completed, of course. Sure it was probably some kind of Christmas surprise, but it would be something stupid he wanted, like some kind of entertainment center or something.

There was that anger again, boiling just below the surface. Brooke pasted a smile on her face and said, “It’s nice, Honey. Um, what is it?”

“Close your eyes for just a minute while I open the doors, then I’ll show you.” He grinned at her, eagerness in his voice and eyes.

Brooke obediently closed her eyes until she heard, “Okay, you can look now. Merry Christmas!”

There in front of her was a complete sewing area. There were little cubbies with her fabric neatly stacked by color. There were drawers just the size for patterns and others for smaller items. Her cutting mat had its own place and there were pegs for all her thread. Two tables folded out from the wall, one of them for laying out fabric to cut. On the other was a brand new Bernina sewing machine. One with all the bells and whistles. It was… perfect.

“I know it’s a little crowded, but at least it’s your own place to be creative.”

Tears sprang to Brooke’s eyes. Then she leapt across the room and wrapped her arms around Derek. In a tiny voice she said, “Thank you. Oh, thank you.” Derek had seen into her heart after all.

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