KEEPSAKE

by Rockapellaurie

Vincent stood at the door of the small chamber, listening through the tapestry hanging across the doorframe. From within, he could hear the muffled sounds of a little boy sobbing. Vincent sighed and leaned an arm on the cold stone of the doorway.

“Jacob? May I come in?”

He heard sniffling and shuffling for a few moments, then a tiny “Yes.”

Vincent pulled back the tapestry and ducked beneath it to enter. “Jacob, we missed you at dinner tonight. Your mother and I were worried.” He sat down gently on the small bed next to his son.

Jacob wiped his nose on his sleeve and sniffed. “I’m sorry. I’m not hungry.” He looked up at his father and pulled his legs up under him on the bed. Around him was draped an ancient crocheted shawl. Jacob reached around and pulled it tighter across his shoulders.

“What is this?” Vincent asked quietly, gently extending a finger to touch the drape over Jacob’s shoulder, already suspecting the answer.

“Last month when I was really sick in the hospital chamber, and Mom went to get me something to eat, Mary came in to check on me. I was cold and she left her shawl with me to keep me warm until Mom got back. When Mom came back in, she and Mary talked for a while and then Mary forgot about her shawl and left. And I meant to take it back to her,but I kept forgetting and now I can’t –”

Nine-year-old eyes swam with tears.

Vincent reached over to his son, opening his arms. Jacob threw himself into them, sobbing.

“Jacob, I’m so sorry. We’re all going to miss Mary very much.”

“But what if it was my fault?” Jacob sobbed into Vincent’s shoulder. “What if she got too cold ‘cause I forgot to give her shawl back and she got sick and died and it was my fault –” he broke off, his voice muffled into his father’s cloak.

Vincent pulled back, holding his son by the shoulders. “Jacob, Mary dying was not your fault. She had a stroke. Do you know what that is?”

Jacob rubbed his eyes with the back of a hand. “Father said it was ‘cause her blood couldn’t get to her brain right.”

“That’s right. Strokes are very hard to predict but have nothing to do with being cold. It wasn’t your fault in any way.”

From the doorway, Vincent heard a quiet gasp behind the tapestry and knew Catherine had come looking for both of them. Vincent plucked the shawl from around Jacob’s shoulders and held it out, studying it.

“I think,” he said slowly, turning the shawl one way and then another, “I think we could do something with this shawl. We could turn it into a keepsake to remember Mary by for always. What do you think?”

Jacob cocked his head, staring at the shawl. “But it’s a shawl. What can we make out of a shawl?”

Vincent smiled. “I bet Mercy could help us with making something out of this.”

Jacob’s eyes lit up and he nodded. “She’s nice. She teaches a class on how to make cool stuff out of yarn. She made me this for her first Winterfest this year!” He held up a small, well-made hat.

“If you like, let me take it to her and see what she can do.”

Jacob nodded. Together, they quietly folded up the shawl and Vincent tucked it under his arm.

* * *

“It’s not in great shape,” Mercy murmured, biting her lip. She sat down at her worktable and pulled her legs up under her, curling herself into the well-padded chair. She held up the shawl between her fingers, gauging it. She held it at length, turning it back and forth, bringing it in closer to inspect certain areas.

“It is very old,” Vincent agreed quietly. “And Mary wore it frequently.”

“Mary was an amazing knitter, but not a crocheter,” Mercy said. “This is crochet. It looks like when it got snagged on something, she had to tie the yarn back together in a few places.”

“I remember her mentioning once that she loved this shawl because her mother had crocheted it for her. She had tried to help, but it ‘didn’t take.’” Vincent chuckled quietly.

Mercy stared at the brown and cream yarns criss-crossing her lap. Suddenly her eyes lit up.

“Ok, so hear me out. What if I unraveled it and used the yarn to make a bear? That’s something Jacob could keep and hold onto way better than a shawl,” Mercy said. “Hang on!”

She jumped up, carefully placed the shawl on the table, then walked quickly over to a large cabinet in the corner of the chamber. She opened it and started removing small boxes, placing them on the floor. “Ha!” she finally exclaimed, pulling a box out of the cabinet and opening it. She tucked the lid under her arm and pulled out a dark piece of material.

“She gave me this blouse to put in my scrapinet,” Mercy said, setting the box down on the floor in order to unfold the blouse and hold it up by the shoulders.

“Your…scrapinet?” Vincent asked, puzzled.

“My scraps cabinet,” Mercy laughed. “She hadn’t worn it in a while because it didn’t fit her very well, but look!” She held the blouse higher, closer to Vincent’s face. Large, shiny, round black buttons glowed in the soft light. “The buttons are perfect for eyes! And I can use the blouse to make the bear a little dress! And –” she cut herself off, grimacing. “Sorry. But I think it could be perfect, if it sounds good to you.”

Vincent smiled, running his fingers gently over the blouse fabric and clicking a nail on a button. “I think it’s perfect. If it’s not too much trouble for you.”

Mercy smiled, taking the blouse back and setting it on her worktable. “I didn’t know Mary for very long, only the last year or so since I’ve been here, but I think she was an amazing woman. And it was clear she loved all of us, but she was over the moon for that little boy. She would have done anything for him.” Mercy sniffed, then straightened and tossed her head back. “I’ll move this to the front of the project line,” she said briskly.

Vincent started to protest, and she held up a hand. “Vincent, I’m a crocheter. If I don’t have a new project to start before I finish my current project, I get antsy.” She laughed, then sobered. “I’ll have it by the service Friday.”

Vincent hugged her. “Thank you. I’m sure Jacob will treasure it.”

* * *

Four days later, Vincent stood again in front of his son’s doorway. “Jacob? Are you almost ready?” The tapestry shuddered, then gathered in the center and pulled back to reveal Jacob in his best clothes. Vincent ducked under the tapestry and walked over to Jacob’s bed. Sitting, he patted his hand on the mattress next to him. In his other hand he held a smallish, plain white box. Jacob padded over and sat next to him on the bed. Vincent drew one leg up under himself and turned to face his son.

“Mercy worked all week to have this ready on time for you,” he explained, gently setting the box into Jacob’s lap. Jacob looked up at his father, not comprehending.

“It’s something for you to keep to remember Mary by,” Vincent elaborated. Jacob untied the small bow of twine holding the box closed, then removed the lid.

Nestled inside, neatly wrapped in clean white tissue paper, was a stuffed bear. The shiny black buttons had indeed been the perfect size and shape to turn into eyes. They sparkled up at Jacob from within the box. He looked up at Vincent. “Take it out,” Vincent urged.

Jacob carefully pulled the bear out of the box, its limbs and head lolling a bit, just enough to be snuggly. The bear was wearing a tiny black dress trimmed with crocheted borders and a tiny crocheted collar in the shawl’s thin cream yarn. The bear’s fuzzy brown yarn was touched with the same cream inside her ears, around her nose, and on her paws. Jacob gasped.

“This is her shawl! It’s the same!” Jacob said excitedly.

Vincent nodded. “Mercy took apart the shawl and crocheted this bear with it. She was very hopeful that you would like it.”

Jacob held the bear out in his arms, then hugged it to him. He looked up at Vincent, eyes shining with tears. “I love it! It smells like Mary’s perfume too! You know, the stuff she put on for special occasions.”

Vincent nodded. Mercy had told him that she had been able to cut and stitch together a small sachet of the original shawl, then soaked a small piece of cotton in the perfume, and finally sewed the whole bundle into the middle of the bear’s chest.

“It’ll fade but hopefully so gradually that he won’t notice and so it’ll ‘always’ smell like her,” she had smiled, handing Vincent the box.

Vincent rose, leaning his hands on his knees as he stood. “Let’s go get your mother and head to the service.”

Jacob nodded and, tucking the bear under his arm, followed his father out of the chamber.