I had never heard of a tree that could cry, but so many things are different in Cuba.
We went back inside and Papa said it was time to go. I remembered I wanted to take their measurements so I could make dresses for Ma Felipa and Manuela. I was clumsy trying to explain what I wanted. But then I pointed to my dress and they both said, “Un vestido.” They were delighted once they understood I had sewn the dress myself. They let me measure them with my tape and I wrote the numbers down in the back of Papa’s ledger, then we picked up our satchels and said goodbye.
At the door I turned, and Manuela looked back and said to me, “Amigas.”
I repeated, “Amigas.”
The very next morning, I promised myself, I had to begin sewing a dress for Manuela, my first friend in Cuba.
My dear Malka, I will tell you more in the next letter. I’m so tired I’m falling asleep as I write. The only thing keeping me awake is the sound of crickets singing in the night, and the desire to write everything down for you so I don’t forget any details. I don’t know if you’re awake or sleeping now, but I hope you are well in every way, as I love you with all my heart.
Wishing you good dreams always,
ESTHER
AGRAMONTE
March 10, 1938
My dear Malka,
For the last three days, I got up early and sewed and sewed until I finished the dress for Manuela. I was able to sew faster because I knew what I was doing and Manuela and I are the same size. I also made hers with buttons in the front, but I experimented and tucked the pockets into the seams so they’re hidden.
“Can I go over to Manuela’s house and give her the dress?” I asked Papa after he was done praying. Papa agreed and said he was going to do some accounting and see how much we had earned from the sale of the sandals.
No sooner had I gotten beyond the town center and was walking on the dirt path that led to Manuela’s house than Señor Eduardo appeared on his horse. I kept my gaze down and moved to the edge of the path, trying to make myself invisible, but he turned his horse around and followed me. He didn’t say a word, but I could feel the heat of his horse’s breath on my back. Then when I got to the door of Ma Felipa’s house, he muttered “judía” and sped away.
Manuela greeted me with a hug and waved me into the house. I tried not to give Señor Eduardo any more thought as I followed her inside.
“Tengo un regalo,” I said. I have a gift.
I gave her the folded bundle. She opened it and was thrilled to find the dress. She kept turning it from front to back, looking at every seam and every detail, admiring the yellow buttons I’d chosen to match the flowers on the dress, and saying “bonito,” which means “beautiful.” Ma Felipa came into the room and she marveled at the dress too. When Manuela tried it on, I was happy to see the dress fit perfectly. She twirled around as I had and I could tell she enjoyed the breezy feeling of the light cotton fabric on her legs too. This dress was even lighter than the simple shift she usually wore, made out of muslin. “Gracias,” she said, and gave me a hug, and then Ma Felipa gave me a hug. Next I’ll surprise Ma Felipa with a dress—I already know what design I’ll make for her.
Ma Felipa wouldn’t let me leave without giving me a cluster of bananas. As soon as I went out the door, I checked to be sure Señor Eduardo was nowhere in sight and rushed all the way back home.
I was glad to find Papa in a cheerful mood. He added up our sales and said our savings under the bed were growing. Soon he’ll send money to Mama for food and put aside money for the steamship tickets for all of you.
We went out to sell sandals in the afternoon and I tried not to worry about Señor Eduardo appearing out of nowhere.
I wondered if I’d imagined it all. I hoped I had. I wish you could tell me, dear Malka, that I imagined it—didn’t I?
With all my love and still more love,
ESTHER
AGRAMONTE
March 14, 1938
Dear Malka,
I am getting better and better at sewing. But it’s true I spent all of Saturday night and Sunday doing little else. For the dress for Ma Felipa, I used the blue fabric and designed it to be looser and longer so it would be comfortable and flow like the water of her Yemayá fountain. I added iridescent mother-of-pearl buttons down the front and cut a big square of fabric she can use as a kerchief.
Papa came with me to deliver the dress and kerchief to Ma Felipa. When I gave the things to her, she began to sing, “Yemayá, Yemayá,” and sprinkled water from the fountain onto the dress. Then she went to the other room and changed into the dress and tied the kerchief around her head. Upon returning, she stretched out her arms and hugged Papa and me at the same time and said, “Bendiciones,” which Papa told me means “blessings.”
The next dress I decided to make was a black one for Señora Graciela. I knew I couldn’t make anything as elegant as the dresses she wore every day, but I designed it with a high collar and a bow at the top of the neck and gathered it at the waist with a full skirt. I also made hidden pockets for her dress. Señora Graciela can use them for her many handkerchiefs. I borrowed the measurements for Ma Felipa’s dress since the two women are about the same size. The only difference is Ma Felipa is taller, so I made Señora Graciela’s dress a bit shorter.
Señora Graciela was astonished I had made the dress myself. She ran to her bedroom to try it on and returned in a rush of excitement about how well it fit. She was stunned I had crafted it with the hidden pockets and instinctively placed the two handkerchiefs she was carrying inside them. She called in Doctor Pablo to see my handiwork. They marveled at my “gran talento.”
“¿Te gusta coser?” Señora Graciela asked me.
She asked if I liked to sew. I now understood those words in Spanish!
I responded, “Sí, me gusta.” I’ve learned that I actually do like to sew.
“Muy bien,” Señora Graciela said, pleased by my response. Then she asked if I wanted a máquina de coser.
A sewing machine? Of course I wanted a sewing machine! I thought about all the dresses I could make in a week if I didn’t have to stitch them together by hand.
Señora Graciela said she had an old sewing machine that belonged to an aunt who moved to el norte. Pulling a handkerchief out of the pocket of the dress I’d sewn, Señora Graciela dried a tear and explained how she had dreamed of making dresses for Emilia, but could neither cut nor sew straight. Doctor Pablo put an arm around Señora Graciela’s shoulders, and I thought how fortunate she was to be married to a doctor who could care for her, although no doctor could heal her sorrow.