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By: Sandy

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We had stuffed most of the linen from the old family house into an old wood steamer trunk. That was almost 13 yrs ago. My sister had passed away since then and my brother had no interest in old linen. I was not terribly interested either. Who could be used old stained table cloths? and it is made for dining room 24 people seated tables?
I sighed and knelt down to tackle the rusty cast iron clasps holding the trunk shut. I needed to take out the contents: worn out embroidered tablecloths and napkin sets; wrinkled cotton bed sheets and pillow cases in harsh pink, white and green, old muslin curtains and a few towels and fancy face cloths. I would give the contents away but hold on ot the trunk, as I was convinced that a time would come when I could use it.
I turned on the television as a companion and began manually sorting through the linen into neat piles on the floor. I was working on it for about fifteen minutes when I realized there was a yellowing white cord hanging over the trunk's side. Something stirred inside me as I quickly, almost breathlessly, tugged at the string to pull out the apron.
I took the big full bib apron, shook it out, and lifted it up before my eyes in awe for a little while. Helplessly, I brought the heavy cotton twill fabric closer and buried my face in it as I had done countless times so many years ago, in what seemed like another life. I rubbed the apron’s rough cotton fabric against my skin and felt the tears rise.
I could feel her presence when I smelled the cinnamon scent on the apron. She had one arm around me and she didn't want me to cry.
I did not cry. Instead, I rubbed my nose on her wide pocket's rough rim on the front of her apron and pretended she was holding me next to her large, hot body with one hand as she mixed the dough in a large pot made of earthenware with her other arm. She started to sing a tune to me. She hummed and sang until I was feeling better.
Our cook was Samara. She wasn't our nanny and she was not required to look after children. She was a tall, large lady, and I selfishly love her. When I was 12, Samara died and and I was completely surprised when her brother came to our house. I had never thought to ask if she had a family of her own.
I looked closely at the apron while I put it neatly away in my drawer.
It was worn and yellowed, the end of one apron string slightly frayed, but spotless as always. It didn't have any stains on it, and I could not wash it. I thought I could still smell traces of cloves and cinnamon on it.

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