Recovery
Mom pulled up at the same time that I did. "What happened, Lys?" she asked, and I burst into tears. She got the basic part--that Deri had broken the machine and it couldn't probably be fixed--and took it from me, grunting a bit at the weight. Featherweight, my butt. We took the elevator up to the attic and she looked around at the mess in the sewing room, carefully putting the machine back on its table. I showed her where the treadle had been damaged, likely from Deri's attempt to force the machine, and the photos I'd taken of the whole mess. She pulled me in for a hug, then gave me a tissue. Or three. She listened as I wailed about the fabric, which I couldn't replace.
"All right, Lys, dear," she said, patting my back and letting go. "Why don't you go down to your room and I will investigate this." So I did, and I watched from my room as she exited from the back of the house and started off down the trail that led to the stables. But scarcely had she disappeared into the trees when she came back, accompanied not only by Dad and Deri, but also by Grandpa Damian and Iris, who had apparently come over to practice dressage with her dad. She was so good that she might make the US Olympic team someday; Grandpa Damian had an uncanny eye for picking the right horses from the rescue organizations and he and dad had outstanding trainers. The group paused on the trail as Mom gestured up toward the attic and put her hands on her hips. Dad's head whipped around like he was possessed to look at the house, Deri scowled, glaring at my room (well, probably. You can't see into the windows up here unless there's light from behind), Grandpa Damian went really still, and Iris shook her head, said something to Deri, and walked off. Grandpa said something to Dad, and followed his daughter. Deri and the parents came inside. I had just packed my camera bag with my cameras (so I could practice with both) when there was a knock on my door. I went over and slid the bolt, opening the door to Dad. He came inside my room, clearing the way for workers who were starting the work on Deri's built-ins.
"I'm sorry, honey," he said, touching my cheek. "I know how pleased you were with the curtain fabric and you do such a good job sewing."
"Excuse me, Mr Wayne," the designer said, tapping on the door. "I just had one question about the work in Deri's room." But she looked at me. "May I see your room, Lys? From what I've heard from your mother, it is pretty great."
"Sure," I said, summoning a smile for her. She was just trying to be nice. Dad and I moved aside and she stepped in.
"Wow," she said in a different tone as she looked around. "The color intensity is perfect. Not so light as to be boring, not too dark to be heavy, but it is a presence in the room, taking advantage of the space, high ceilings, and amount of light from the windows. The use of white is nice and fresh but without being too crisp or sterile. Highlighting the molding with the silver paint--"
"Silver wax, actually," I interjected. She nodded.
"Is a beautiful touch. The draperies are rich without being overwhelming. The furniture is eclectic and welcoming, the candles kind of romantic. The window seat is lovely, with inviting toss pillows. I love the way the bed is built in behind the pierced wood screens. So cozy. And it smells nice in here." She smiled at me. "Usually teenagers' rooms smell like dirty socks or too much perfume, depending on whether it's a boy or girl. I'd be happy to claim this as one of my designs," she said, and patted my shoulder.
"Lys, honey, why don't you go on down to the library; I'll answer the question and be right down."
"Thanks," I said to the designer, and followed them out into the hall, turning down toward the stairs as they went across to Deri's room. I had my camera bag with me so I could go out afterward. Mom and Deri were already there. Deri looked petulant and turned away from me when I came into the library, but that was ok; I didn't want to see her face either. We waited until Dad came in, the bootheels of his riding boots distinctive on the wood floor.
"All right, Deri, what on earth possessed you to go and ruin your sister's fabric and break the machine?" he asked, coming over and leaning on the desk.
"I just wanted to make myself some pillows," she said sulkily. Mom pinched the bridge of her nose, I think.
"The decorator that you insisted on is taking care of that, and the color scheme is different in your room," she said sternly. "You took things that didn't belong to you and spoiled them. The sewing machine, which your sister worked hard on restoring while you were having fun at camp, cannot be repaired. Your father and I agreed that Lys could have that space to work on her hobby. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Well, if precious Lys wants something, she gets it," Deri snapped. "A second room of her own, an expensive camera for a school class, then she pitches a fit because I used some of her fabric. So what? There's yards of it."
"I bought enough to do the bed curtains, no more," I snapped. "And now we're out of both the lining and the other fabric, so there's not enough for my project, you moron." Deri's eyes bugged out.
"Don't call your sister names, Lys," Dad said. "Deri, you need to learn respect for other people's property." He looked between us. "Is that why you have that sliding bolt on your door, Lys?"
"What?" Mom asked. I nodded.
"She doesn't even bother to knock, she just comes in whenever she feels like it. I'm entitled to some privacy," I said stubbornly. "I didn't want to drill the door for a deadbolt, or I would have used that instead, to keep her out when I'm not around. You can see why I wanted it."
"It's not like you do anything fun anyway," Deri muttered.
"All right, Deri. Your allowance is going to be docked until you've repaid your sister for the price of the fabric," Dad said grimly. "Lys, either your mom or I will go with you to look at machines, but it might not be til next week. Additionally, Deri, you're grounded for two weeks. And if you don't learn to respect other people's privacy, I will take the door off your room until you do."
"Oh my GODS," Deri bellowed. "That's so unfair!"
"It is not," Mom said firmly. "You are growing heedless and callous, my daughter, and these traits must be corrected before it is too late." Deri switched tactics.
"But two weeks of being grounded? That will interfere with tryouts for the swim team," she said warmly. "And you guys wanted me to pick up another activity."
And unbelievably, I felt her push, gently, gently. "Well, perhaps a week would do," Mom said. "You come home right after school or swim team."
"Mom, she's using her gift!" I said loudly. Deri glared at me.
"Derinoe!" Mom said, shocked. "Is this true?"
"Why would it be?" she countered. "I'm not supposed to use it."
"She did," I stated angrily.
"Derinoe Rowan Wayne," Mom said, her voice clipped. "Do not make me use the Lasso of Truth on my own daughter. You will find it unpleasant to have the truth compelled from you."
In the end, Deri confessed to a 'really little' use of her gift to lessen the time of her grounding. That increased her grounding to a month, but she was allowed to try out for swim team, I think in the hope that the discipline of the sport would do her good. Then I was excused and went outside for my twenty pictures. The ten I did for class were of trees, the lake, nothing that could be tied specifically to this estate, but the ones on the prototype camera had the ruins of the folly, a view from the gazebo, and I approached the stables close enough to get a nice shot of some of the detail, but not close enough to run into a horse. I tried hard to use the information we'd learned in class to compose the shots well, and let it distract me from the family drama. My outrage was still present, but it had been blunted somewhat by Deri's punishment. And the loss of the sewing machine, which I realIy liked and felt some ownership for still hurt. I didn't know what to do about the bed curtains, though. I decided to ask around at work; some of my coworkers were really creative.
"Do you have any fabric left at all?" my manager asked. "I've tried, but I can't reorder it. But maybe you could get a solid and use the flower-sprigged fabric for a border."
"My sister used a beaded curtain around her bed when we were teenagers," Gary reflected. "It was so cool. I used to sneak into her room when she was out to play with it." That was a knock against that idea but it sounded interesting.
Those were the two top suggestions I'd heard, and when I got home, I went back up to the sewing room to clean up. It was kind of soothing to restore order to the area, and I took one of the chunks of floral fabric with me after I was done. I'd bring it into work and see if I could find a match with a solid. I looked at fringe and beaded curtains online, but they wouldn't provide the warmth I wanted. They were pretty, though... I ordered one as a test case, long strands of small translucent iridescent beads. I could pick it up in the store after school the next day.
When I got home, I tried the beads behind the screen; they were pretty, but it kind of distracted from the design of the screen, which I didn't want. But I tried tacking them to the window casing behind the velvet draperies. The drapes were pulled back during the day, exposing a slice of the window, and the facets of the beads twinkled slightly in the light but didn't obscure the view. I loved it, and ordered enough for the rest of the windows. It was swanky, I thought.
The next day when I went to work, I saw a white moire cotton fabric that was a perfect match with the white of my sprigged fabric. Better yet, it was an easy reorder if something... untoward happened. I thought that it would look pretty with a thin dark purple border between the two white fabrics, and it would look lovely behind the purple painted screens.I also bought some of the bigger, firmest pillow inserts that I could use with the cut-up fabric. Waste not, and they would provide some nice support when I was reading and relaxing. The other pillows were small and soft.
Wednesday, I got the critique back for my first photographs, and felt buoyed up by the teacher's comments. They were great first shots, I was told, and my parents were pleased when I told them after ballet. Then Mom had to leave for her business trip.
And, probably best of all, one of the girls in class asked me to eat with her and her friends at lunch.