Free The Dressmaker of Khair Khana by Gayle Tzemach Lemmon Page A

to use her cherished zigzag. Malika showed her how to thread the machine, and how to properly, and comfortably, position herself in the chair. In only a few minutes Kamila was moving the pedal expertly.
    “See? You're a very good student, just as I expected,” Malika exclaimed, as together they worked on the final seams of the pantsuit. Kamila smiled and shared a laugh with her sister; after three hours of intense focus she was finally relaxed. It felt great to be working again, and she was so excited to be learning a skill that could very well become the lifeline she needed. Malika ended her sister's first training session by showing her how to complete the hems at the bottom of the skirt and sleeves. When the machine's staccato finally stopped, they had an elegant blue dress with a beaded flower near the neckline that would be smart enough for any occasion, including their cousin's upcoming Kabul wedding. Kamila felt proud of her work and--she confessed only to herself--was somewhat amazed that she had helped make such a pretty garment.
    But there was little time for the sisters to enjoy their success; the afternoon had passed quickly and evening would soon arrive. Malika gently folded the new dress into a plastic bag while Kamila secured her chadri. With a curfew in effect they had to get Kamila to the bus stop soon to make certain she would be back in Khair Khana long before dark. Without a mahram, Kamila faced an even greater chance of being stopped. The sooner she was home, the better.
    “Malika, thank you so much for all your help,” Kamila said as she hugged her older sister good-bye in the doorway she had been so grateful to reach just a few hours earlier. “You always take such good care of all of us.”
    Malika reached behind her for a folded piece of white paper, which she handed to Kamila. Inside lay a thick pile of colorful afghani.
    “This should be enough to help you buy fabric and materials to get started,” Malika said.
    Kamila embraced her tightly. The money was an incredibly generous gift at such a time.
    “I will repay you as soon as I can. I promise it won't be long,” she told her sister.
    On the bus home, Kamila held her black plastic bag closely to her, beneath her chadri. Inside was the folded blue dress, the first piece of clothing she had ever made. She couldn't wait to show Saaman and the others when she got home.
    As she bounded into her house, grateful for Allah's protection, Kamila heard the sounds of her sisters' lively chatter coming from the sitting room. Their mother sat smiling with them.
    Kamila had arrived just in time to hear the good news.
    At last they had received word from Mr. Sidiqi; a cousin who had just returned from Parwan had passed his letter on to Najeeb. The note was written on worn, thin paper that was already turning yellow.
    Thanks be to Allah, I have arrived in Parwan. The fighting continues, but I am well. I will soon see you here, Inshallah.
    Kamila watched her mother's eyes well up as she read her the letter, and she saw the release of a worry that had gone unspoken for so long. Mrs. Sidiqi folded the letter into fours once more and placed it on the low wooden table in their living room. Then she returned to the family's dinner. Soon she would leave for Parwan, with Najeeb beginning his journey to Pakistan not long afterward.
    4
    The Plan Goes to Market
    “Oh, this is so pretty,” Saaman proclaimed as she held the blue dress in her hands and marveled at Kamila's work. “I just love it, especially the beading.”
    And then: “What are you going to do with it?”
    “I am going to sell it,” Kamila answered with a big smile. “Tomorrow I'll take it to the Lycee Myriam bazaar to show the tailors there what we can do. I'm going to see if we can get some orders from one of the shops there.”
    “Why you? And why there?” Saaman asked. Her dark brown eyes grew larger as her imagination conjured the worst possible scenarios. “Can't someone else sell it for