We had put the majority of the bedding from the old family home into an aged wood steamer trunk. That was almost thirteen years ago. My sister had passed away since then and my brother had no interest in old linen. I really did not care. Who could use old and mostly stained tablecloths made for dining room tables that seated 24 people?

After sighing, I got on my knees to take care of the cast iron clasps that had rusted and kept the trunk shut. I had to remove the worn out embroidered table cloths and napkin sets, the sharp pink, white, and green wrinkly cotton bed sheets and pillow cases, the out-dated muslin curtains, several towels, and some elegant washcloths. I would give all this stuff away and keep the trunk, which I was certain would come in handy one day.

As I was carefully sorting the old linen into piles on the floor, I turned on the television for company. 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 unknown stirred in me when I hurriedly, almost out of breath, pulled at the string to release the apron.

I shook out the large-sized full bib apron and held it up before my eyes in amazement for a minute. I felt so lonely that I hid my face in the thick-set cotton material which I held nearer, just the way I had done on innumerable number of occasions in the past, and it felt as if I was in a different life altogether. I felt the tears swell as I rubbed my skin on the apron’s rough cotton material.

I could feel her presence when I smelled the cinnamon scent on the apron. She placed one arm around me, and wanted me to not cry.

I did not cry. Warm body with one arm as she stirred the dough in a big earthenware pot with her other hand,instead, I brushed my nose against the rough rim of the wide pocket on the front of that apron and imagined her holding me close to her big. She began to sing to me. She hummed and sang until I was feeling better.

Samara cooked for us. She wasn’t our nanny and she was not required to look after children. I loved this tall, big woman selfishly. Being only twelve when Samara died, I was very shocked when her brother came to our house. I never even thought about asking her about her own family.

I inspected the apron as I folded it to put in 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.