Another treasure from the Aline Hopkins Leftovers was a marine blue silk drawstring bag, about the size of a lunch sack.  My awesome Vintage Whisperer Super Power registered a date for the bag between 1920 to 1930.  (How do I know?  I just do.) Crispy yet soft, the folds of its balloon shape had a pleasant weight, and I thought there might be something interesting inside.  I longed to peek, but refrained, coveting the joy of discovery.  It seemed like a special sort of place you would tuck an intimate secret – like the camisole you wore under your bridal dress, or half finished quilt blocks for the baby who never came.

When I drew apart the gathered fabric, a puff of white mildew edged the casing where the strings had drawn tightly against each other like lips pursed into a kiss, waiting indefinitely to be reciprocated.  Inside, something special indeed, but decipherable only to Aline – a mixed up tangle of threads and floss, enmeshed so thoroughly it had taken on the aspect of a heart.  A beautiful thing, so useless for whatever purpose Aline might have saved it.  So useful for me, now.