The Lies That Bind by Kate Carlisle

were an ingeniously simple pattern, essentially two fifteen-inch blocks of smooth hardwood held together by two long wood screws, one on each end.
    “To press your pages together, you place your textblock between the pieces of wood, spine side up. Then twirl the wing nuts to tighten until the textblock is held firmly. Could it be easier?”
    I pointed out that the spine should stick up a little higher than the press itself so glue wouldn’t drip onto the wood. “And make sure the linen tapes aren’t pressed between the pages and the wood. They should lie on top. We don’t want to get glue on any part of the tapes except where they’re already sewn to the signatures.”
    “There you go, speaking in tongues again,” Mitchell said, shaking his head in confusion.
    “Sorry,” I said, chuckling as I studied everyone’s pressed pages. “Okay, everybody, look at Alice’s press. See how the tapes are strewn over the block? That’s what yours should look like.”
    “Teacher’s pet,” Gina teased, and they laughed.
    Alice laughed along with them, then frowned as she rubbed her stomach.
    “I was just kidding,” Gina said, her forehead creasing in concern.
    “No worries,” Alice said, trying to wave away the pain. “It’s just me and my nerves.”
    Whitney wiggled her eyebrows. “The good news is, when you rub your stomach like that, I’m blinded by your gorgeous diamond ring.”
    Alice held her hand up to the light and stared fondly at the ring. “It is pretty, isn’t it? Stuart is so sweet.”
    “You’re very lucky to have a nice guy,” Whitney said. “You have no idea what’s out there these days.”
    “Slim pickings,” Gina agreed.
    “Hey, I resemble that remark,” Mitchell muttered.
    Everyone laughed, then settled back to work.
    “I could make these wood presses for the kids taking our classes,” Marianne the librarian marveled, flicking her wing nuts. On the first night she’d told us that she planned to take what she learned here and offer book craft classes for kids at her library.
    “That’s way too much labor,” said Jennifer, who worked at the same library. “And the little kids won’t be able to operate something like this.”
    “Are you kidding?” Gina said. “If I can do it, anyone can.”
    “It’s true,” Whitney said, elbowing her friend. “She’s all thumbs and press-on nails.”
    I pulled a large binder clip off my stack of notes and held it up. “Two of these will hold a book in place almost as securely as a wood press.”
    Jennifer’s eyes lit up. “Binder clips. How clever. Now that’s more my speed.”
    Once they all had their signature pages firmly held inside the presses, I demonstrated how to apply the thin layers of PVA glue to the text spine.
    “Dip the brush halfway into the glue, then swipe it liberally across the spine edges. You want to soak the threads completely. Be sure to daub the wet brush carefully between the pages so that everything is covered in glue.”
    I wandered around the room, watching them apply thin layers of adhesive to the compressed textblock.
    “Something’s wrong with mine,” Mitchell said, scratching his head as he stared at his project.
    “What happened?” I asked, walking around the table.
    “I think I overglued.”
    “Wow, you sure did.” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Glue was dripping down the side of the wood press and his linen tabs were drenched as well.
    “I know you’re laughing with me,” he muttered.
    “Absolutely,” I said, grabbing a wet wipe. “Here, use this to wipe off the wood.”
    “You said a liberal application.”
    “I did,” I said, shaking my head at the mess. “I also said to do it carefully. But I’ll take the blame for this one.”
    “I like the sound of that,” he said.
    “We can fix this,” I said, raising my voice so the entire group would pay attention. “For the linen tabs, take a cotton swab dipped in acetone and wipe the linen carefully.”
    I demonstrated. “These tabs