A Good Yarn (Blossom Street #2)(20)

I stepped up to one end and smiled. “I see we’re all here. I hope you’ll enjoy learning the craft of knitting socks with circular needles. We’re in for a bit of a knitting adventure, but I know you won’t be disappointed. I think it’d be best if we began with introductions. Why don’t you all tell us something about yourselves.”

My students stared up at me; they seemed to be waiting for someone else to start. “Okay, I’ll go first,” I said. “I’m Lydia Hoffman, and I opened A Good Yarn just over a year ago. I love knitting, and this gives me a chance to do something I really care about. I also love the opportunity to convert others.” I grinned as I said this and gestured to Courtney to go next.

The teenager straightened and glanced at the other two women. “Hi,” she said and gave a short wave. “My name is Courtney Pulanski. I’m seventeen, and I recently moved in with my grandmother for my senior year of high school. My mother died a few years ago and Dad’s working in Brazil as an engineer.” She hesitated, then added, “That about sums it up.”

“You’re living with your grandmother your senior year?” Elise repeated sympathetically. “That must be difficult.”

Courtney swallowed hard. “Dad agonized over the decision and so did I, but it seemed to make the most sense. I’m close to my sister and brother and we talk practically every day. Dad sends me e-mails, too, when he can, but he’s been busy and, well—I know he’s thinking about all of us.”

Elise nodded. “That helps, I’m sure.”

“It does,” the girl whispered and looked down, obviously fighting back tears.

Wanting to remove the focus from Courtney, I smiled at Bethanne. “How about you?”

“Oh, hi,” Bethanne said, leaning forward. “My name is Bethanne Hamlin. I’m a wife and mother of two.” She stopped a moment and her distress went straight to my heart. “Actually, I’m not a wife but an ex-wife. My husband and I were recently divorced.” She turned to Elise, as though anticipating a comment, and warded it off by adding, “I didn’t want to get divorced. But now that I’m no longer married, my daughter insisted I needed to do something for myself.” She ended on a soft, forced laugh. “So here I am.”

“You’ve knitted before, though, right?” I asked, certain that I remembered Bethanne telling me she’d once been an avid knitter.

“I completed several projects—fairly simple ones—when the kids were young. I have the yarn and the pattern for this class, and everything’s lovely, but I’m afraid I might be in over my head. Socks sound too complicated for me.”

Bethanne seemed ready to give up before she’d even begun. “With only the three of you in this class, I’ll be able to give you individual attention,” I assured her, “so don’t worry about that yet.”

“But I was wondering, you know,” Bethanne said hesitantly, “if I find I can’t do this, what’s the refund policy?”

“There are no refunds, sorry.” I just couldn’t afford it, and I didn’t want to encourage a defeatist attitude. “Elise?” I said.

“I’m Elise Beaumont and some of you might recognize me from Harry S. Truman Elementary School, where I served as librarian for thirty-eight years. I retired a little while ago and was looking for a project that would hold my interest. I thought I’d try my hand at knitting socks.” She sat back when she’d finished speaking.

I gave the three a few seconds to digest the information they’d shared, then said, “I’m glad you’re all here. While this class might be small in number, I generally find that to be an advantage. Once you get into knitting socks,” I continued, “you’ll wonder what took you so long. They’re fun, and with the circular needle method they could almost be considered easy.”

My students listened as I showed them a variety of yarns available for socks, from fingering weight all the way to the Double Knit weight. I wanted to start them with a basic sock, but I explained that the designs would be as varied and as different as the yarn itself. I chose a Nancy Bush pattern. Nancy’s were among my favorites and I knew my students would like them as much as I did.

“The lesson today involves the Norwegian sock cast-on,” I said. “It’s a bit different than what you might be accustomed to, but I have a good reason for recommending it.”

“It sounds complicated,” Bethanne said, watching me closely as I twisted the yarn around the needle. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it.”

“Oh, for the love of heaven, you haven’t even seen how it’s done yet,” Elise muttered, suddenly short-tempered. “Let Lydia show us first and then you can complain.”

Bethanne seemed to go deep inside herself and didn’t utter another word.

“Let me demonstrate, Bethanne. It’s not nearly as complicated as it looks,” I said, wanting to cover the awkwardness of the moment. Whatever had upset Elise, she clearly was taking it out on poor Bethanne. From the second she’d walked in the door, I could tell she was aggrieved about something.

“My grandmother suggested I do the Knit Two-Purl Two rather than the Knit One-Purl One for a crew sock,” Courtney said.

I loved Vera, the girl’s grandmother, who was an accomplished knitter and one of my regular customers. I wondered why she hadn’t decided to teach Courtney herself, because she was more than qualified to do so.