Back on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #4)(19)

Alix squirmed again. “I’m leaving that up to Jordan’s mother.”

“Don’t you want a say in the matter?” Colette asked, glancing at Susannah and then at me.

“Not really.” Alix reached for the knitting needles and yarn as if the subject bored her.

“But flowers are an important part of the wedding,” Susannah said. “Shouldn’t they—”

“I haven’t made a single decision yet,” Alix broke in. “Why would I start now?” She turned to me. “Are we going to talk all afternoon or are we going to knit?”

“Knit.” Apparently the wedding was a subject best avoided. I picked up the needles and a skein of yarn. “There are various ways to cast on stitches,” I explained as I inserted my index finger into each end of the rolled yarn. I’ve developed my own method of finding the end and pulling it through the skein. To be honest, I’m not always successful. Fortunately, this time I looked like a genius. I pulled out the end, then had Susannah and Colette do the same.

Finding the end of the yarn was a good ice-breaker and I was sorry I hadn’t started with that. Alix clearly wasn’t in a talkative mood, and Colette didn’t seem interested in sharing a single piece of information about herself. I assumed she’d be willing to tell Alix that she was a recent widow. Or maybe she thought Alix had already heard. Then again, Colette might prefer to keep her grief about Derek’s death private.

I continued by showing Colette and Susannah how to cast on stitches by knitting them onto the needle. It’s not my favorite way of casting on; however, I find it one of the less complicated methods. It’s also an effective prelude to learning the basic knitting stitch.

Alix had completed the first inch of the pattern before Colette had finished casting on and counting her stitches.

Colette frowned as she looked across the table. “You know how to knit,” she complained. “Why are you taking the class?”

Alix glanced up and made brief eye contact with me. “Jordan—my fiancé—suggested it might help calm my nerves.”

“I’m not getting this,” Susannah groaned and set the needles and yarn aside. “I thought this was supposed to be relaxing.”

“Not necessarily at the beginning,” I said.

“No kidding,” Susannah muttered.

Alix burst out laughing. “You should’ve seen me when I was learning. Jacqueline turned three shades of purple when I dropped my first stitch.”

“As I recall,” I said, grinning at the memory, “it wasn’t because you dropped a stitch but because of how you reacted—with a whole vocabulary of swearwords.”

Alix’s lips quivered with amusement. “I’ve toned down my language, so don’t worry, ladies.”

“You aren’t going to say anything I haven’t heard from my kids,” Susannah told her.

“Don’t be too sure.”

Smiling, I raised my hand. “Are you two going to get into a swearing match?” I asked.

“Not me,” Susannah said as she finished her first real stitch. The tension was so tight, it amazed me that she could actually transfer the yarn from one needle to the other. She heaved a sigh and turned to me for approval, as though she’d achieved something heroic.

“Good,” I said as I leaned over to examine her work.

“I need some help,” Colette moaned, the yarn a tangled mess on the table.

I couldn’t tell exactly what she’d managed to do, but there was nothing I hadn’t seen in the last three years. I soon corrected her mistake and again showed her the basic stitch, standing behind her to make sure she understood. If I did the knitting for her, that would accomplish nothing. She had to do this on her own.

“I agree with Susannah,” she said after a few minutes. “This has got to be the most nerve-racking activity I’ve ever tried. When does the relaxing part begin?”

“It just happens,” Alix told them both. “All at once you’ll be knitting and you won’t even need to count the stitches. The first thing I made was a baby blanket, and after every single row I had to stop and make sure I hadn’t accidentally increased or dropped a stitch. By comparison, the prayer shawl you’re doing is easy.”

I had to admit Alix was right. The baby blanket had been an ambitious project. I’d chosen it because it required about ten classes. If I’d started with anything smaller, like a cotton wash-cloth, I would’ve needed only one, possibly two, sessions. The blanket justified the number of classes I’d scheduled.

“Who are you knitting your prayer shawl for?” I asked Susannah.

“My mother,” she answered without hesitation. “She’s doing really well, better than I expected after we…after I moved her into an assisted living complex in Colville.”

“My own mother’s in assisted living, as well,” I said. “But it must be a worry living so far from her.” Margaret and I shared the responsibility of checking up on Mom and spending time with her.

We hadn’t told Mom what had happened to Julia. It would only have distressed her. I was afraid she might’ve guessed something was wrong because Margaret hadn’t been by in several days. Mom, however, hadn’t seemed to notice.

“It’s not so bad,” Susannah said, responding to my comment. “We talk every day, Mom and I.” She paused, biting down on her tongue as she carefully wrapped the yarn around the needle. “I have a good friend who stops by periodically and lets me know how Mom’s doing.”