Back on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #4)(34)

Some days there was no explaining her behavior. Out of the blue, she’d get restless and angry and reach for the phone. The way she talked to the police embarrassed me; no matter what she said about Detective Johnson, I couldn’t believe the man was a slacker.

I’d tried hard to be patient with her and while I understood how she felt, I honestly thought it would be best for Julia if my sister let go of her anger. But Margaret refused to do that, refused to rest until the man who’d hurt her daughter was charged in a court of law.

The knitting class took place late on Wednesday afternoons, when Chrissie could fill in for Susannah and Colette at the flower shop. She’d visited A Good Yarn recently, and I’d enjoyed our conversation; Chrissie had a quick humor and wide-ranging interests. We’d spoken about the resurgence of traditional women’s crafts. She’d chosen this as the subject for her Art History essay, and I found that exciting. Knitting was so many things, could be so many things. Including art.

That afternoon in late March, Susannah and Colette arrived together, toting their yarn and needles. They immediately sat down at the table, in the same chairs they used every class, and pulled out their projects. I noticed that Susannah was almost finished, while Colette had only about a third of hers done.

“We got the biggest flower order last week,” Susannah told me, her voice shimmering with enthusiasm. “A man named Christian Dempsey placed a standing order—ten dozen roses, to go to the same address every Friday. For a year!”

“Now that’s love,” I said, joking. I have a wonderful husband, but I couldn’t imagine Brad ordering me one dozen roses, let alone ten. Let alone for a year.

“It really helps,” Susannah said. “Revenue was down for March and this new order makes a huge difference. Orders for wedding flowers are starting to come in, too.”

“That’s terrific!” I was genuinely pleased for Susannah and wanted her to know that.

During our conversation Colette had remained suspiciously quiet. I smiled at her and walked over to examine her knitting. I saw that the tension in her work had loosened in the past week and praised her effort. She returned my smile and made a small joke about relaxing more. I rarely saw her outside class these days and I missed our morning chats over tea. I understood her reluctance to join me, however. Margaret made it difficult, especially now that she was in a perpetual bad mood. Right now, she was helping a customer choose yarn for a baby sweater. I could only hope her demeanor wouldn’t discourage the young woman, who was new to my store.

Alix was the last to arrive, breathless after racing across the street. “I was late getting out of the kitchen,” she said as she sat down in her usual chair. She took her knitting out of her backpack and set it on the table.

Now that all my students were present, I checked their work and commented on the progress Susannah and Alix had made. Everyone was doing well and I took pleasure in complimenting their efforts. Actually, the pattern’s relatively easy, even for a novice knitter, and Alix, of course, was equal to the challenge of her more complicated lace shawl.

I was interested in learning who would knit a prayer shawl and why. My little group of knitters was teaching me.

I pointed out that the border was knit in a seed pattern of knit three, purl three. “Does anyone have a comment on the pattern?” I asked, curious about what the women would say.

“I’ll bet the three stitches are significant,” Colette murmured as she switched the yarn from the back to the front in order to purl.

“Yes,” I agreed. “Three is a significant number in our culture.”

“Faith, hope, love,” Alix stated in a thoughtful tone.

“Mind, body, spirit,” Susannah said.

“Past, present, future,” Colette threw in. I wondered again if living day to day was all she could handle.

“What about birth, life, death.” This came from Margaret, who’d finished with her customer. Dressed in her dark sweater, she hovered in the doorway, a gloomy and forbidding presence. It figured, of course, that she’d be the one to bring up the subject of death.

I didn’t meet her eyes as I circled the table. “All excellent observations,” I murmured.

“Why knit a shawl?” Margaret went on. “I mean, we could be knitting anything for someone who needs a bit of TLC.”

“True.” I agreed with her there. A lap robe or any of a dozen other projects would do just as well.

“Why a shawl, then?” Alix asked.

I shrugged. “What do the rest of you think?”

Colette spoke first. “Wrapping a shawl around someone is a symbolic embrace. That’s how it seems to me, anyway.”

The others nodded.

“I like what Colette said—it’s like a hug.” Susannah sounded as if she was thinking out loud. “I can’t be with my mother as much as I’d like, so when I mail her this shawl, it’ll be like reaching out to her with an embrace, letting her know how much I love her and miss her.”

“How’s she doing?” I asked.

“She’s more active than she’s been in the last couple of years. Before the move, she spent hour after hour in her rocking chair, watching TV—mostly the Food Channel. Since she’s lived at Altamira, she’s interacting with other people more and taking small trips with them. Last week she went on a garden tour and loved every minute of it.”