Back on Blossom Street

by Debbie Macomber

  The bell chimed a second time and in strolled Susannah and Colette. All three women had already bought the necessary needles and yarn and I’d supplied the pattern as part of the class fee. Because Colette and Susannah were new knitters, most of my time would be spent helping them.

  “Susannah, Colette, this is my friend Alix,” I said. “She works at the French Café, so you’ve probably seen her around the neighborhood.”

  Alix shrugged her shoulder in an unfriendly manner. Her attitude reminded me of the way she’d acted during my first knitting class, when she’d sat across from Jacqueline Donovan. I hadn’t seen this side of Alix in a long while and knew something must be troubling her. Once more I bit my tongue.

  “Colette, why don’t you introduce yourself,” I said, hoping to begin the class on a more optimistic note.

  “Well, I obviously know Susannah and Lydia, and I’ve seen Alix at the café. I’m Colette Blake.”

  When she didn’t offer any other information, I prompted her. “Tell us about yourself,” I urged.

  Colette looked at Alix. “What would you like to know?” she asked.

  Again Alix answered with that halfhearted shrug. “Nothing, unless it’s some little fact you’re dying to tell me.”

  I could no longer remain silent. “Alix!” I snapped, telling her I found her behavior downright rude.

  She had the good grace to apologize. “I’m sorry, Colette, I’ve had a rotten day. Please, tell me about yourself.”

  Colette shook her head. “Actually, I don’t have anything to say. I’d prefer it if we just started the class.”

  “Hey, everyone,” Susannah inserted. “This is supposed to be a fun class. We’re knitting a prayer shawl, for heaven’s sake! Not a bulletproof vest.”

  That made me smile. “Okay, Susannah, why don’t you take a turn?” I said. She, at least, seemed willing to chat.

  “Well,” she began, “as everyone here knows, I bought Susannah’s Garden last September. It’s a real change from my teaching position, which I had for over twenty-four years.”

  “What made you quit teaching?” Alix asked, sitting a bit straighter.

  “I was in a rut,” Susannah explained. “Burned out. Without realizing it, I’d lost my enthusiasm. When I started teaching, I loved every minute of it. Back then, I almost hated to see the school year end. The last year I taught, I couldn’t wait for summer and I realized I was cheating my students—and myself.”

  Alix’s question made me wonder if she wanted to have her own bakery one day, the way Susannah had opened a florist’s business. I found that an exciting idea, but wasn’t sure how Jordan would feel about it.

  “Why a flower shop?” Colette asked, leaning forward.

  Susannah gestured expansively. “I’ve always had a beautiful garden and my mother did, too. I guess I inherited my love for flowers from her. Actually, I would never have thought of owning a flower shop if not for my husband. Joe knows me best.” She paused and smiled. “I’ll amend that. On a good day, he can be astonishingly intuitive about me and what I need. He’s the one who checked out the For Sale sign at Fanny’s Floral and talked to the previous owner. When he suggested I buy the shop, I knew right away that it was exactly what I should do.”

  “You like being your own boss?” Alix asked.

  “I absolutely love it,” Susannah said fervently. “Although I have to tell you I’ve never worked harder in my life.”

  Alix looked out the window at the French Café. I knew she’d once dreamed of working in such a place and her dream had become a reality, the same way mine had.

  “Say, Alix, didn’t someone tell me you’re getting married in June?” Susannah asked.

  Alix nodded, but not with much vigor. I feared her bad day was directly related to the wedding. I wish I knew what had set her off. But Alix isn’t one to freely share her troubles; I suppose that kind of reserve comes from having only herself to rely on all those years. She’d been living on her own from the time she was sixteen.

  “Have you ordered the wedding flowers yet?” Susannah asked.

  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 washcloth, 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.”

  “What would we do without friends,” I said, and saw how Alix instantly looked up. She seemed calmer now.

  “What about you, Alix? Have you decided who you’ll give the prayer shawl to?”

  She nodded. “At first I thought I’d keep it for myself. I’m going to need plenty of prayers to get through this wedding, that’s for sure.” She grinned, shaking her head, and continued knitting. “But I’m going to give it to Jordan’s grandmother. I think she’ll really like the fact that I knit it for her.”

  “I’m sure she will,” I said. “What about you, Colette?”

  She didn’t raise her head. “I might just keep it. Does that sound selfish?”

  “Not at all,” I assured her. I realized that the act of knitting had already worked its magic on all of us. Alix had come in stressed and ill-tempered, on edge about the wedding. Colette, too, had been nervous and unhappy, for reasons I didn’t know. I was certainly upset, because of what had happened to my niece and to Margaret. Susannah had her own struggles, launching a new business. We were relaxed now, talking together, laughing, knitting.

  Knitting had linked us all.

  CHAPTER 7

  Alix Townsend

  Finished for the day, Alix poured herself a cup of coffee, then sat down at the staff table in the bakery’s back room and put her feet up on the chair across from her. The French Café did a thriving business and she liked to think she’d played a role in that success. Her muffins, coffee cakes, cookies, sweet rolls and cakes, baked fresh every morning, had attracted a following of regular customers.

  Molly, one of the baristas, stuck her head into the kitchen. “Jordan’s here,” she announced in a tone that said Alix was lucky to have met a man like him. But Alix already knew that.

  “Jordan? Here? Now?” she asked. They weren’t supposed to meet for another hour.

  “He looks like Jordan, talks like Jordan, walks like Jordan. My guess is, it is Jordan.”

  “Cute,” Alix said, saluting Molly’s wit with her coffee mug.

  “Want me to send him back here?”

  Alix nodded, even though she was a mess. If he’d waited an hour as they’d originally planned, she’d have showered and changed clothes. Seeing that he hadn’t, he’d have to take her as she was, which at the moment was tired.

  Jordan appeared, and she lowered her feet and motioned toward the vacant chair. He pulled it up to the table with one hand, holding a disposable container of coffee in the other. Leaning back in the chair, he smiled.

  “Did I get the time wrong?” she asked, although she was sure she hadn’t.

  “No. I’m early.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  He didn’t meet her eyes. “Have you had a chance to look through the books yet?” he mumbled.

  “Which books?” But she knew exactly what he meant. His mother had hand-delivered huge binders filled with sample wedding invitations; she was supposed to study them and make her selection. She’d tried to choose but every invitation she liked had been vetoed by Jacqueline or Susan. It had frustrated her so much she hadn’t bothered to look again.

  “Mom said we need to decide on the invitations right away so they can be ordered.”

  Alix did her best not to groan aloud. “Did you look at them?”

  “No, I’m busy at the church and—”

  “You think I’m any less busy?” she demanded, her anger firing to life.

  Jordan met her eyes. “Alix, listen, I didn’t come here to argue. We’re both busy, that’s a given, but we need to get serious about this wedding.”

  “I am serious.” If she wasn’t so tired, she would’ve had more control of her temper.

  “I am, too,” Jordan said. “Everyone’s on my case about choosing the invitations.”

  “By everyone, you mean your mother.”

  “And Jacqueline,” he added.

  “Then let them choose,” she cried, clenching her fists in frustration. Still, Jordan was right about Jacqueline. She was so consumed with wedding details that Alix had taken to avoiding her. Every conversation with her friend and mentor revolved around some aspect of the wedding or the reception. Jacqueline had actually hired a ten-piece orchestra! Then this morning, she’d said she was talking to someone about releasing doves at some meaningful point in the ceremony. Doves? As far as Alix was concerned, the idea of white birds flapping their wings, leaving droppings in their wake, was simply ridiculous. There’d even been talk of a horse-drawn buggy to transport “the bridal couple” from the church to the country club. The last she’d heard, it was still under consideration. A buggy! She could hardly bear to think about the flowers and the cake.

  Alix didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings but this was her wedding and it seemed she should have at least a little say about the kind of event it was. Against her better judgment, she’d given in on this country club reception, because she knew a big reception would please Jordan’s mother. Alix hoped to have a good relationship with her in-laws, especially Susan Turner, so she’d been willing to compromise. Except that it felt as if she was the only one doing any compromising.

  “We can go through the sample books this evening.” Alix finally said. It was pointless to argue.

  “You don’t seem too happy about it.”

  “I’m not.” She might be conceding but she wasn’t willing to pretend. “You know what I thought?” she asked, growing a bit sad that their wedding had slipped away from her.

  “You were looking forward to some time for the two of us tonight. We’ll have that, Alix, I promise, as soon as we pick out the invitations.” Jordan sipped his coffee.

  “It isn’t just that,” she said wistfully. “When you gave me the engagement ring and we started talking about the ceremony…” She paused. “I thought it would be a small service and I’d make the invitations myself.”

  “Really?” Jordan seemed impressed. “Maybe we could do it together.”

  She doubted it. “How many people on your mother’s list?” she asked. Needless to say, her own would be considerably shorter.

  “Three hundred at last count.”

  Alix’s heart rate went into overdrive. “Three hundred people?”

  “Invitations,” he corrected, apparently unaware of what this news had done to her. “That means maybe five hundred people.”

  “You’ve got to be joking!”

  “Alix, my father is a pastor. You wouldn’t believe how many friends and associates my parents have. Mom’s whittled the list down to three hundred invitations.
If I told you how many she started out with, you’d have a panic attack.”

  “I’m having one now.”

  Jordan grinned, clearly thinking she’d made a joke; she hadn’t. The idea of walking down the aisle in a church filled with hundreds of wedding guests—all of them strangers—was enough to make Alix sick to her stomach.

  “I hope you realize how much I love you,” she muttered.

  Jordan grinned again as he reached for his coffee. “I sure do.”

  “Can we talk about something other than the wedding?” she asked. The inside of her elbow was beginning to itch and she suspected she was breaking out in hives. She hadn’t experienced hives since she was a kid and assumed she’d outgrown the tendency, which she’d learned to associate with stress. Obviously not.

  “Sure,” he agreed readily. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Uh…” A few minutes ago she’d had a dozen different things she’d looked forward to discussing with Jordan. All of a sudden her mind was completely blank. “I went to the first knitting class for the prayer shawl.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “All right, I guess.”

  “Tell me about the other people in the class,” he said.

  “There’s only two other women. Susannah and Colette.” Alix enjoyed having a smaller class. She’d helped Lydia teach Susannah, who’d had some of the same problems Alix did when she’d started knitting.

  “Susannah, from Susannah’s Garden?”

  Alix stiffened. “I suppose your mother’s upset because I haven’t decided on the flowers yet?”

  Jordan blew out an exasperated sigh. “Alix, we weren’t going to talk about the wedding, remember?”

  “Right.” Actually that was a relief. It seemed there was always something she needed to be doing or should have done with regard to the wedding.