Cora's Heart: A Cypress Hollow Yarn

by Rachael Herron

  Olivia said slowly, “Do you have any?”

  “Any… tea?”

  “No, horses.” Olivia sounded exasperated, as if Cora should have followed her conversational backward leap.

  “Me? No. Just the sheep and goats. I had a llama once to help with the sheep, but she died, and I was too sad to get another one. My friend Stark, though, she has horses. You’ve been to the public stables, right? That’s where she works.”

  Olivia shook her head.

  “Do you know about them?”

  Another shake.

  “Oh, you’re kidding. You have to go.”

  “I’ve heard of it. But we’re on a budget. Whatever.”

  Cora grinned. “That’s the best part. It’s run by the city. It’s out at the end of Mines Road, you know, where the bus barn is? Just past that, in the hills, where the last bus stop is. They have these programs that bring in groups of kids from the city who’ve never been in the country, who’ve never touched a large animal before. And they teach autistic kids to ride. They have a whole volunteer program, actually. I work with the kids from the Windward group home and they love it.” She paused. “Volunteers also get to ride.”

  If Cora hadn’t witnessed the change, she wouldn’t have thought it likely to happen, not to this kid, but as she spoke, she watched Olivia’s eyes go from downcast to interested. As if Olivia were moving from shade into sunlight, her countenance cleared, her chin lifted even higher, and she blinked, hard.

  “I want to go.”

  “You should go.”

  “Can you go with me?”

  Startled, Cora said, “Me?”

  “You know the person who works there.”

  “I can call her for you–”

  “I could catch the bus after school out there. I could just meet you. Whenever’s good for you. Does Wednesday work? Can you go with me?”

  Because Olivia looked so hopeful, her eyes bright but still with that stubborn cloud of loneliness that clung to her clothes like a damp smell, and because there was nothing in the world harder than asking for something that was important, Cora had no other choice but to say, “Okay.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  You don’t have to decide anything today. If it’s too difficult today, put it down. Walk away. Pet a cat. Soak in sunshine. Be patient with yourself. – E.C.

  The dog pulled Mac hard as she saw a retriever on the boardwalk across the street. “Whoa there.” She was stronger than she looked, sturdily built even though she was small. Solid. Kind of like… Kind of like Cora herself, that way. Right down to the dark orange-red hair.

  No wonder he liked this dog.

  Farther down the street, at the intersection where Tillie’s stood, he saw people and motion. Tents and awnings were set up, and the scent of sweet, fried breads mixed with something darker, barbecued ribs and hamburgers, met his nose. The dog’s nose went into hyper drive, as well. She set it low to the ground and pulled against the leash harder. The plastic cage of the muzzle skittered on the sidewalk and thumped into a wooden bumper placed around a newly planted tree.

  Mac’s senses went on alert like they hadn’t since he was a teenager. He felt that same way as back then, spending all his free time watching for Cora, and if he could have put his nose against the sidewalk to pick up if she were anywhere close, he would have considered doing it.

  He tugged the leash. “Come on, Clementine.” The name fell from Mac’s mouth. He had no idea where it had come from, but she seemed to respond to it, walking alongside him instead of pulling as she’d been doing.

  The market was in full swing as they entered between the two tents on the end. Dozens of people filled the streets, environmentally friendly shopping bags hanging from their arms. One man had a basket of baguettes so fresh they were still steaming. A long line snaked from a stand that advertised handmade truffles, and an equally long queue stood patiently in front of the lumpia stand. It was like being at the track except the clients were whole families instead of couples, and everyone was laughing.

  Was this stupid? Looking for her like this? He wasn’t really that concerned with finding Cora. Nope. He was just back in town, enjoying the sights and smells on a gorgeous, crisp, clear fall day. That was all. Just out for a friendly walk with a poor dog that needed walking. No big deal.

  And then he saw the sign.

  Handmade by Cora. It was small and wooden, hanging from the white awning. Inside the tent-like structure, she’d created a space that was so… .her. Dark-stained shelves held what looked like different colors of puffs of what must be fiber. Maybe. He wasn’t quite sure – it also might have been cotton candy. Colorful jars lined the lower shelves. Cora stood behind the counter wearing overalls over the same thick, creamy sweater she’d worn last night in the barn. Her cheeks were red as if they were windburned, and she was laughing at something a man in a firefighter’s uniform was saying. Mac’s step faltered just as Clementine jumped toward him, startled by a small child’s sudden scream of laughter.

  A leashed border collie trotted past them going the opposite direction, growling under its breath at Clementine. The dog pressed farther into Mac’s calf, cowed, her back hunched. The border collie lunged with a strangled bark. The woman holding the leash said, “Control your dog!”

  Fantastic. Now he looked irresponsible. “It’s not my dog that’s the problem,” he called, but the woman didn’t care, and was gone in the crowd already.

  “Mac?” Cora looked at him, down at Clementine, and then back at him. “Was that a dog fight?”

  “No!”

  “It sounded like it was.”

  “Have I ever lied to you?”

  Cora gave him a suspicious look. “Not as far as I know.” She pulled up her overall strap from where it had slipped down one shoulder. “What are you–” She cut herself off. “Is that a shelter dog?”

  “Um…”

  “It is! It’s Salt!” She went down onto her knees and grabbed the dog’s ears.

  “Careful,” he started, but the animal had already launched itself at Cora. For a split second, Mac’s heart stopped, even though he knew the muzzle was secure. Another second later, he realized that the dog was too busy tying itself into knots of happiness to be any kind of threat.

  “Oh, she’s the sweetest thing, isn’t she?” The dog pushed her body against Cora so hard that Cora tipped and ended up sitting fully on the ground. Cora laughed.

  God, he’d missed the sound of her laugh.

  The firefighter tapped Cora on the shoulder and said, “Just think about it. I’ll get you an account. We can set it up together. I’ll answer all the questions for you.”

  She laughed again. “I don’t think so, Jake. But feel free to keep bugging me.”

  “Will do.” With a polite nod to Mac, he left.

  “That guy is short, huh?” Mac straightened his back.

  “Who, Jake?”

  “Are you dating him?” The idiotic words were out before he could stop them.

  Cora gave a nervous, startled laugh. “No.”

  “But you’re going to set something up together?”

  Crossing her arms, Cora leaned back, gazing at him. “If you must know, and I’m not sure why I’m telling you, he lost his wife to cancer, but met someone not long ago. Now that he’s all love-happy, he wants to get me on a young widow-widower’s dating site.”

  Whatever reaction he displayed would be wrong. He could only lose, no matter what he said – Mac had at least a few brain cells left, and he knew this. So he just nodded.

  “And you have Salt!” said Cora, her attention back on the dog. “So you two met. Isn’t she the best?”

  “What kind of a name is that?” said Mac.

  She shrugged. “I like salt. It’s useful. In food, in cleaning, in weed-killing.”

  “No way.”

  “What do you call her, then?” Cora’s bright blue eyes sparkled up at him. She had a smudge of something, dirt or soot, on her cheek next to the old scar next to
her nose. Her hair stood straight up in one spot. If she wasn’t so damn beautiful, she’d look ridiculous.

  Almost as ridiculous as the dog, who was practically standing on her head now, twisting herself into positions that would have been impossible for most living creatures.

  “Clementine,” Mac said.

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s sweet and orange-colored. It fits.” And it was true: the dog was a round ball of happy, wiggling and wriggling itself up and down Cora’s side.

  Cora laughed again. “I suppose it’s better than Salt.”

  “So you named her,” said Mac.

  She shrugged. “I name them all. I just don’t write my names for them on the cards.”

  “I thought you said you had no pets. Just the working animals.”

  “I don’t.”

  “How can you volunteer there, then?”

  “Easy.”

  “You don’t take any of them home?”

  “Nope.” She scratched the end of the dog’s nose with her short nails.

  “Never?”

  She shook her head.

  “Not even one little kitten?”

  “Nyet.” Her hands rubbed the spot between Clementine’s ears, and the dog groaned and leaned against her harder.

  “One tiny three-legged puppy with big eyes, who has no mother. The one that’s gonna get put down tomorrow if you don’t save her.”

  Cora pulled an ear one more time and then stood, brushing off her hands. “The animal population is already too overcrowded. It would be ridiculous of me to think that my saving one dog would make any kind of difference in this world.”

  Mac blinked.

  “Just realistic.” She stepped back into her stall and reached into a small red tin in the shape of the London Bridge. “Can I?” She held up a dog treat.

  “Yeah, sure. You’re going to have to get it past her muzzle, though.”

  “I hate that she’s wearing that.”

  Mac said, “Cindi told me to.”

  “I still hate it.” She broke the biscuit in half and pushed it carefully between the slots. Clementine’s tongue caught it and she chomped happily. “So, you’re adopting her?”

  “No,” he said. “I’d never take your dog from you.”

  She laughed again. “Oh, stop.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t need a dog.”

  “Adopting a pet isn’t about need. It’s about want.”

  Cora crossed her arms and looked down at the mutt. “She wouldn’t even be a good herder.”

  “She’s a good cuddler, though. I bet you already know that.”

  “Yeah, sure. You should adopt her then. I have to help a customer…” Her eyes didn’t meet his as she went to assist a woman who was looking for olallieberry jam.

  Mac moved carefully in the stand, making sure he kept the dog from getting underfoot. He watched as Cora sold the jam, and then a skein of yarn to another of the browsing women. As people continuously called into the stand as they passed, Cora acknowledged all of them with a smile or a wave while continuing to focus on whichever customer was in front of her.

  She was damned good at this.

  After three sales, the stand was empty again except for the two of them and the dog. “So this is your place.”

  “Yeah… Sorry about that. I’m not that good at multi-tasking,” she said, and then cleared her throat. “It’s overrated. Better to do one thing at a time right? Anyway. Yes. This is my place. Not that much to see, huh?” She looked sad, and Mac hated himself for reminding her of the fire.

  “No, it’s awesome.”

  She moved her hand, as if to brush off his compliment. “Whatever. It’s okay. I have almost no stock, just what was left in my kitchen and my car.”

  “But you’ll get more of…” He looked at the yarn, and the candles, and the canned goods. Everything here was made by her, wasn’t it? “More of whatever all this stuff is. You’ll make more.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Of course.”

  But in that moment, he heard it. The same fear he’d heard in voices at the track for years, a mixture of bravado and confidence that people injected into their voices when they kept betting on the same horse, sure that today would be the payoff.

  Cora was scared.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Many a friendship is cemented over a dropped stitch. – E.C.

  She wanted Mac out of her stall. There should have been nothing wrong with him being there – an old acquaintance, come to say hello. Browsing. The problem was that while Mac looked at her little soaps decorated with thin carvings, trails of whimsy she’d added to each one, her cheeks flushed harder. When he picked up a bath bomb and held it to his nose, she wanted to yank it out of his hand.

  She wouldn’t be made fun of.

  “So, anyway,” Cora said, brushing off her hands and stepping toward him in the hopes that he would take a step back, and then again, and eventually out. “Thanks for saying hello.”

  But Mac didn’t step backward.

  They were as close as they’d been that day so long ago. Only inches separated them. The memory flooded her, and Cora reached back to touch the low shelf she’d built by hand. Instead of concentrating on the plane of his jaw, instead of noticing where the stubble was already starting, instead of wondering if his eyes were more coffee or more whisky colored, she thought about the hours she’d spent choosing the wood for the shelf, the time she’d spent cutting and hammering and sanding, making sure the lines were true and strong while still making certain they would fit in her car for easy transport. She dug her fingernails into the wood and held on.

  “I should go,” he said, and in the echo of those three words, Cora knew he remembered the day of her wedding, too.

  From behind him, a welcome voice said, “Hey, there.”

  Mac moved to the side, and his eyes fell to the dog at his feet.

  “Abigail,” she said. “Come on in. This is Mac. Mac, Abigail.” Cora congratulated herself on the casualness of her voice.

  “Nice to meet you.” Abigail stuck out her hand and Mac shook it.

  “Okay, then.” Mac smiled. “I was just leaving. With Cora’s little friend here.”

  Trying to hide her relief, Cora said, “Take good care of her. You should keep her.”

  He shook his head and grinned in response and was gone, the dog tagging at his heels.

  Abigail moved behind the counter and plopped down on the three-legged stool Cora kept in the booth. From her bag she withdrew a paper-clipped pattern.

  “Here’s the next part of the sweater. I think this is the neckline I want. Funnel-neck, see? Thank you again for doing this for me. Are you liking the way the lace is knitting up on the side panels?”

  “It’s gorgeous. Never a problem.” Test knitting Abigail’s patterns was easy money, and then Cora got to sell the finished product after it was photographed. Though this sweater she might keep – it was delicate and sturdy at the same time, a shaped sweater with a lace panel that ran up the sides and sleeves.

  “I think I’m going to call it Side Impact. Now the important question. What was that?” Abigail leaned back, watching Mac push into the crowd.

  “That was Mac.”

  “That’s the only part I got,” said Abigail, folding her legs underneath her. Cora never had gotten the hang of that, especially not on a stool. “But what was that?”

  Turning her back to Abigail, she took a pile of Corriedale two-ply and untwisted the skein so that she could retwist it into a smoother, more perfect one.

  “That was a piece of my past that I didn’t think I’d ever run into again.”

  “Tell me,” said Abigail.

  “I can’t.”

  “You have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because remember last year when I told you about that guy I fell in love with when I was in high school? The science teacher who was married? The one I thought was my soul mate?”

  “Of cour
se I remember,” said Cora, her back still turned. “You cut all your hair off because he told you he liked girls with short hair.”

  “And then I showed up on his doorstep–”

  “And his wife answered the door.”

  “It was terrible. My heart was completely broken. Do you remember what you said when I told you that story?”

  Cora shook her head. “Not a clue. Something dumb, I’m sure.”

  “You said that unrequited love was like trying to breathe underwater.”

  “Oh.” Cora did remember that.

  “I didn’t get it then but later I remembered the time when I was swimming as a little girl, when I just knew that I was a mermaid, and that I could breathe water through my invisible gills. I went under, opened my mouth, and almost drowned myself. And yeah, it felt exactly the same.”

  If Cora opened her mouth, would a bubble drift to the top of the tent?

  “And don’t say a thing about that to Cade. He doesn’t know I had the hots for my teacher, and he’d tease me daily if he knew.” Abigail dangled her sandal from the end of her toe and didn’t take her eyes off Cora. “So you were right. Everyone tries breathing underwater at least once. But even though you know all about my past, I know almost nothing about yours. We knit together, you help me out, yes, but I want the dirt, honey. Give me some, okay?”

  “My shed burned yesterday…”

  Abigail nodded. “I heard the news. And while regrettable, that’s also not what I want. I want the story of you trying to breathe underwater in that very wide river who just walked away.”

  “Don’t you have patterns or something to sell at your own booth?”

  “Lucy’s helping me out today.”

  Cora rolled her eyes, and then sold raspberry jelly to three tourists who were thrilled to meet the manufacturer. Abigail sat patiently, spinning using the Forrester spindle she always carried in her purse.

  After Cora had rung up the women and sent them happily on their way, she said, “I wish you weren’t so smart.”

  “No, you don’t. You like my brains.” Abigail smiled.

  “You’re always right, too. It’s incredibly annoying.”