Casting Off
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1 - Casting On
CHAPTER 2 - Mistle Thrush
CHAPTER 3 - Garter
CHAPTER 4 - Stocking
CHAPTER 5 - Ribbing
CHAPTER 6 - Bobble
CHAPTER 7 - Twisted Stitch
CHAPTER 8 - Diamond
CHAPTER 9 - Ladder
CHAPTER 10 - Moss
CHAPTER 11 - Diagonal Ribbing
CHAPTER 12 - Blackberry
CHAPTER 13 - Cable
CHAPTER 14 - Basket
CHAPTER 15 - Honeycomb
CHAPTER 16 - Celtic Knots
CHAPTER 17 - Bobbles/Ribbing Between
CHAPTER 18 - Chevron
CHAPTER 19 - Dropped Stitch
CHAPTER 20 - Zigzag/Bobble Within/Ribbing Within
CHAPTER 21 - Liam’s Lesson
CHAPTER 22 - Zigzag/Single Bobbles Within Each
CHAPTER 23 - Double Zigzag/ Moss Stitch Between
CHAPTER 24 - Lattice/Bobble Within
CHAPTER 25 - Diamond/Tree of Life Within/ Ribbing Without
CHAPTER 26 - Zigzag with Ribbing
CHAPTER 27 - Joe’s Magic
CHAPTER 28 - Entwined Zigzags
CHAPTER 29 - Diamond/Basket Within
CHAPTER 30 - The Tree of Life
CHAPTER 31 - Chevron with Bobble
CHAPTER 32 - Diamond/Diamond Within
CHAPTER 33 - Diamonds with Moss/Bobbles Within and Between
CHAPTER 34 - Chevron/Ribbing Within
CHAPTER 35 - Zigzag Furrows
CHAPTER 36 - Chevron/Basket Within
CHAPTER 37 - Diamond/Zigzag Entwined
CHAPTER 38 - Ladder/Basket Within
CHAPTER 39 - Lattice/Bobbles Between
CHAPTER 40 - Ladder/Moss Within
CHAPTER 41 - Ripping Back
CHAPTER 42 - Diamond Entwined Diamond
CHAPTER 43 - Cluster Rib
CHAPTER 44 - Double Zigzag/Basket Between
CHAPTER 45 - Casting Off
Author’s Note
About the Author
CONVERSATION GUIDE
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
Praise for Casting Off
“Casting Off is a beautiful novel of letting go, healing, and redemption. Setting her story in the west of Ireland, Nicole Dickson draws the reader deeply into the magic of a mystical land. A stunning debut.”
—Susan Wiggs, New York Times bestselling author of Just Breathe
“A remarkable novel about finding your true home, and of holding on and letting go. With lilting and lyrical language, Dickson immerses the reader into the lives and histories of a cluster of tightly knit families on an island off the coast of Ireland. I could hear the soft Irish voices and taste the salty spray of the ocean as Dickson worked her storytelling magic, creating characters as complex and beautiful as the Irish sweaters at the heart of the story. This was a hard-to-put-down book, and I’m already anticipating the next offering from this wonderful author.”—Karen White, author of The Lost Hours
Written by today’s freshest new talents and selected by New American Library, NAL Accent novels touch on subjects close to a woman’s heart, from friendship to family to finding our place in the world. The Conversation Guides included in each book are intended to enrich the individual reading experience, as well as encourage us to explore these topics together—because books, and life, are meant for sharing.
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“Casting Off weaves a lyrical, emotional, and sometimes ghostly tale of love and loss, and of finding love again. Determined to escape the past, Rebecca arrives on a tiny island in Ireland with her young daughter to study the lore and tradition of its renowned sweaters. There, the two are gathered into the folds of a small old-world community, where their lives intersect and entwine with the colorful locals, and with mysteries as deep as the blue sea that surrounds them. Nicole R. Dickson never drops a stitch as she reveals ever-deepening twists in this lovely yarn of surrender, forgiveness, and redemption.”
—Jennie Shortridge, author of Love and Biology at the Center of the Universe
“With a pattern as intricate as the sweaters knit in the novel, Nicole Dickson weaves her words into a powerful story of redeeming love and forgiveness. Casting Off grabbed my heart on page one and didn’t let go until the last breathtaking sentence.”
—Patti Callahan Henry, author of Driftwood Summer
NAL Accent
Published by New American Library,
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First published by NAL Accent, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, August 2009
Copyright © Nicole R. Dickson, 2009
Conversation Guide copyright © Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2009
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
Dickson, Nicole R.
Casting off/Nicole R. Dickson.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-10509-2
1. Americans—Ireland—Fiction. 2. Islands—Ireland—Fiction. 3. Fishers—Ireland—Fiction
4. Knitting—Ireland—Fiction. 5. Ireland—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3604.I328C37 2009
813’.6—dc22 2009014754
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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For my mother,
Barbara J
ean Claudette Beebe Dickson.
For your art and science
For your love and lessons
Acknowledgments
The fabric of story is only as good as the strengths of the tiny threads from which it is woven. For Casting Off, I’d like to acknowledge the work of others that made this novel what it is. So, starting with its inception, the woman at Weaving Works Seattle for helping me remember how to knit, Rebecca Nelson for typing the very first draft of the story from my steno pads, Laurie Collins for sitting hours on the phone as I read it to her and also for introducing me to Erin, who taught me how to keep individual characters in the right voice. I thank Orla Korten for correcting my Irish-English. I thank Suzie, my train partner on the Tacoma-Seattle line of Sounder for the editing help. To Mya Herbst for helping with the Conversation Guide. Thank you Amazon/Penguin Inc./Hewlett-Packard for creating the ABNA Contest. I thank Gulru Hakdiyen-Baykal for my beautiful picture. A special thank-you to my agent, Alexandra Machinist, at the Linda Chester Literary Agency, for finding my story in the top 100. And last but certainly not least, a very humble and warm thank-you to Claire Zion of NAL, editor, who taught me so many things but mostly that a small story needs to stay small. Many threads make a beautiful work.
I also wish to, with reference to Casting Off, acknowledge all those who entered the crossroad with me in 1995 and walked the road beyond. Each of these people held me in their own way and helped me on my path to this most wondrous place: Anita Galang, Luz Borro meo, Debra Hager, Dean Gomez, Marilyn Capel, Sandy Ward, Robin Lamb, Maureen French, Leigh Massenburg, Jennifer Walker, Imelda Enos, Marc Gordon, Jill Mondry, Genore Schaaf, Mary and Bob Mitch ell, Doris Whitaker, Elaine Legg, Christine Schrader, the women of Monday Night meeting San Mateo, California, and the women of Monday Night meeting, Bellevue, Washington, Sherri, Marcy, Kris, Donna Rae Roundtree, Michelle Ransom, Gabriela Young-Trujillo, Pam Stroud, Charles P. Cavanaugh, Quoc Nguyen, Tiffany Howard-Davis, Susan Coulter, Shana Wiesner, Rick Adams, and Gail Savage. For those at work with whom I rode the ABNA wild ride and they lived to tell the tale—Denise Robinson, Terrie Parrish, Katrina Neely, Mary Hanes (thanks for the tissue), Charlene Goolsby, and Carol McDowell.
I’d like to thank my sisters—Laurel Dickson and Rachel Dickson—for their care and love. For my brother, Andrew Dickson, for helping me see the center of most things and to his wife, my sister-friend, Amy Dickson, for rowing the boat when I just couldn’t. Thanks to my nieces Erin and Kate Lydin for their enthusiasm for my work and their father, Ralph Lydin, for general support and DIY around the house when needed. Thanks to my nieces Emily Dickson and Arden Dickson, who keep my eyes at the level of the child and remind me of the wonder I can still find there. And to my daughter, Elspeth Rowan Dickson Bartlett. I wouldn’t be who I am without her.
Finally, in writing this book, a very quiet man kept coming into my mind. He held his hand out to me at every major crossroad of my life as I grew into adulthood and I saw him there but didn’t really “see” him. He came to my surgery even though when asked “Religious Affiliation” on the hospital paperwork, I checked, “None.” He was there at my prewedding counseling and the day I got married. He was there when the marriage blew apart and arrived at the first court hearing. I found him standing, holding my newborn baby in the hospital and later at her baptism. He helped lay my mother to rest. I only recall asking for him twice, but all these moments, he was there. Now I don’t know if it was my mother who called him or if he just dropped by. Perhaps it was both. Perhaps that is his nature or maybe the nature of his job, but I cannot remember ever thanking him. And as I stand here, at the most amazing crossroad yet, I half expect him to show up, but so far, he hasn’t. So I just want him to know that this time, it is my hand that is out, sharing this place with him and though he is not physically here, I hold him in my heart. A most sincere and warm appreciation and gratitude to Reverend Richard B. Leslie.
CHAPTER 1
Casting On
Casting On. 1. Tying a specific number of stitches onto a needle as the first row of a knitted work. The first stitch is a slipknot and then one of the three following methods may be employed for binding on the balance of the stitches: the English method, the Continental method, or Mrs. Blake’s method. The first two require the use of two needles; the third requires one needle and a free hand. 2. A beginning.
—R. Dirane, A Binding Love
Rebecca stood with her six-year-old daughter at the end of the pier, watching the crowd of tourists who had crossed with them on the ferry from Doolin make their way into town. With backpacks, strollers, and children on the shoulders or in the hand, the tourists laughed excitedly and called out to one another in various languages as they shuffled up the road. One- to and two-storied build ings lined the street where the crowd meandered up to the bend. Upon reaching the curve, they disappeared with the road. It was then, after the crowd vanished, that Rebecca glanced up to the church’s spire, which peeped over the rooftops before her. Its shiny cross winked at her brightly, reflecting the last of the day’s sun. She breathed in the sea-salt air, holding on to this moment—her arrival on the island.
Sixteen years ago Rebecca had first met her best friend, Sharon. From the day they started UC-Berkeley together, Sharon had told her tales and histories of her island home and Rebecca had listened and dreamed of Ireland and of this tiny island off the west coast. There were fishing stories and tales of ancient forts, of families pulling seaweed from the ocean to make soil. Then, from the great slabs of stone of which the island was made, smaller rocks were hewn and stacked one atop another as walls to keep the hard-won dirt from blowing back into the sea when the southern gales howled across the island. In that precious, salty soil grew crops to feed the people and grasses to feed the sheep that provided the wool from which they spun yarn. And it was from that yarn that the famous fisherman sweaters were knitted.
Rebecca was an archaeologist. Sharon’s stories of the island sweaters had inspired her to specialize in textiles. When they finished their undergraduate degrees, Sharon left for home and Rebecca headed south to Los Angeles for five more years of school as she worked on her master’s and then her doctorate. After achieving both, she began to teach, but always the island called to her; the beautiful sweaters and all the legends about them beckoned her. She wanted to record in pictures and in words the living history of the fisherfolk and their sweaters. As Rebecca saw it, the result would be more than an academic paper; it would be a book with photos and biographies of the women from the island. Three years of developing her proposal finally paid off. After receiving her small grant, Rebecca took the summer off to do the project, and now she stood on Sharon’s island.
Lavender light sifted gently through the soft mist. Rebecca sighed, glancing once more up the street with hope. She and her daughter had begun this day in California, flying through connections in New York to Shannon, then on a bus to Doolin, and finally across Galway Bay on a ferry to the island. Having been in transit for twenty-two hours, they were unspeakably tired. Here they finally were, with mounds of luggage but no one to greet them.
“Where is that car?” Rebecca muttered.
“I have to go to the bathroom, Mama,” Rowan said, sitting on the big black duffel bag and kicking her feet absently.
“I’m not sure where a bathroom is, sweetie. Can you hold it?” Rebecca replied, dialing Sharon on her cell phone. Sharon had arranged for Rebecca to spend the summer in a cottage that belonged to the parents of one of her best childhood friends.
Near the end of a difficult pregnancy, Sharon had had to stay home in Dublin rather than come to the island herself to greet Rebecca. She had, however, promised to send someone to pick Rebecca and Rowan up.
A voice answered on the crackling line. “Hello?”
“Sharon? Sharon, can you hear me?”
“Becky? Is that you?”
“Sharon, we’ve arrived and there’s no car.”
“No car?”
“No, no car.�
�
“Huh. Wonder what happened to him. Why don’t you go down to the pub—”
“Go to the pub? Sharon, I’m going to start crying. I’ve been in transit for twenty-two hours. I’m standing on an empty pier, with a six-year-old child who has to go potty. I’ve got a large duffel, five suitcases, two backpacks, a laptop, and a tripod. How am I supposed to go to the pub?”
“Now, let’s not have one of your moments, Becky.”
“I’m not having a moment. I—”
“Mama, I gotta go.”
“Just a minute, Rowan.”
“Go to the pub, Becky.”
“What do I do with all my baggage?”
“Mama!”
“Leave it there,” Sharon said.
“What?” Rebecca yelled.
“It’s an island, Becky.”
“I know it’s an island, Sharon. What if someone takes my stuff? Then where will I be?”
“No one’s gonna take your stuff. Where would they go? It’s an island,” Sharon repeated.
Rebecca froze, gritting her teeth as air hissed through them.
“Go to the pub and ask Tom for the keys to the house. He’ll probably have the car, too.”
“Who’s Tom?” Rebecca asked in exasperation.
“Tom, Tom. You know Tom. He’s the one I told you about who owns the pub.”
“Right.”
“Becky?”
“What?”
“It’ll all be fine—”
“Okay, okay. I know. Thanks,” Rebecca said and hung up.
Though it was a dream for Rebecca to come to the island and study the textile art of its people, she still faced the coming months with trepidation. She knew this summer would lead to a book that would bolster her professional résumé and allow her to be more selective when choosing her teaching opportunities. That was why she had come to the island. That was what she had told herself anyway.