Eugenie nodded, not in agreement but in acknowledgment of Esther’s opinion. “What about the rest of you? Do you think Romeo and Juliet were self-indulgent?”
Camille set her knitting on the table. “I think you can’t let your feelings run away with you. Even if you’d like to let them. You have to keep things in perspective. Keep your goals in mind.”
Hannah flipped her copy of the book onto the table in front of her. “Shakespeare had it right. It had to end badly.”
“Why is that?” Eugenie asked.
“Two people from different groups trying to get together. Cliques are there for a reason.”
Maria shook her head. “There’s no such thing as true social division. Not really. I mean, I know some people think they’re better than others, but we’re all the same at heart.” She stopped and then flushed, obviously embarrassed at her own vehemence, and returned her attention to her yarn and needles.
“Other people’s interference doomed them in the end,” Merry said to divert attention from Maria. “All those people carrying messages that didn’t get there in time. If Romeo and Juliet had just been left alone, they probably would’ve gotten married, had some kids, and turned into a boring old couple who finished each other’s sentences.” She laughed. “That doesn’t sound nearly as romantic, does it?”
“Romance is highly overrated,” Camille said, and Esther nodded in agreement. Their emphatic dismissal saddened Merry. She wanted everyone to find their happily-ever-after as she had with Jeff, even if there were sometimes big bumps in the road, like the day care issue. Though if she were honest with herself, some of her reluctance to work full time came from what she knew other people would say about Hunter being in day care. The group of moms who had been her mainstay since Courtney was a baby would look at her like she was Abraham about to sacrifice Isaac on the stone altar.
These women e-mailed one another articles about the evils of warehousing children in day care. Many of them had their children in the Mother’s Day Out program at the church, but in their minds, nine o’clock until two in the afternoon didn’t count as day care, not when it was only two or three days a week. It gave them enough time to play some tennis at the country club, do their shopping, and maybe have lunch with friends without feeling as if they were depriving their children. But the moms who used the extended care hours were a different breed entirely, and Merry was about to cross that great divide. A traitor to the sanctity of motherhood, a—
Okay it wasn’t that bad. Most of her friends would understand. Only a very few would be as judgmental as she feared, and they weren’t people whose opinions she valued. Still, she dreaded the whispers and the sidelong looks. Or maybe her concern about other people’s opinions was just a smoke screen to keep her from focusing on the real issue—how incredibly difficult it would be to drop Hunter off at the church each morning and know she wouldn’t see him again until dinnertime.
“So what projects did you come up with?” Eugenie asked, breaking into Merry’s reverie and deftly turning the disagreement to a more productive vein. “I thought that limiting ourselves to garter stitch might stimulate us creatively.”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t very original,” Merry said, opting to go first. “Just a shawl.” She reached into her bag and retrieved the dark blue garment, laid it out on the table in front of her. “I thought it might suit the Nurse character. Sturdy. No-nonsense, kind of like her.”
Eugenie nodded her approval, which always made Merry feel like she’d accomplished something. “Other projects?” the librarian asked. “Camille?”
“I did a little cap. For Juliet.” The sparkly pink yarn didn’t look particularly Shakespearean, but Merry could see Camille wearing the small hat come wintertime.
“Very nice.” Again, Eugenie nodded in approval. “Esther?”
Esther shook her head. “I’m sorry, Eugenie. I wasn’t able to finish mine.”
Merry hated seeing Esther look so pinched and pale. She hoped Eugenie would go easy on the new widow.
“I know you’ve had a lot on your plate,” Eugenie said, and Merry relaxed a little. The librarian’s recent marriage had definitely softened her a bit. “Maria?” Eugenie asked, diverting everyone’s attention to the newest member of the group.
“I made a pillow, scented with lavender. For Romeo, I guess. To give him sweet dreams about Juliet.”
Hannah snorted, but Eugenie silenced her with a look. Merry watched with interest as Maria blushed like a schoolgirl. Who would have known that beneath the guise of a thirtysomething spinster beat the heart of a romantic?
The pillow was pale blue. Merry reached out to run her fingers over the soft wool. “It’s lovely, Maria. Very impressive.”
“Thank you.” She shot Merry a grateful look.
“Hannah, why don’t you show yours?” Eugenie prompted. Merry watched with interest as the girl pulled a bundle of deep red wool out of her bag.
“It’s no big deal,” the girl began, but Eugenie interrupted her.
“I think it’s quite accomplished. You should put it on, to give the full effect.”
Hannah looked like she’d rather eat dirt, but she complied with Eugenie’s request. She whipped the garment about her shoulders. It was a little elbow-length capelet, at once charming and sensuous. Much like Juliet herself, Merry thought. The color suited Hannah very well.
“You worked very hard on it,” Eugenie said. “And your effort paid off. I’m very proud of you.”
The girl blushed to the roots of her hair, but Merry could tell she was pleased by the librarians approval.
“What about you, Eugenie?” Merry asked. “What’s your project?” No doubt the librarian had read the play forward, backward, and sideways. She was sure to have found the perfect project for Romeo and Juliet.
“Actually…” Eugenie paused and cleared her throat. “Actually, I’m not quite finished with mine.”
A dead silence fell on the group. Merry suppressed a chuckle. In all the time the Knit Lit Society had been meeting, she’d never known Eugenie not to be fully prepared. Sometimes she even had more than one project ready to display.
“Time seems to have gotten away from me this month,” the librarian said, not quite looking any of them in the eye. Merry looked around the group and realized she wasn’t the only one holding back a smile.
“After all the times the rest of us haven’t finished by the meeting,” Merry said, hoping to relieve Eugenie’s embarrassment, “I’m sure you’re due a free pass.”
Eugenie flashed Merry a grateful look. “Now, for next month, I thought I’d be a bit more specific about the project.” She laid both hands on the table in front of her. “For the Song of Solomon, I thought we’d use the purl stitch to make something for someone we love.” She paused. “Not necessarily love in a romantic way, of course.”
Merry heard more than one sigh of relief. While she and Eugenie, as the married ladies in the group, should theoretically have their love lives sorted out, the rest of the group was definitely in flux.
“Is that agreeable?” Eugenie asked, but Merry knew that none of the others would take exception to her assignment. “Good, then. Very well done, everyone.”
As they gathered up their things and made their way out of the church, Merry paused by the hallway that led to the children’s education wing where the Mother’s Day Out program was housed. She stared down the darkened hallway, worry and fear fighting for equal share of her attention.
Hunter was so small and defenseless. But this was their church, and if she was going to trust anyone to care for him, it would be the people that gathered here.
With a small sigh, Merry hoisted her tote bag higher on her shoulder and headed out into the night.
Early in November, Eugenie opened the Bible that lay on the counter in front of her. From her position behind the high-fronted checkout desk, she could keep an eye on the entire library. At the moment, the only patrons were the ever-present Hornbuckles, an elderly couple who
were deaf as posts. Taking advantage of the rare moment of inactivity, Eugenie flipped through the Bibles pages until she found what she was looking for. The Song of Solomon.
The selection had seemed obvious when she’d been making her book list for the year. It was perhaps the oldest love story in Western literature. And although in the Christian tradition the book had mostly been interpreted as an allegory for the relationship of Christ to the church, Eugenie took the older perspective and viewed it as a celebration of Gods gift of romantic love. At least, she did since Paul had come back into her life.
Eugenie skimmed the lines of ancient poetry she hadn’t read in years, but as she progressed through the book, her cheeks began to suffuse with color.
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth!
For your love is better than wine.
Had Song of Solomon always been this sensuous? She shifted uncomfortably on the stool and then glanced up and over each shoulder. Those authors of bodice-ripping romance novels had nothing on King Solomon.
Ah, you are beautiful, my beloved, truly lovely.
Our couch is green.
As she continued to read, embarrassment gave way to bemusement and then, quite suddenly, she was mesmerized. What she felt for Paul was nothing new. The relationship between a man and a woman was a wonderful, amazing thing, celebrated throughout the centuries. But to see that sensual, almost mystical connection here, between the covers of her Bible, was unexpected. And disturbing. And exhilarating.
She was so lost in her reading that she barely registered the whoosh of the library’s front door opening to admit a patron. She looked up to see Hazel Emerson marching toward her. Eugenie forced a smile.
“Good morning, Hazel.” Whatever Hazel wanted, it had nothing to do with broadening her mind. Sharpening her claws, more like. Eugenie had spent the past six weeks bending over backward to please Hazel and her ilk. Standing beside Paul in the receiving line after church. Visiting shut-ins. Even volunteering to serve on the board of the Mothers Day Out program. The requests for her participation, though, rather than slacking off, had actually picked up. The more she did, the more people found for her to do.
“Eugenie. I was hoping I’d find you here,” Hazel said. She wore a fur jacket that was too heavy for the mild November day.
Eugenie swallowed the urge to make a sarcastic reply. Instead, she spread her hands to indicate her surroundings. “My natural habitat. What can I do for you, Hazel? Did you need to use the reference section?” She couldn’t resist the last remark.
“Oh, goodness no. I wanted to talk to you about the women’s auxiliary again. We still haven’t seen you at a meeting.”
“I know.” Eugenie steeled herself to be patient for Paul’s sake. She had to remember why she was volunteering for all these church activities. “But as I said before, I really can’t get away during the day.”
Hazel pursed her lips. “As the pastor’s wife, you’re expected to take a leadership role in the auxiliary.”
Eugenie knew there was no point in arguing, but she wasn’t going to agree to Hazel’s request either.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Eugenie said.
Hazel pursed her lips more firmly. “I would reconsider if I were you.”
Eugenie shook her head. “I’m sorry Hazel.” She didn’t offer any further explanation, just let silence fall, which was easy to do in a library. Paul had warned her that she was like a popular college freshman during sorority rush. “Everyone will want you to get involved with their pet project,” he had said. “As far as I’m concerned, you can pick and choose. The church is paying me, not you.”
Which was kind of him, Eugenie thought, but also not completely realistic. The tradition of the highly involved pastor’s wife was too deeply ingrained in southern culture to discount quite so easily. But she hadn’t expected to find herself in over her head so quickly.
Hazel crossed her arms over her chest, her pocketbook dangling from one elbow. “I would think you’d want to support your new husband as much as possible.” She cast a dismissive glance around the library. “I hardly think your little job here is worth the sacrifice of your husband’s ministry.”
Eugenie felt her cheeks redden. “Paul understands the importance of my work.”
The other woman’s eyes flashed. “So you won’t even consider coming to the meeting?”
“I don’t really have a choice, Hazel. It’s no reflection on what is, I’m sure, a very fine group of Christian women.” She resisted the urge to cross her fingers behind the height of the checkout counter.
“The steering committee won’t be happy about this.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Please do give them my regrets.” Eugenie picked up a stack of books from the counter in front of her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to catalog these new arrivals.” As a dismissal it wasn’t very subtle, but it was the only thing she could think of.
Hazel glanced at her watch. “I need to be going anyway. I have an appointment at the beauty salon.”
“Have a lovely day,” Eugenie said in her friendliest voice, but inwardly she seethed. What right did someone like Hazel Emerson think she had to come in and start telling Eugenie how to manage her life? Was this just a glimpse of her future as a minister’s wife? The thought depressed her.
“Good-bye, Eugenie,” Hazel snapped before stomping out the door.
After shed gone, Eugenie did catalog the new books, but she also started to worry. People like Hazel could make life miserable for Paul if Eugenie didn’t do as they expected. She’d been forced to humor and placate the city council for the last thirty years in order to achieve her goals for the library. The pressure on Paul, as a minister, to keep people happy must be even greater than what she had experienced. How to strike the right balance though? That was the question—one she spent the rest of the day pondering.
Camille sat on the stool behind the counter at the dress shop. Through the large plate-glass windows, she watched shoppers passing up and down the street. Most of them she recognized, although there were a few unfamiliar faces—lake people or folks from around the county who came into Sweetgum to shop. Of the people she knew, very few stopped in to see her.
Although she was only twenty-four, Camille had been running her mother’s shop since she was nineteen. She was savvy enough about the business to know that slow sales in early November did not bode well for the holiday season. She doodled on the pad of paper next to the register, trying to come up with an idea for a spectacular advertising campaign in the local newspaper that would turn the sales slump around. She’d pit her management skills against anyone, but marketing was not her strength.
Underneath the pad of paper was the course catalog for Middle Tennessee State that had arrived in the mail that morning. She should call and tell them to take her off the mailing list; she was only tormenting herself. She’d thought that once her mother was gone, she would finally be free to leave Sweetgum and pursue the future she’d always dreamed of. That dream had been the one thing that kept her head above water during the upheavals of the last five years, but her plan had depended on finding someone to buy the dress shop, and given its current financial state, who would throw their money away like that?
Camille slid the pad to the side and flipped open the catalog. If she could go to college, what kind of classes would she take first? She enjoyed fashion and looked forward to her modest buying trips to Atlanta twice a year. But maybe she’d rather try something new—computers or engineering or fine arts. Anything, really if it got her out of Sweetgum.
After a long, silent morning, the bell above the door rang.
She looked up, thankful for the first customer of the day, and saw Dante. He wore a shirt and tie and looked far more enticing than he had a right to. She felt a strange fluttering in the region of her heart and tightly curled the fingers of one hand in protest. She was determined not to let him get to her.
“Afternoon, Dante.” She came around the c
ounter and stopped beside one of the clothing stands. She put a hand on a rack in a nonchalant pose, but really it was to steady herself.
“I thought I’d drop in and renew my invitation. I’ll make reservations at the Watermark.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Dante—”
“C’mon, Camille.” He stepped closer, and she gripped the rack more firmly. He was like a magnet, always drawing her closer even as she fought against it. “We’d have a great time,” he said, tempting her. “And you need to get out of Sweetgum, at least for a little while.”
Truer words had rarely been spoken, she thought glumly. But was an evening’s liberation worth the risk of his company?
Her hesitation encouraged him. “We could drive up early in the afternoon. See a movie first. I’ll even take you to a chick flick.”
She smiled in spite of herself. “My choice?”
His face tightened in a pained expression. “Yeah. Your choice.”
She was sorely tempted. “I don’t know.”
He looked so delighted at her hesitation that she would have thought she’d already agreed. “I’ll take that for a yes.”
“Dante, you can’t just—”
“Camille, I learned a long time ago that with you no means no. But hesitation means you can be persuaded.” He smiled and her willpower softened in proportion to its charm.
“When did you learn I was so persuadable?”
His expression grew serious. “When you almost agreed to go to the prom with me.”
“When did I do that?” But the moment she asked the question, the memory came tumbling back.
He’d cornered her coming out of the girls’ bathroom a week before the senior prom and asked her, probably for the tenth time, to be his date. She’d wanted to agree so badly, and she’d had such a horrible day. At that moment, she’d have liked nothing more than to grab him, tell him to put his arms around her, and bury her head against his broad shoulder. He seemed to promise security and comfort. But then Natalie and Cody had walked by and called out some teasing remark about how Dante was finally going to get lucky, and she’d withdrawn, packing her emotions back into their deep freeze, and turned his invitation down flat.
The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love Page 11
