Knit the Season

by Kate Jacobs

  “There’s nothing more Christmassy than brussels sprouts,” announced Tom, heaping another mound onto his plate.

  “Save room,” clucked Bess. “You don’t want to miss Dakota’s pie.”

  Gran took a final bite, dabbed her mouth with her cloth napkin, and neatly placed her knife and fork on the plate. She cleared her throat, immediately commanding attention even as her purple paper crown slipped sideways off her fluffy white permed hairdo.

  “I would like to say something,” said Gran, fondly gazing around at all those in the room, her great-nieces and great-nephews, all the cousins, as well as Dakota and the others.

  “Andrew, I would like to give you my washing machine,” said Gran to her niece Susan’s grandson. “You’re just starting out and might have use of it.”

  “I think that’s from the 1970s,” whispered Dakota, as her father elbowed her under the table.

  There was a series of titters around the room. Gran being all together in her mind must have been too good to be true, their bemused looks seemed to say. She’s going dotty on us now.

  “And that washer’s still running, my dear,” said Gran proudly. “I have excellent hearing, or haven’t you noticed? Now, where is my list?” She reached into the left sleeve of her green snowflake cardigan, pulled out a tissue, and then tried the other side.

  “There it is,” she said, waving a folded sheet of paper. “Susan, I thought you might enjoy my toaster oven. And Felix, the wheel-barrow.”

  “I work on a cruise ship, Auntie,” said a slight gray-haired old gent. “I’ve no garden.”

  “Quite right,” said Gran. “I just remembered how you and Tom used to play in the garden back when you were schoolboys. No matter, we’ll leave it here.”

  “Don’t you need these things, Gran?” asked Dakota, looking round the table at relatives she knew well and others she just met, as one by one forks were set down and people leaned in closer.

  “Not where I’m going,” Gran declared, to a collective gasp around the table.

  “Are you sick?”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Why haven’t you told us?”

  Questions flew around the room as everyone spoke all at once.

  “Oh, pish!” said Gran, knocking on the table to make a loud noise and recapture her guests’ focus. “Today’s lunch notwithstanding, I decided a few months ago that I am quite done with dinner.”

  “What?”

  “The making of it, I mean,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I still intend to eat as much as I can. So you can wipe those horrified looks off your faces. I’m not dying anytime soon.”

  “Are you getting a cook, Gran?” ventured Dakota.

  “Better than that,” said Gran. “I’m moving into a small bedsit in a deluxe residence for active golden-agers. Where they serve your dinner to you and bring up the tea to the common room in the evenings. All very fancy.”

  “You’re moving? To an old folks’ home?” Dakota’s eyes bulged.

  “Not for old folks,” said Gran. “Only active seniors can move in here. So you can do the aerobics, you see.”

  “It’ll be nothing but shuffleboard and bridge, Gran,” implored Dakota. “You won’t like it. You wouldn’t be happy there.”

  “Now, now,” said Gran. “I think I might rather like to join a shuffleboard league. Maybe they’ll make me captain.”

  Dakota shot a look at her uncle, her eyes begging him to do something. Donny held up his palm. Hold on, he mouthed. It’s okay.

  “It’s a shock when things change,” continued Gran, settling back into her chair, reveling in holding court over the Christmas table. “But I’m not going far, only to Dumfries. And I’m leaving on my own terms. I’m not being warehoused. I’m finally giving in to my inner lazybug. It’s my turn to be pampered, don’t you think?”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” asked Dakota.

  “And have everyone moaning about, bellyaching about our last Christmas in the old cottage?” said Gran. “No, thank you! I, for one, intended to have my best Christmas ever, and so I have done.”

  “What about the farm?” asked James, considering the practical side of things. “Are you going to sell?”

  “Not exactly,” admitted Gran. “I’ve made an arrangement with the new owner that I’m able to keep my room as it is and visit on weekends if I like.”

  The room was absolutely still. Everyone inched closer to hear.

  “It’s me,” admitted Donny, rising slightly from his seat. “I’ve agreed to move to Scotland to take over Gran’s farm. There are a lot of new things I want to try with the organics, and it’s just the right size.”

  “What about everything in Pennsylvania?” asked Dakota, still feeling off kilter. Although reassured the farm would still be here, that she could hold on to knowing this special place just a bit longer, she knew she’d still have to adapt. To embrace the fact that the circumstances were all changing. That life was constantly in flux. Just when she got all used to one thing, something else would come along. Just like Gran was always saying.

  “More corporations are getting into organics,” explained Donny. “I leased out my land back in the U.S.”

  “And, truth be told, we’ve done the same,” said Tom. “We’re keeping the house, but the fields are all going to be managed by a company.” He caught the gaze of one of his cousins, nodding as he spoke. “We’re frankly ready to retire. Bess has done it my way for a long time, and it seemed about right that I should try it hers.”

  “So you’re moving to Florida or something,” said Dakota, incredulous. Why, she wondered, did everyone seem to have a magic “go south” date? “You’re not all going to old folks’ homes, are you? Dad, you next?”

  “We’re not old,” said Bess. “We’re simply moving into a new phase. Maybe going to get a condo somewhere. Or take a photo safari.”

  “A safari sounds quite smart, my dear,” said Gran. “I know I always liked the elephants at the circus.”

  “A safari? Are you kidding me?” said Dakota.

  “It’s just an idea,” said Bess. “It’s never too late. Do you have room for that pie now, Tom?”

  “I do,” said Dakota’s grandfather, as the family shuffled the dirty plates off the table and helped carry in the decadent desserts. Dakota sat glued to her seat as she watched the procession of pie and tart and cake from kitchen to table, dumbfounded that anyone could be thinking of eating after the news they’d just heard.

  “One of everything, I presume?” asked Gran, scooping some trifle into a bowl and passing desserts down the length of the table. “After all, it’s Christmas, isn’t it?”

  James rested on the love seat, dozing off the humongous meal, as Gran paid close attention to the Queen on the BBC. The extended family made themselves at home, and Bess slowly stitched up her scarf as Tom looked on in admiration. Donny and Dakota, dish towels over shoulders, strolled into the lounge to pick up the last of the teacups.

  “This truly was a wonderful lunch, Mum,” said Tom, patting his stomach. “You outdid yourself today.”

  “Well, I had help,” confessed Gran.

  “To Dakota,” said James, holding up his china teacup.

  “And to Bess,” added Gran. “Let’s toast Georgia’s mom as well.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Tom, rising. “To all our family, each one of us here tonight. May the blessings of the holidays keep us safe and happy throughout the coming year. And for my dad, Tom Senior, and my beautiful daughter, Georgia. Here’s hoping the turkey is just as delicious in heaven.”

  chapter fifteen

  The crowd was larger than she’d expected, commented Gran, counting heads and nodding apprecia tively. Attending was a last-minute decision, debated as they lolled about on the furniture, feeling well fed and content, chatting about everything from the morning sermon to the Queen’s outfit on television. But then Gran had clucked her tongue, pulled off her multicolored knitted slippers to reveal the cozy hand-
knit white cotton socks underneath, and announced that they ought to all get their boots on. It would be bad form to miss the Christmas concert on the lawn of Trigony House just outside of Thornhill, she declared. Students of all ages, and a few talented parents, had been rehearsing long hours to put on a show.

  They’d taken the two rental cars but, due to the earlier arrival of like-minded townspeople, found themselves having to park at the end of the long driveway, joining the procession of concertgo ers marching up to the seats, kisses and hugs and greetings of “Happy Christmas” being tossed out liberally. Gran was stopped every few seconds by someone—from the gray-haired children of old friends to the girl who came out to wash the windows twice a year—who wanted to wish her well.

  “She’s like the queen of Thornhill,” Dakota murmured to her uncle. “What if she misses it when she goes to that old folks’ home?”

  “Being sad to go isn’t always a reason to stay,” replied Donny. “Sometimes going in a new direction—even when it wasn’t in your initial plan—can actually turn out to be the best thing.”

  “Maybe,” said Dakota, considering. She slowed her step to distance herself from her family, watching how they moved—Bess with her small steps, James with his brisk pace, Donny pumping his arms, Tom’s hands in his pockets, tiny Gran with her shockingly good posture. Here we all are, together, making a memory, she acknowledged. She knew there would come a moment when she’d want to call up this image in her mind’s eye, this row of her scarved and hatted loved ones strolling on a most special Christmas. They’d never been all together in this manner before, and Dakota knew it was highly unlikely that they’d ever be this way again. Her elderly Gran, still so strong and yet slowing down. Her own father, possibly, might want to move in new directions as well.

  “Who knows where we’ll all be in a year?” she whispered to herself, aware that she hadn’t been able to anticipate the developments of the previous year, from her starting culinary school to learning Peri had a job offer in Paris.

  What will happen to the shop? To my family? To me? Dakota thought anxiously. She hated that she had no idea, had no means of reading into the future. That no one did. Too often, she knew, change simply morphed into loss. And she’d had enough of that in her life already.

  She saw her father extend his arm as Gran, not breaking her purposeful stride, accepted the help, her head bobbing slightly as she still glanced down to watch where she was stepping. Careful of the ice and snow. Dakota saw Bess and Tom, more affectionate than she’d ever seen them, Bess tugging on the sleeve of his coat as they intertwined a few gloved fingers, exchanged a private grin. Starting out all over again, she supposed, freed of the strain of the farm in Pennsylvania. And Donny, excited about his new adventure, glancing around to see all the Thornhill folks who would be his neighbors and might well—he hoped—become his friends.

  The musicians were tuning their instruments, and girls in tartan dresses were handing out programs, the songs and lyrics listed. Chairs had been set up on the lawn, and, just as in all movie the aters, twosomes and foursomes had positioned themselves to leave a seat here or there between them. There were several empty seats but not enough for the entire family, and so the group split.

  “I’ll go with Dakota,” said Bess, surprising her granddaughter. “I tucked my knitting into my purse. The rest of you can go near the front.”

  “I’ll sit with Dakota,” said James. “I’d like to chat. I’ve hardly seen her since we’ve arrived.”

  “No, no,” said Bess. “You always get to have her. Let me have one more turn.” She pointed at some nearby seats. “We won’t be far.”

  “So, are you looking into Harrisburg proper, Grandma?” Dakota asked Bess, as the two settled in.

  “Who said anything about Harrisburg?” said Bess. “No, I want change. Philadelphia, perhaps. Or maybe even Los Angeles.”

  “You don’t strike me as very LA, Grandma,” said Dakota, taking in her gray-haired grandmother in her frilly colored blouse and thick, black winter coat.

  “I don’t know what I want to be,” said Bess. “But it’ll come down to costs, of course. We won’t be having the penthouse at the Ritz, but we’ll do fine. I might get a little job.”

  “At your age?”

  “Your friend Anita is almost a decade older than I am, young lady,” said Bess. “And you don’t think that’s strange.”

  “Yeah, but she’s . . .” Dakota struggled for a word that wouldn’t offend.

  “Whatever she is, I can be the same,” huffed Bess. “You don’t want your Gran to move, but you’re ready to put me out to pasture.”

  “Nah,” said Dakota, opening up her program. “I actually like hanging around with you, Grandma. It’s weird, but sometimes you remind me of my mom. She could be impatient, too.”

  “I’m very patient when it’s called for,” said Bess, as the strains of “Silent Night” began to play. “I’ve spent my life as a country mouse when I wanted to be a city mouse. And now I can do anything I want.”

  “But what is that exactly?” asked Dakota.

  Bess leaned in conspiratorially. “Unfortunately, I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

  Dakota could tell, by the intense way her father was staring, that he wanted to drive back to Gran’s cottage with her.

  “Hey, Dad,” she said. “How about I ride with you?”

  “Fantastic,” he said, his face breaking into a relieved smile. “I thought we could talk.”

  “About me?” Dakota slid into the passenger seat on the lefthand side of the car.

  “Sure,” said her dad. “What’s up?”

  “Nah,” said Dakota, being playful. “You first. How’s your new friend? Ms. Stonehouse?”

  “Sandra, yeah. She’s good, really nice,” he said. “I bet you thought so when you interviewed her.”

  “More scary, really,” said Dakota. “But seeing the two of you kissing kind of took away that illusion.”

  “I’m going to call her tonight, wish her Merry Christmas,” continued James. “She’s gone to her parents’ house.”

  “Thoughtful, Dad,” Dakota said in a slight mocking tone. “Maybe you’re getting this relationship thing down. Finally. Don’t need to run away for twelve years or anything.”

  James did not look amused.

  “I cannot undo the past,” he said. “This is the real deal, Dakota. Your mother was one thing. This is another. They’re not the same; they’re not to be compared. But it’s genuine. I have real feelings for Sandra, and I need you to recognize that.”

  “Some things are hard, Dad.” Dakota looked out the window as the car moved down the road, wishing she was standing out with the sheep in the fields. Or doing more dishes with Gran. Or knitting with Bess. Or playing Scrabble with Tom and Donny. Just anywhere but here.

  “We’re taking a step,” ventured James. “A big step.”

  “Oh, not the two of you,” cried Dakota, as James drove the car right past the driveway to Gran’s cottage. This was going to be a long ride. Obviously. “Let me guess. We’re going to have a triple wedding, and I get to be the bridesmaid at that extravaganza, too.”

  “Noooo,” said James, drawing out the word. “I thought you were happy for Anita. For Catherine.”

  “I am,” said Dakota. “I’m happy, happy, happy. But it’s just like ‘splat.’ Everything is happening all at once. Weddings and marriages, and Roberto came back, and that was just plain awkward. Old loves are better in the past, Dad.”

  James raised his eyebrows as his daughter continued to rant. He’d choose to assume he was the exception to the rule.

  “Then it’s eat up the turkey, happy last Christmas, because Gran is deep-sixing the farm.” She twisted in her seat to view her father more clearly. “Gran thinks going to an old-age home is all about captaining shuffleboard and doesn’t have any idea how awful it’s going to be for her. Donny is a . . . a . . . what do you call it? A reverse immigrant. How crazy is that? Who on earth does that?
”

  “Your mother wanted to do that,” said James. “Had this whole fantasy she’d raise her own sheep for Walker Sweaters.”

  “But instead she died,” shouted Dakota. “Died and left me to figure it all out. So it’s still freakin’ crazy. Why can’t anything stay where it’s good?” She took a breath.

  “Good for whom?” said James, his voice very quiet.

  “Good for me! Me! Me!” yelled Dakota. “There’s enough going on in my life. I feel as though all my safety nets are ripping. Like I’m running around with my arms wide, to catch everything that’s falling through, but I just can’t do it.”

  James aimed the car toward the side of the road and stopped.

  “Shout it out,” he said. “Get mad!”

  “Shut up, Dad,” moaned Dakota. She wanted to cry, but no tears were coming. Instead, she just felt drained. “I’m terrible. Selfish. Me! Me! Me! Who acts like this?”

  “Pretty much everybody,” said James. “You’re just more likely to say it out loud.”

  “I even hate that Grandma and Grandpa are giving up their farm,” said Dakota. “I hardly get a chance to see them. And you want to know something? I like those two. I know Mom had her issues, but the fact is she was just like Grandma Bess, prone to having fits of temper just as often as being nice.”

  “It’s a family trait,” James said calmly. “The storm cloud of emotion. It usually passes quickly.”

  “Ha, ha, ha, Dad,” said Dakota, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I feel out of control. That’s my problem.”

  “Get used to it,” said James. “It’s a common part of being grown up.”

  “So, now what?” she asked.

  James kissed the top of his daughter’s head. “We roll with it,” he said. “But Sandra and I are going to move in together. In the spring.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Am I sure we’re moving in together,” asked James, “or am I sure about Sandra?”