Tilda did not smile back. “Mrs. Sterling-Wittman, did you know you ran a stop sign back there?”
“I just realized that. I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I...” Wasn’t paying attention? That didn’t sound right. Muriel found herself at a loss for a proper explanation. She could hardly say that she was busy trying to adjust her attitude about Tilda’s mom.
“Can I have your license and registration?” The request was both polite and intimidating.
Muriel fished her license out of her purse and grabbed her registration from her glove compartment. “I’m so embarrassed,” she confessed as she handed them over. It was no lie. She was. How mortifying.
Tilda said nothing to that, just nodded and returned to her patrol car, where she sat for about a million years.
Muriel’s heart began to race again. She passed a hand over her damp forehead. Getting stopped by the police was awful. And if someone she knew came by and saw her, she was going to be mortified. She’d had such a good driving record.
At last Tilda returned and gave her back her license and registration. “Please pay attention, Mrs. Wittman. You didn’t even slow down back there. Someone could have been crossing the street.”
Muriel hung her head. “You’re right.”
“I’m going to let you off with a warning. It is Christmas, after all,” Tilda added with a smile that flooded Muriel with relief. “But please drive more carefully in the future,” she added sternly.
“I will,” Muriel assured her. “By the way, it looks like your mother’s having a lovely time on her cruise.”
“She is.”
And I really wouldn’t throw her overboard.
Muriel wisely kept that random thought securely locked behind tightly closed lips.
Tilda gave her a quick nod. “Have a nice day.”
Nice. Right.
Chapter Eleven
Encouragement and support are gifts that everyone appreciates.
—Muriel Sterling, A Guide to Happy Holidays
Brandon was excited over the prospect of being a father. It was all he’d talked about since Meadow had made her announcement, and Olivia was determined to be supportive.
Now, before the baby came, was the time to cement her relationship with Meadow into something positive, so Tuesday, when Meadow finally made an appearance in the kitchen, she said, “I’d like to knit a blanket for the baby.”
Meadow’s face lit up like the giant tree in town square during the holiday tree-lighting ceremony. “Really?”
“Would you like to go yarn shopping with me today and pick out the color you’d like?”
“Oh, yeah. That would be awesome. When can we go?”
“Whenever you want.”
“I’ll get my coat,” Meadow said and dashed out the swinging door.
Her excitement was convicting, making Olivia freshly aware of her bad attitude about her new daughter-in-law. It was also touching. To Olivia, knitting a blanket wasn’t that big of a deal. She liked to knit, and anytime there was a baby shower for someone’s daughter, she always made a blanket. But Meadow had drunk up the gesture like a thirsty plant. Once more Olivia found herself wondering what Meadow’s life had been like growing up. Whatever her past, here in the present she was desperate to fit in at the lodge. As the matriarch of the family, it was up to Olivia to help her do it.
She wants to be part of the family, Olivia reminded herself as she went to get her coat. That says a lot. Some daughters-in-law didn’t like their husbands’ moms and wanted nothing to do with them. That didn’t appear to be the case here. Although heaven knew, if Meadow could have read Olivia’s mind these past few weeks, she wouldn’t have been feeling so cordial.
She’d barely gotten into her apartment when Meadow was knocking at the door. “I’m ready. I can drive.”
Olivia agreed but soon came to regret that decision. The girl drove like they were going to a fire and Olivia found herself gripping the handle on the passenger door. “There’s no hurry. The Yarn Barn is open all day.”
“Oh.” Meadow eased up on the gas and Olivia let her breath out. “Sorry. I guess I’m just excited. Nobody’s ever done something like this for me.”
“You’ve never been pregnant before,” Olivia pointed out.
Meadow’s smile fell and Olivia remembered the story of the lost baby. So, it had been true. She’d misjudged the girl.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think.”
Meadow shrugged. “It’s okay. I guess that first one wasn’t meant to be. I like to think of him up in heaven, though, like an angel. Maybe he’ll watch over his little brother or sister.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“Did you ever lose a baby?” Meadow asked in a small voice.
“No, I never had to go through that.”
“It sucks. I don’t want to ever go through it again,” Meadow said and bit her lip.
The poor girl. “It’ll be fine this time,” Olivia assured her.
“I hope so. Brandon really wants kids. And so do I. I just hope I can be a good mom.”
“You will be.” What else could a mother-in-law say?
“You think so?”
She hoped so. “Wanting to be a good mom is half the battle.” And it was. She had to give Meadow credit for such good intentions.
“Even if I screw up, at least the kid will have a good grandma.”
The words, said so casually, weren’t flattery. They were a statement of fact, a vote of confidence. And possibly even a bridge to an improved relationship.
It seemed that so far Meadow was doing most of the bridge building. Well, today Olivia would do her part to help with that bridge.
Once inside the yarn shop, Meadow was dazzled by the array of yarns and the rainbow of colors available. In addition to acrylics, polyesters and microfibers, Etta Johansen featured a wide variety of yarns in her shop, wools from Scandinavia and Britain, as well as locally sourced wools. The walls of the shop were lined with bins that overflowed with skeins of yarn, tables sported more yarns, and mannequins modeled inspiring examples of knitters’ artistry, wearing everything from vests and sweaters to scarves and shawls. Knitting books, knitting needles, knitting bags—Meadow took it all in with hungry eyes.
She was like a tourist in a foreign country, eager to experience everything. Olivia couldn’t help but be touched by her enthusiasm.
“Olivia, nice to see you,” Etta said as Olivia and Meadow walked in. “And is this your new daughter-in-law?”
“This is Meadow,” Olivia said.
“Meadow, what a great name. Welcome to Icicle Falls.”
“Thanks,” Meadow said.
“Are you a knitter?” Etta asked.
“Me? No way,” Meadow said as if Etta had asked her if she did brain surgery in her spare time.
“We’re here to pick out something for a baby blanket.”
“A baby blanket?” Etta smiled at Meadow. “Well, congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Meadow said and grinned.
“Do you know what you’re having?”
“Not yet. I just did the pee-on-the-stick thing Sunday.”
TMI, Olivia thought. But that was the younger generation. Thanks to Facebook and Twitter, everyone told everyone everything.
“Oh, uh, well, you two look around and see what you like,” Etta said and scurried back to the shelves.
Meadow gnawed her bottom lip. “I think I just screwed up.”
“Well, usually you don’t talk about peeing to strangers,” Olivia said.
Meadow’s cheeks turned pink. “But that’s how everyone does it.”
“I know. And that’s exactly why you don’t need to offer all those details.”
“Oh,” Meadow said, again, t
his time more thoughtful. “Okay, got it. I won’t do that again.”
“It wasn’t a cardinal sin,” Olivia said, not wanting her to feel bad.
“Yeah, but I guess it wasn’t very classy.”
There was that. “Don’t worry about it,” Olivia said. Meadow was open to suggestions. She wanted to improve her social skills. All commendable. This was a little like working with Eliza Doolittle, the urchin in the musical My Fair Lady. Olivia hoped she could be more patient than Henry Higgins. And more understanding!
Meadow wandered over to a table piled with skeins of yarn and fingered one. “They’re all so pretty.”
“Do you have a color in mind?” Olivia asked.
“I don’t know. It’s hard to decide.”
“I could do the blanket in something neutral since you don’t know what you’re having yet.”
“Good idea,” Meadow approved.
“Do you have a favorite color?”
“Yellow. But I like green, too.”
Olivia found a multicolored acrylic yarn. “What about this?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s perfect,” Meadow said. “I always thought it would be kind of cool to learn how to knit. I knew this girl in high school. Her mom taught her how to knit and she made these really awesome scarves.”
She sounded so wistful. “It’s not that hard to knit a scarf. Would you like me to teach you?”
“Would you?”
It could be a real bonding experience, and Brandon would be pleased. “Of course,” Olivia said and found that she herself was pleased. Here was a chance to develop a common interest and forge a bond with her daughter-in-law.
“All right.” Meadow picked up the skein. “I’ll knit a scarf for Brandon for Christmas.”
It was a sweet thought. Olivia smiled at her. “I think that’s a great idea.”
“Can we start today?”
“Sure,” Olivia said, pleased by her eagerness.
She did begin to wonder what she’d gotten into once they got back to the lodge and had settled on her sofa. Meadow was all thumbs with the needles, struggling with even the simple task of casting on.
Olivia reminded herself she, too, had been all thumbs when her mother had first taught her as a girl. Manipulating those needles had felt like trying to wield a broadsword.
Another couple of tries and Meadow did master casting on. Moving from that to the knit stitch had her chewing her lip in concentration and swearing like a sailor when she screwed up. “This is hard,” she complained.
“You’ll get it,” Olivia said. “Learning a new skill takes time.”
“Learning a new skill is a pain in the butt,” Meadow grumbled, but she kept on. Once it looked like she was getting the hang of things, Olivia started on the baby blanket, and they fell into a companionable silence. “My mom always said it’s stupid to knit when you can just buy a sweater,” she said after a while, “but I think it’s awesome to be able to make something you can wear. It’s almost like...art.”
“It is an art,” Olivia said. “A time-honored one that a lot of women have been rediscovering.”
Meadow held up her first four rows. “This is cool. I love watching Brandon’s scarf grow.”
“You’ll be surprised how fast it does,” Olivia told her.
As they sat side by side, all was happiness and contentment in Olivia’s little living room. Until Meadow got a dozen rows done only to realize she’d dropped a stitch and would have to take out six. “This sucks,” she declared after several muttered curses.
“It happens sometimes,” Olivia soothed. “We can fix it. Let me help you.”
Meadow handed over the yarn. “I don’t think I’m meant to do this,” she said as she watched Olivia put her messed-up row back together.
“You might surprise yourself.” Olivia handed the scarf in progress back to her.
She took it with a scowl. “I doubt it. Okay, I’m gonna go watch Dr. Phil. I need a break,” Meadow declared.
So did Olivia. Meadow’s mercurial temperament was exhausting.
But, as Muriel would say, there was potential—both in the girl and in their relationship. With a baby on the way, giving up was not an option. With knitting, you grew something one stitch, one row at a time. It was the same with relationships. A dropped stitch here and there? You picked them up and started again. And that was what Olivia was going to keep doing.
* * *
Most of us like surprises, Sienna had read in Muriel’s book.
Think back to when you were a child and you rushed to the Christmas tree on Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought or when you explored the contents of your Christmas stocking. Think of how much fun it is to receive an unexpected flower delivery or a greeting card from a friend who was thinking about you. Don’t you love it when the person in line ahead of you at the coffee shop pays for your drink? Surprises are treats for our hearts.
Who can you surprise this holiday season? How about picking someone unlikely? Perhaps you know an older relative who’s been overlooked or a lonely neighbor. Everyone loves a secret Santa.
The words followed Sienna around at work all day like a lost puppy. She wished she could think of someone as unlikely as Cratchett to surprise. Unfortunately, he was the only one who came to mind. Was it worth wasting Muriel’s good advice on him? Nothing Sienna had tried so far had worked. Probably the best way to have a happy holiday was to avoid him altogether. Let Mrs. Zuckerman deal with the ugly tree.
Except he had actually smiled the day before. She’d seen it with her own eyes. Maybe there was hope. Well, she’d think about it.
That afternoon when she picked up Leo, she learned that he’d had a particularly bad day. Some kids had teased him on the playground and he’d gotten in trouble for being a distraction in class. Sienna suspected there was a strong connection between the two. She’d email his teacher later that night and see what could be done. These days bullying was not tolerated at school, and she was determined to make sure it ended.
“I hate Tommy Haskel,” Leo grumbled as they walked through the parking lot to the car.
“We’ll get it sorted out,” she promised him. “Meanwhile, remember that he’s the one with the problem. He can’t see so well.”
“Yes, he can,” Leo argued. “He doesn’t wear glasses like Alan Wills.”
“No, but he has a worse kind of seeing problem. He can’t see what’s good in other people. He doesn’t understand what a special boy you are.”
“I’m not special,” Leo muttered. “I’m stupid.”
“No, you’re special,” Sienna said firmly. “You’re special to me, Leo, and you’re even more special to God. We all are.”
Leo found it hard to believe that any of his tormentors could make God’s A-list, especially Tommy Haskel, the king of them all.
“That’s because we don’t see him as God does. Think of the Grinch and how rotten he was. But it was because he was unhappy and his heart was too small. I think maybe this boy Tommy is a grinch.”
“Will he be nice like the Grinch someday?” Leo asked.
“Maybe. Or maybe not.” More like probably not. “But we’re not going to worry about that, are we?”
Leo frowned.
“We’re going to keep on being good people no matter what. And we’re going to keep being kind to others no matter what. Because we don’t want to turn into grinches.”
“Are we going to keep being kind to Mr. Cratchett?”
Once more the words from Muriel’s book drifted back into the picture, the Ghost of Christmas Kindness. “Yes, him, too,” Sienna said reluctantly.
“I don’t like Mr. Cratchett. He’s always mad.”
“Maybe he’s mad because he’s sad and feels left out, like the Grinch.” And maybe she needed to be a li
ttle more empathetic. She’d conveniently forgotten what Tim had shared about his uncle. What if the man wasn’t so bad at heart? She’d heard his story from Tim and she’d gotten a glimmer of the kinder Cratchett when he was talking with Mrs. Zuckerman. If he truly was simply a man who had allowed disappointment to sour him, kindness had to be the antidote for that.
“So, what could we do to help make him happy?” she prompted. Here was the perfect opportunity to implement the suggestion in Muriel’s book and be a good example to her son.
Leo shrugged.
“If you were mad, what would make you happy?”
“A Twinkie!”
Somehow Sienna didn’t see that as the kind of surprise that would warm Cratchett’s heart. “I don’t think Mr. Cratchett likes Twinkies.”
“A deep-fried Twinkie,” Leo suggested, still going with his favorite snack food.
“Even when they’re deep-fried.”
“Suckers! Let’s get Mr. Cratchett a sucker.”
“Let’s get Mr. Cratchett something,” Sienna said and turned the car in the direction of the Sweet Dreams Chocolate Company sweets shop.
Heidi Schwartz was at the counter and she greeted Sienna with a hello and gave Leo a chance to select a complimentary piece of chocolate from the bin of seconds. “What can I help you with today?” she asked Sienna.
“We have to get something for Mr. Cratchett,” Leo informed her. “He’s a grinch.”
“Leo,” Sienna chided.
“A grinch, huh?”
“We have a neighbor who could use some holiday cheer,” Sienna told Heidi, glossing over the whole grinch analogy. “What would you recommend?”
“How much did you want to spend?”
Not much. It was the thought that counted, after all. Sienna tossed out a budget-friendly figure and Heidi nodded and picked up a small box wrapped in thick red paper and tied with a gold ribbon.
“Our mixed truffles are always a big hit.”
“Perfect.” Hopefully, they’d be a hit with Mr. Cratchett.
Back home, they sneaked over to Cratchett’s place, stumbling up the porch steps in the late-afternoon dark. “Okay, Leo,” Sienna said, setting the little box in front of the door, “ring the doorbell and then we’ll run around the corner of the house and hide in front of the garage.”
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