by Hope Ramsay
They brunched at the Kountry Kitchen where Miriam announced, quite loudly, that Savannah’s biscuits were ten times better than T-bone Carter’s. Thank goodness T-bone had a sense of humor.
He stuck his head out of the kitchen and said, “That’s all right, Miz Miriam. I don’t aim to marry no preacher.” He grinned and returned to his kitchen.
Everyone in the café turned and smiled at Savannah. A blue-haired lady in the next booth, whose name Savannah didn’t know, took that moment to say, “You keep cooking, honey. We’re all mighty glad you came to town. It’s not good for a minister to be without a wife.”
Heat ran up Savannah’s neck and face. Some of the little old ladies in Last Chance sounded just like Mrs. Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, who was single-minded in her attempts to match up her daughters with anyone wearing pants.
Right at the moment, Savannah felt a great deal like Lizzy Bennet, the book’s heroine, when the odious Reverend Collins comes to call. Lizzy’s mother was practically apoplectic when the heroine of the book told Reverend Collins where he could take his marriage proposal.
Savannah hoped against hope that Bill Ellis didn’t get any ideas about getting down on bended knee. She feared the entire over-sixty female population of Last Chance might just go into hysterics.
And then it occurred to her that if Bill Ellis was the Mr. Collins in her life, then who was Dash? Wickham, the villain? Or Darcy, the hero?
She flashed back to Dash’s kiss on the porch last night, and her temperature climbed into the stratosphere.
“Oh, honey, it’s so sweet the way you blush,” the lady at the next table said.
Savannah gave her a phony smile and then popped the last of her fried egg in her mouth. Boy, she didn’t have a whole lot of privacy in this town, did she?
“Can we stop by the yarn shop?” Miriam asked.
“Of course we can. I remember you used to knit all the time.”
Miriam sighed. “I’m afraid that was before my hands got so bad. I miss it. I like going in there and fondling the yarn, though.”
Fondling? Yarn? It really was a good thing Savannah was getting Miriam to the doctor’s for a checkup today.
She looked down at Miriam’s less-than-half-eaten bowl of oatmeal. “Well, finish up, then,” Savannah said, “and we can go.”
“Oh,” Miriam said on a long sigh, “I’m not that hungry.”
She hadn’t been very hungry for the last two weeks. Savannah tamped down on her concern.
A few minutes later, they strolled into The Knit & Stitch, a little shop located in an older brick building in the heart of the Palmetto Avenue business district. It had a bright red awning and door. Inside, blond wood shelving cubes crammed with yarn occupied all available wall space. The yarn had been sorted by color and texture so that stepping into The Knit & Stitch was almost like walking into a rainbow.
In the corner, near the front window, stood a group of comfy-looking easy chairs, with a scarred coffee table in the middle. A couple of women whom Savannah recognized from the book club sat in the chairs knitting away. One of them, a young mother with a sleeping infant in the stroller beside her, was someone Savannah had yet to meet.
The tall, gray-haired woman behind the checkout counter gave a big wave. “Hey,” she whispered loudly, giving the slumbering baby a meaningful look. “How are you doing, Miz Miriam?”
Aunt Miriam’s eyes lit up behind her trifocals. “Hey, Pat, I’d like you to meet my niece, Savannah White. Savannah, this is Pat Canaday, Molly’s mother.”
Pat smiled. “Well, hello. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m so glad someone is going to do something about The Kismet.” She glanced through her front window, which provided a bird’s-eye view of the dilapidated theater. “That place is an eyesore. The other merchants on Palmetto will be ever so grateful when The Kismet is restored to its former glory.”
Savannah smiled politely while simultaneously wishing that Rocky had kept her mouth shut. So many people seemed to be depending on her. She wasn’t used to that.
“So, Pat, what’s new?” Miriam asked.
“Well, I just got a shipment of possum yarn.”
Possum yarn? It was a joke, right?
“Oh,” Miriam said, “I heard about that stuff. It’s supposed to be very soft.”
Apparently it wasn’t a joke.
“Oh, it is. Here, let me get you a skein of it. You have to touch it to believe it.” Pat crossed the room and pulled down a hank of dark purple yarn. “Here, have a feel. Isn’t that the yummiest thing ever? They call that color claret.”
Miriam stroked the yarn as if it might be a real live possum. “Oh, that is soft. And I do love the color, too.” Her voice sounded wistful.
Savannah watched her aunt and knew right then that she needed medical attention. If not for the arthritis then for her obvious dementia.
“Don’t you look at me that way,” Miriam said with a suddenly sharp stare. “I’m not crazy.” She turned toward Pat. “Am I crazy?”
Pat snorted a laugh and turned a pair of gray eyes on Savannah. “Honey, you have obviously never knitted or crocheted. It’s always about the yarn. Now, you take that yarn, for instance. It’s as soft as cashmere. It’s spun of forty percent possum, fifty percent washable merino, and ten percent silk. It comes from New Zealand where possums are an ecological threat to the kiwis. So it’s even environmentally sound.”
Miriam held out the skein of purple possum. “Touch it, honey. You’ll see.”
She took the yarn. And it almost took her breath away. It was the softest thing she had ever felt. “Wow.”
“So, you want to take lessons?” Pat asked. “You could make your aunt a beautiful sweater.”
“No!” Savannah said.
“Yes!” Miriam said at the same time.
“Miriam, I have no desire to knit.” She handed the yarn back to her aunt, who stroked it against her cheek.
“Cooking is my thing,” Savannah said.
“So we’ve heard.” This came from the young mother sitting by the window. She smiled at Savannah. The sun coming through the shop window lit up her red hair. She had the classic looks of a carrot top, including the freckles. The baby in the stroller had red hair, too.
“I’m Kenzie Griffin. I’m also a member of the book club, but I missed you last time, because Junior had a bad cold. I heard all about how you stood up to Nita. Thank you. I really enjoyed reading Pride and Prejudice. I’m looking forward to discussing it on Wednesday.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“Amen to that,” the African-American woman sitting beside Kenzie said. Savannah recognized this woman from the book club, but she didn’t remember her name.
The woman gave her a big smile. “Honey, I’m Lola May Lindon. And for the record, I think what you’re doing for the town is just wonderful.”
“This town really needs a theater,” Kenzie said. “I’m a newcomer here. My husband just got a job at deBracy, and we’re not used to having to drive an hour to see a movie.”
Savannah gave Kenzie and Lola May a smile but didn’t say anything for fear of exposing herself as the fraud that she was.
This was horrifying. Everyone seemed to have the wrong idea about her. She wasn’t some mover or shaker. She didn’t have the first clue what she was doing. It scared her to death that people were looking up to her and expecting something grand.
She’d never done anything important in her life. She was so very ordinary.
“I do so wish you’d learn to knit,” Miriam said on a long sigh. “I would surely love to have a purple possum sweater.”
“I’ll think about it, okay? Meantime we have a few more errands to run.”
Miriam handed the yarn back to Pat. “We do?”
“Yes, we do.”
And with that, she took Miriam’s arm and led her from the store.
“Where are we going next?”
“We’re going to see Dr. Cooper. I want him to check your arthritis.”
/> Miriam stopped in her tracks. “I don’t like going to the doctor.” She frowned. “I especially don’t like being tricked into it.”
Savannah took in a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, look, I’ll make a deal with you. You go quietly to the doc’s. When we’re finished, we can come back here and buy some purple possum fur, and I will learn how to knit you a sweater.”
A cherubic smiled lit up Miriam’s face. If Savannah didn’t know better, she could have sworn that Miriam had played her like a fine violin.
“How is Miriam?” Rocky asked, “I heard she saw Doc Cooper on Saturday.”
“Boy,” Savannah said, “it’s amazing how everyone knows what everyone else is doing in this town. Doc Cooper says she’s probably just depressed, but I’m worried.”
Rocky put her arm around Savannah as they walked up the path to the Last Chance Public Library. It was book club night. “Honey, don’t you worry. Miriam is one tough old girl. She’ll bounce back from Harry’s death, I’m sure.”
Rocky eyed Savannah’s brand-new Vera Bradley knitting bag. “I see Pat Canaday has ensnared you.”
“With a little help from Aunt Miriam. I swear, Rocky, I am no good at this, but I promised I would knit Aunt Miriam a purple possum sweater if she would go to the doctor.”
“Possum, really? You bought some of that yarn? I heard it was as soft as cashmere.”
Savannah rolled her eyes. “You knit, too?”
Rocky shrugged. “I have a lot more time on my hands since I gave up my job with Senator Warren. Pat ensnared me, too. Be careful. It’s addicting. One small slip with possum yarn and ffffpt, you’re hooked for life.”
They entered the library. “I see Jenny has brought pies,” Rocky said. “I think I’ll go get a slice. I bet she used cherries from her daddy’s orchard.”
Savannah bypassed the pies and headed in Molly Canaday’s direction.
“Hey,” Molly said as Savannah approached, “I heard Momma suckered you in with a few skeins of possum and a Vera Bradley bag.” Molly grinned as she eyed Savannah’s blue-and-pink-paisley knitting bag.
“It’s amazing how everyone in town knows I bought possum yarn on Saturday.” Savannah pulled out her pitiful project and thrust it in Molly’s direction. “What am I doing wrong?”
Molly took the knitting in her hands. “Wow, that’s a really bright color. Is this for Miriam?” she asked as she ran her fingers over the fabric.
Savannah nodded.
“Well, you haven’t made any mistakes. You’re just trying to knit too tight. You need to loosen up. Knitting is supposed to be relaxing. It’s Zen.”
“Right. Zen. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You might want to frog that and restart. Or maybe practice on some throwaway yarn before you tackle a sweater. I’ve got lots and lots of leftover yarn. Stop by Bill’s Grease Pit tomorrow, and I’ll give you a bag.” Molly handed back the purple possum monstrosity.
Just then Jane Rhodes and several others showed up with projects in hand. But since Jane’s baby sweater project was still messed up, and the baby was due in a month, Molly helped her first. Everyone else stood around and watched Molly do her thing. It was hugely educational.
“All right, y’all,” Nita called a few minutes later, “let’s stop with the knitting and gather ’round to talk about the book.”
Everyone took their seats, but most of the knitters ignored Nita and kept right on stitching. Savannah left her possum in the bag. She didn’t think she had mastered the art of talking and knitting at the same time.
“So,” Nita said, “I have a number of questions I can pose, but before I do, does anyone have a particular topic related to the book that you might want to discuss?”
“I do,” Jane said, looking up from her knitting. “I have to say I lost all respect for Charlotte when she decided to marry Mr. Collins even though she didn’t love him. I mean, the man was a peanut-brained weasel, and she even knew it going in. I found myself cheering for Lizzy when she told the preacher to take a hike.”
“I admired Charlotte for taking her life into her own hands,” Molly said. “She had gumption.”
“Well, that may be true,” Jenny countered, “but she was also a cynic. Remember how she tells Elizabeth that once you get married you’ll eventually end up hating your husband? Even if you start out loving him.”
“Amen to that,” Lola May Lindon said. “It didn’t take more than six months before I knew Lyle had to go. He just got so resentful every time we went fishing and I caught more than he did.”
“Oh, hush, you said the same thing about Michael and Charles,” Cathy said. “A woman who’s been married and divorced three times is no judge of what it takes to make a good marriage.”
Lola May shrugged. “Well, all those husbands sure have weaned me off happy endings, I can tell you that. I’m thinking we should stick with Nita’s books next time. This one was dumb.”
“I think Charlotte would have remained unmarried if she could have,” Savannah said, stepping in to ease the conflict between Lola May and Cathy. “I mean she didn’t have any means of supporting herself. It wasn’t like she could go out and get a job.”
“Or renovate a theater,” Jenny said. The hostility in the comment took Savannah aback. She hardly knew Jenny, except for her pies. The mousy math teacher was staring at her from across the table, her cheeks going red. It sure looked like Jenny believed she had some prior claim on Bill Ellis. Savannah needed to find a moment to tell Jenny that she didn’t have anything to worry about. If Bill was in love with anything, it was her biscuits. Of course, that might be enough to make Jenny jealous. After all, Bill was arguably in love with Jenny’s pies.
“Well,” Hettie said, “you’ve got a point, Jenny. Charlotte didn’t have anything else to fall back on. But Savannah does. I mean, she’s going to be a great success. In fact, ladies, I have an announcement to make.”
“Now, Hettie, we’re talking about the book, not making announcements.” Nita glared at Hettie, and Hettie glared right back.
It was a standoff until Rocky said, “Y’all, Hettie, Sarah, Lark, and I have created this new development corporation. We—”
“It’s called Angel Development,” Hettie said with a grin. “And we’re giving Savannah half a million dollars for the theater. So, honey, if you want to be like Lizzy and tell Bill Ellis not to darken your door, you can do it.”
Savannah’s mouth dropped open. “A half a million dollars? But how—”
“Dash gave me your business plan,” Rocky said, “and I shared it with Lark and Sarah and Hettie. We were all impressed.”
“He what? I’ve been waiting for him to give me his thoughts on it. I didn’t think it was very good.”
“Well, it’s a moot point now, honey, because Angel Development is giving you everything you need to bring The Kismet back to life,” Hettie said with a big grin.
Rocky laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. You can do this, Savannah, and we think it could be the beginning of a real downtown renaissance.”
Hettie beamed and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. So don’t you do anything stupid like that Charlotte character, you hear? The old ladies of this town are just like that Mrs. Bennet, always trying to match folks up. But you have us. And we’re your angel investors. We’ll make sure you’re okay.”
Savannah stared at Hettie like she’d blown in from some other planet. “Half a million dollars?” she said again. “Is this a loan?”
“No, honey, it’s a grant. We want that theater reopened.”
They were angels. And they had answered her prayers.
“Well, darn,” Dash said. “You beat me by four strokes. Son, have you ever played golf before?”
Todd shrugged. “My dad took me to play putt-putt once up in Atlantic City. But that place wasn’t as weird as this one.” The kid waved his hand to encompass the entirety of the newly refurbished miniature golf course located a few miles south of Last Chance.
“You might be care
ful using the word ‘weird’ around Aunt Miriam or any of the other members of the Ladies’ Auxiliary. They held a whole lot of bake sales to raise money for the renovation of this place.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s our main tourist attraction.”
“It’s still weird.” Todd rolled his eyes as he looked up at the fiberglass statue of Jesus that presided over the eighteenth hole.
“Just remember that the church ladies in town have embraced this place. In fact, your momma will probably praise me for bringing you here.”
“Why?”
“Because of all these Bible verses.” He pointed to the verse on the eighteenth hole.
“Mom isn’t all that into God.”
Dash laid his hand on Todd’s shoulder, and for once, the kid didn’t shake it off. They’d had a pretty good evening out here at Golfing for God. And while putt-putt was no real test, Todd was showing some serious eye-hand coordination. Dash was determined to get Todd into the football program that Red Canaday, the Davis High football coach, ran every summer for younger boys. After playing catch and Ultimate Frisbee with him, Dash was starting to think the kid might make a heck of a running back. He had real good hands.
They turned in their putters and headed home. Dash was surprised to find Savannah waiting for them out on the porch, sitting with Miriam. Savannah must have gotten home from the book club a little early.
“Hey, Mom, have you ever played miniature golf at Golfing for God?”
Savannah smiled. “Many times.”
“It’s kind of weird, but fun.”
“I always liked the plague of frogs best,” she said.
“I liked it, too. Dash said that at the Easter Egg Jubilee they have a frog jump. He said he’d take me down to the river to get me a frog.”
Savannah frowned. “A frog jump?”
“Oh, yes,” Miriam said. “It’s so much fun. You missed a lot coming only in the summers. Your granddaddy took Dash out to the river on a lot of frog hunts. You remember that frog you had that took second place that time?”
