A chorus of soft laughter swept the table. Kate was a natural redhead, but Jan’s streaky blond hair, without the aid of her hairdresser, was mostly gray. Doris’s elaborate blond hairdo was probably a wig. Phil’s hair was silver, but his dark eyes suggested that he had been a brunet when he was young. Betsy went to the same hairdresser Jan did.
Godwin chose that moment to make his entrance.
The renewed grins and chuckles that greeted his entrance surprised him—he, too, was a chemically enhanced blond. But he took his place at the head of the table as if he had no idea what they were so amused by. “Good evening, good evening,” he said. “It looks like we’re all here. Has everyone got at least one skein of lightweight yarn and a set of number three double-pointed knitting needles?”
Everyone had.
“Good. Now, before we begin, how about we go around the table and introduce ourselves? I’m Godwin DuLac, your instructor. I’m also Vice President in Charge of Operations of Crewel World, Incorporated, and Editor in Chief of Hasta la Stitches, its newsletter. Your turn, Phil.”
“I’m Phil Galvin, retired railroad engineer. I do counted cross-stitch, but I had to wait until I retired to admit it in public. Then last year my mother died, and as I was closing her house, I came across a knit scarf. It was wrapped around a letter my dad had written from a hospital in England. He’d been shot in the leg and both shoulders during the Battle of the Bulge, and the nurses had set him to knitting as…whaddayeh call it?…physical therapy. He’d knit that scarf as a present to my mother, and she’d kept it all those years. I was gonna try a scarf, but then I heard about this sock class and thought I’d rather have a pair of socks.”
“Gosh!” said Godwin, impressed. “Okay, next!”
The young pregnant woman said, “I’m Katie—well, Mary Katherine O’Neil Frazier, really, and Jan is my aunt, and she persuaded me to take this class. I already knit a little, and I do counted cross-stitch and needle lace, and now I’m hoping to knit socks, too.” She smiled at Jan, who smiled back.
“I’m Doris Valentine,” said Doris in her deep, breathy voice. “I’m new to needlework, but I really like it. I especially love counted cross-stitch, and I wish I could afford some of those wonderful needlepoint canvases. All kinds of needlework are domestic, but knitting a sock is like the most domestic thing you can do, next to baking bread. I did factory work all my life, and I never married, but now I’m retired and have the time to do some traditional women’s work, and I’m really grateful.” She blushed at being so open about her feelings and hurriedly began to pry open the clear plastic envelope of her double-ended needles with her bright red fingernails.
“That’s really nice. I’m glad for you,” said Lucille, smiling. “I’m Lucille Jones, visiting from Texas, but you already know that. I’m here because Mr. DuLac said someone who looked a lot like me signed up for it, and I was curious about her. I can knit and purl, but I’ve never made anything before except scarves and booties.”
Godwin said, “Does everyone know how to cast on? Good. Cast on sixty-four stitches—except you, Phil. With your big feet, you cast on seventy-two. Then divide them onto four of your five needles, sixteen—Phil, eighteen—apiece.
Doris started the slow, beginner’s way of casting on until Godwin said, “Here, let me show you a faster way.” It involved taking a length of yarn and pulling it into a V between her left thumb and forefinger, then lifting first one side then the other into a simple knot on the needle. “Now, pull it tight and do another—no, not that tight.”
Phil said, “You didn’t say what you do back home, Lucille.”
“I’m a lab tech. How about you, Jan?”
“I’m a registered nurse.”
“Why, my husband’s an RN, too,” said Lucille, surprised and pleased. “He’s a surgical nurse at Methodist Hospital in Houston. They do a lot of heart surgery there, and the doctors just love him. They ask for him when it’s going to be tricky in the OR.”
“I thought about being a surgical nurse, but it’s very stressful work.”
“Yes, it gets to Bobby Lee sometimes, too, but he says he loves it too much to try something else.” Lucille knit a few more stitches then turned in her chair to smile at Betsy. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”
Betsy said, obediently, “My name is Betsy Devonshire. I own Crewel World, and I already know how to knit a sock.”
Godwin said, “After you’ve cast on, start doing knit one, purl one, using the fifth needle. This will make the cuff. Begin at the place that will join the ends together.”
Lucille had already cast on. She began dividing the knitting evenly onto the four needles, struggling a bit with so many needles all apparently wanting to help. That done, she started to knit.
“This is harder than I thought it would be,” she grumbled after a few minutes of knit and purl, winding her yarn carefully through the forest of needles. “I don’t see how you do it so slick,” she added, watching Godwin’s nimble fingers build his cuff with amazing speed.
“Experience,” said Godwin. “It’s hard for beginners, but once you get even just half an inch done, things settle down. You’ll find you can concentrate on just the two needles you’re using, and the other needles won’t get in your way so much.”
Lucille frowned doubtfully.
“You’re right that it’s hard, Lucille,” Jan said. “But Goddy’s right, too. This is my second try at learning to knit a sock, and I can tell you that that once you get past that first inch, it seems to get a lot easier.”
“Well, if it gets easier, why are you having to come back for a second try?”
Jan laughed. “I got the cuff all right, but I couldn’t get the part about turning the heel. I mean, I did it the first time, when my teacher was right there to talk me through it, but when I tried to do the second sock, it just wouldn’t work. So here I am again, with a different teacher, to see if I can cross reference the instructions and internalize them.”
Lucille leaned sideways for a closer look at Jan’s work. “What you’ve got so far looks pretty good from here.”
“Yours looks good, too,” Jan said. “I like the color of the yarn—did you buy that here at Crewel World?”
“Yes, I found it in the sale basket. Fortunately, there were two skeins, so I can make a pair.” Lucille had selected a lightweight wool-blend yarn in graduated shades of dark and light blue. She knit another couple of needles’ worth, then asked Godwin, “How many inches long is the cuff?”
“It’s up to you,” he replied. “I like just the top inch and a half most of the time, but sometimes I get crazy and do the whole first part as cuff, right down to where I start turning the heel.”
“Well, I don’t like baggy socks, so I guess I’ll do the top all cuff.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Jan. “I’ll do it that way, too.”
“I can knit, knit, knit faster than I can knit, purl, knit, purl,” said Katie, “so I’m going to make a cuff just at the top.” She set off, her fingers moving her pink yarn with slow deliberation, lips just noticeably pursed.
“At that rate, you’ll have one sock finished by the time the snow flies,” drawled Lucille, then smiled at her.
Jan giggled, and Katie smiled, first at Lucille, then at Jan. “You’re probably right.”
“So long as you’re sitting here with us,” Godwin said to Betsy, “why don’t you join us?”
“No, thanks. I’ve knit a few pairs of socks, but they take too much time—especially when you can buy them so cheap.”
“If you can knit socks, why aren’t you teaching this class?” asked Phil.
“Because while I can follow a pattern to knit a sock, I’m not good enough at it to teach. I know a little bit about a lot of needlework, usually just enough to know what my customers need.”
“I think it must be just the greatest thing in the world to own your own business,” sighed Doris.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Katie. “My dad has tr
ied all his life to get one started, and it’s not easy.”
“Maybe he’s lucky he hasn’t succeeded,” said Betsy. She pointed to a needlepoint model on the wall behind her. “‘The only thing more overrated than natural childbirth is owning your own business,’” she said, reading it aloud.
“Maybe,” said Katie.
Phil said, “My parents owned a grocery store right here in Excelsior, and they worked all kinds of hours. So did I and my two brothers and three sisters, as soon as we got old enough to pick up a can and put it on a shelf.”
“Three boys and three girls?” said Lucille. “I’d say they didn’t work all the time. Not in the store, anyhow.”
“Unless…” said Godwin slyly, then added all in a rush, waving his burgeoning sock as if it were an eraser, clearing the air of that word before it could become offensive, “No, no, never mind; that was back in the fifties, and such things never would’ve gone on in Excelsior shops in the fifties…” He leaned forward and added in a low, confidential tone, nodding as he did so, “Even in the back rooms.”
“Oh, Goddy, you are the limit!” said Jan, amid the general laughter.
Everyone knit for a while. Then Lucille said, “You mentioned children, Jan. How many, how old?”
“I have two. Reese is a pre-law senior at Carleton—he got a full scholarship. Ronnie just turned fifteen; he wants to design the first really workable artificial heart.” Jan’s head lifted in pride at her two children. “How about you?”
“I also have two. Wanda is about finished with her veterinary internship at Woodhull Animal Hospital. Glen is an airplane mechanic at Dallas/Fort Worth International. Mine are six years apart. Yours are at least that much, sounds like.”
“They’re seven years apart.” Jan’s smile was bittersweet. “Mama always said I should space my children, but…”
“I lost a couple in between, too,” Lucille said quietly.
“Oh, that’s so sad,” said Doris. “I’m sorry to hear that. I couldn’t have children, but losing one is even worse than not having one at all, I think.”
“How…interesting that you know you couldn’t have children,” said Lucille. “I mean, since you said earlier that you never married.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” said Godwin, hoping to lighten the mood that was rapidly darkening his class. “Hasn’t anyone told this poor woman the facts of life?”
Phil choked back a laugh, and Lucille said, in a high, innocent voice, dripping with Texas honey, “Why no, my mama never sat me down for that li’l ol’ ‘talk’ I hear other girls whispering about. Maybe you could give it to me some time?”
Godwin widened his blue eyes at her. “My dear, if you think I could be a mother to you, no amount of talking will do you the slightest good.”
Phil burst out laughing. “Godwin, you are the limit!”
“Why, Phil, you say the nicest things!” said Godwin. “But I’m sorry to say, you just dropped a stitch.”
“I did? Well, dammit to hell. Now what do I do?”
Godwin showed Phil one use of a number 5 crochet hook in picking up the dropped stitch and restoring his knitting.
The class went on until Godwin called a halt, promptly at eight. His “homework” for his students was to lengthen the sock to the point of “turning the heel,” which he would show them next week.
Katie signaled to Jan, and they both lingered after the others left. “Who is that Lucille person?” Katie demanded of Godwin.
“Why, just what she said, a visitor from out of town.”
“What’s your problem, Katie?” Jan asked. “She seems nice enough.”
“She was very nosy about you. Didn’t you notice?”
“Of course I noticed! But she wasn’t nosy, she was curious. I was curious, too, once I realized everyone seriously thought we looked a whole lot alike. Actually, this isn’t the first time this has happened. I guess I’m a ‘type.’ Why, only last winter I was at a medical convention and some people were asking me if I had a twin. I didn’t get to meet her, so I don’t know how close the resemblance was. So why make such a big deal out of this?”
“Money, is why. M-O-N-E-Y. She wants to be a long-lost relation so she can get in on the money Great-aunt Edyth is going to leave you. I should think you’d be—”
“Now how on earth could she know about Aunt Edyth?”
That stopped Katie in her tracks. “Well, I guess I don’t know.”
“She could have Googled you,” said Godwin.
“What?” said Jan.
“Googled you. Put your name in the search engine Google to see what pops up. Edyth Hanraty has been in a couple of newspapers and magazines because of her beautiful house. Maybe Lucille found out about her that way.”
“Putting her name in a search engine won’t link Aunt Edyth to me,” said Jan. “Nor will putting my name in one.”
“Oh,” said Godwin.
“So that’s that,” said Jan. “Well, we’d better get going. This has been fun—you’re a good teacher, Goddy. See you next week.”
Jan smiled at Betsy, frowned at Kate, and went out.
But Kate followed her. “Wait a second, wait a second,” she said. Her aunt stopped with a sigh and turned to let her catch up.
“Now she’s here, she can find out about Aunt Edyth,” said Katie.
“And so what if she does? In fact, so what if it turns out she is a relative? If it was about the money, she’d have to be related through the female line, and we’d know about that if she was. Mom’s the only descendant through the female line, and I’m the only girl child she had.”
“But Uncle Stewart—” started Kate.
“Is your father, and a man, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. If he went off sowing wild oats and Miss Lucille is the result, so what? Great-aunt Edyth’s will leaves her money only to the descendants of her sister Alice. through the female line.”
“What if she doesn’t know that?” asked Kate.
“Then someone will tell her, if it even gets that far. I don’t see what you’re so upset about. Since you aren’t in line to inherit, it’s no money taken from you; your connection to Grandmother Alice is through your father.” She grimaced. “I don’t mean to sound as if I approve. Great-aunt Edyth is a strong and wonderful person, but she’s coldhearted about some things. I’ve tried to talk to her and failed. She likes you, so keep going to visit her—I wish you luck with her.”
Katie raised one finger, a prophetess making a prediction. “If that Lucille Jones finds out about her, you can bet she’ll try even harder.”
Three
BETSY was online checking her newsgroups, answering e-mail, noting that an order for some of Kreinik’s new metallics had been shipped, when her phone rang. The ID display on the phone said it was Jan Henderson.
“Good morning, Jan,” she answered.
“Good morning. Hope it’s all right to call you this early.”
“Certainly. I’ve been up for hours. What can I do for you?”
“Could you tell me where Lucille Jones is staying? I want to talk to her.”
“Just a second—let me think…yes, she’s staying at the Minnetonka Cabin Resort—you know, that little row of cabins with the different-colored doors.”
“The Nickelsons’ place.”
“Yes. Hold on, I’ve got the number here somewhere. Why do you want to talk to her?”
“Just nosy,” Jan said.
THEY met for lunch at The Waterfront Café. Jan recommended the BLT on whole wheat toast, and they each ordered it. “It’s like before the cholesterol scare in here,” Jan said, inhaling happily. “Their BLTs have real bacon and lots of mayo.”
“I suppose it’s better that we know about such things,” Lucille replied. “But sometimes I wonder. It’s taken all the fun out of eating.”
Jan nodded in sincere agreement and took a drink of her water.
Lucille cocked her head sideways and looked all over Jan’s face. “I thought it would be like looking i
n a mirror, but it isn’t.”
“I know. Everyone at that sock lesson was amazed at how much we look alike, but while I can see a resemblance, I don’t think it’s quite that pronounced.”
“Me, neither. Still, there must be something to it, if everyone around us can see it.”
“I guess so. When were you born?” Jan asked.
“August twelfth, 1959. You?”
“June twenty-first, 1964,” replied Jan. “That makes us five years apart. You have two kids, I have two kids—but that’s not unusual. And mine are both sons, you have—”
“A son and a daughter, yes. I married an RN, you married a doctor. My oldest is going to be a veterinarian, your oldest is going to be a lawyer. My youngest is an aircraft mechanic, your youngest is going to build a mechanical heart.”
Jan thought that was stretching it a bit, but she nodded. “We both like needlework. I enjoy knitting, counted cross-stitch, and needlepoint.”
“I’d like needlepoint if I could afford it—those canvases are kind of pricey!”
“I agree. I don’t do a lot of them. I probably have three in my stash.”
“Where do you keep your stash?”
“I used to keep it in an old chest of drawers my mother gave me.”
Lucille’s jaw dropped. “Well, isn’t that strange. That’s where I kept mine, until it overflowed into my closet and then into the garage. When Glen moved out for good, I converted his bedroom into a sewing room. When Wanda moves out, Bobby Lee can have her room for a den.”
“I’ve converted Reese’s. When Ronnie goes, Hugs—that’s what I call my husband, Harvey—gets his den.”
“I tell you, we’ve been living parallel lives.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Every stitcher does that as soon as a kid moves out,” Jan said.
“Okay, what do you like to do besides needlework?”
“Well, we used to go camping. But one night the four of us got washed out of our tent and had to spend the night in the car, sitting on plastic bags so we wouldn’t ruin the upholstery. The next day we found that a bear had gotten into our food, and what he didn’t eat, he scattered. I decided that was enough, and I refused to go again.”
Sins and Needles Page 2
