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“Knit.” Apparently the wedding was a subject best avoided. I picked up the needles and a skein of yarn. “There are various ways to cast on stitches,” I explained as I inserted my index finger into each end of the rolled yarn. I’ve developed my own method of finding the end and pulling it through the skein. To be honest, I’m not always successful. Fortunately, this time I looked like a genius. I pulled out the end, then had Susannah and Colette do the same.
Finding the end of the yarn was a good ice-breaker and I was sorry I hadn’t started with that. Alix clearly wasn’t in a talkative mood, and Colette didn’t seem interested in sharing a single piece of information about herself. I assumed she’d be willing to tell Alix that she was a recent widow. Or maybe she thought Alix had already heard. Then again, Colette might prefer to keep her grief about Derek’s death private.
I continued by showing Colette and Susannah how to cast on stitches by knitting them onto the needle. It’s not my favorite way of casting on; however, I find it one of the less complicated methods. It’s also an effective prelude to learning the basic knitting stitch.
Alix had completed the first inch of the pattern before Colette had finished casting on and counting her stitches.
Colette frowned as she looked across the table. “You know how to knit,” she complained. “Why are you taking the class?”
Alix glanced up and made brief eye contact with me. “Jordan—my fiancé—suggested it might help calm my nerves.”
“I’m not getting this,” Susannah groaned and set the needles and yarn aside. “I thought this was supposed to be relaxing.”
“Not necessarily at the beginning,” I said.
“No kidding,” Susannah muttered.
Alix burst out laughing. “You should’ve seen me when I was learning. Jacqueline turned three shades of purple when I dropped my first stitch.”
“As I recall,” I said, grinning at the memory, “it wasn’t because you dropped a stitch but because of how you reacted—with a whole vocabulary of swearwords.”
Alix’s lips quivered with amusement. “I’ve toned down my language, so don’t worry, ladies.”
“You aren’t going to say anything I haven’t heard from my kids,” Susannah told her.
“Don’t be too sure.”
Smiling, I raised my hand. “Are you two going to get into a swearing match?” I asked.
“Not me,” Susannah said as she finished her first real stitch. The tension was so tight, it amazed me that she could actually transfer the yarn from one needle to the other. She heaved a sigh and turned to me for approval, as though she’d achieved something heroic.
“Good,” I said as I leaned over to examine her work.
“I need some help,” Colette moaned, the yarn a tangled mess on the table.
I couldn’t tell exactly what she’d managed to do, but there was nothing I hadn’t seen in the last three years. I soon corrected her mistake and again showed her the basic stitch, standing behind her to make sure she understood. If I did the knitting for her, that would accomplish nothing. She had to do this on her own.
“I agree with Susannah,” she said after a few minutes. “This has got to be the most nerve-racking activity I’ve ever tried. When does the relaxing part begin?”
“It just happens,” Alix told them both. “All at once you’ll be knitting and you won’t even need to count the stitches. The first thing I made was a baby blanket, and after every single row I had to stop and make sure I hadn’t accidentally increased or dropped a stitch. By comparison, the prayer shawl you’re doing is easy.”
I had to admit Alix was right. The baby blanket had been an ambitious project. I’d chosen it because it required about ten classes. If I’d started with anything smaller, like a cotton washcloth, I would’ve needed only one, possibly two, sessions. The blanket justified the number of classes I’d scheduled.
“Who are you knitting your prayer shawl for?” I asked Susannah.
“My mother,” she answered without hesitation. “She’s doing really well, better than I expected after we … after I moved her into an assisted-living complex in Colville.”
“My own mother’s in assisted living, as well,” I said. “But it must be a worry living so far from her.” Margaret and I shared the responsibility of checking up on Mom and spending time with her.
We hadn’t told Mom what had happened to Julia. It would only have distressed her. I was afraid she might’ve guessed something was wrong because Margaret hadn’t been by in several days. Mom, however, hadn’t seemed to notice.
“It’s not so bad,” Susannah said, responding to my comment. “We talk every day, Mom and I.” She paused, biting down on her tongue as she carefully wrapped the yarn around the needle. “I have a good friend who stops by periodically and lets me know how Mom’s doing.”
“What would we do without friends,” I said, and saw how Alix instantly looked up. She seemed calmer now.
“What about you, Alix? Have you decided who you’ll give the prayer shawl to?”
She nodded. “At first I thought I’d keep it for myself. I’m going to need plenty of prayers to get through this wedding, that’s for sure.” She grinned, shaking her head, and continued knitting. “But I’m going to give it to Jordan’s grandmother. I think she’ll really like the fact that I knit it for her.”
“I’m sure she will,” I said. “What about you, Colette?”
She didn’t raise her head. “I might just keep it. Does that sound selfish?”
“Not at all,” I assured her. I realized that the act of knitting had already worked its magic on all of us. Alix had come in stressed and ill-tempered, on edge about the wedding. Colette, too, had been nervous and unhappy, for reasons I didn’t know. I was certainly upset, because of what had happened to my niece and to Margaret. Susannah had her own struggles, launching a new business. We were relaxed now, talking together, laughing, knitting.
Knitting had linked us all.
CHAPTER
7
Alix Townsend
Finished for the day, Alix poured herself a cup of coffee, then sat down at the staff table in the bakery’s back room and put her feet up on the chair across from her. The French Café did a thriving business and she liked to think she’d played a role in that success. Her muffins, coffee cakes, cookies, sweet rolls and cakes, baked fresh every morning, had attracted a following of regular customers.
Molly, one of the baristas, stuck her head into the kitchen. “Jordan’s here,” she announced in a tone that said Alix was lucky to have met a man like him. But Alix already knew that.
“Jordan? Here? Now?” she asked. They weren’t supposed to meet for another hour.
“He looks like Jordan, talks like Jordan, walks like Jordan. My guess is, it is Jordan.”
“Cute,” Alix said, saluting Molly’s wit with her coffee mug.
“Want me to send him back here?”
Alix nodded, even though she was a mess. If he’d waited an hour as they’d originally planned, she’d have showered and changed clothes. Seeing that he hadn’t, he’d have to take her as she was, which at the moment was tired.
Jordan appeared, and she lowered her feet and motioned toward the vacant chair. He pulled it up to the table with one hand, holding a disposable container of coffee in the other. Leaning back in the chair, he smiled.
“Did I get the time wrong?” she asked, although she was sure she hadn’t.
“No. I’m early.”
“Any particular reason?”
He didn’t meet her eyes. “Have you had a chance to look through the books yet?” he mumbled.
“Which books?” But she knew exactly what he meant. His mother had hand-delivered huge binders filled with sample wedding invitations; she was supposed to study them and make her selection. She’d tried to choose but every invitation she liked had been vetoed by Jacqueline or Susan. It had frustrated her so much she hadn’t bothered to look again.
“Mom said we need to decide on the invitations right away so they can be ordered.”
Alix did her best not to groan aloud. “Did you look at them?”
“No, I’m busy at the church and—”
“You think I’m any less busy?” she demanded, her anger firing to life.
Jordan met her eyes. “Alix, listen, I didn’t come here to argue. We’re both busy, that’s a given, but we need to get serious about this wedding.”
“I am serious.” If she wasn’t so tired, she would’ve had more control of her temper.
“I am, too,” Jordan said. “Everyone’s on my case about choosing the invitations.”
“By everyone, you mean your mother.”
“And Jacqueline,” he added.
“Then let them choose,” she cried, clenching her fists in frustration. Still, Jordan was right about Jacqueline. She was so consumed with wedding details that Alix had taken to avoiding her. Every conversation with her friend and mentor revolved around some aspect of the wedding or the reception. Jacqueline had actually hired a ten-piece orchestra! Then this morning, she’d said she was talking to someone about releasing doves at some meaningful point in the ceremony. Doves? As far as Alix was concerned, the idea of white birds flapping their wings, leaving droppings in their wake, was simply ridiculous. There’d even been talk of a horse-drawn buggy to transport “the bridal couple” from the church to the country club. The last she’d heard, it was still under consideration. A buggy! She could hardly bear to think about the flowers and the cake.
Alix didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings but this was her wedding and it seemed she should have at least a little say about the kind of event it was. Against her better judgment, she’d given in on this country club reception, because she knew a big reception would please Jordan’s mother. Alix hoped to have a good relationship with her in-laws, especially Susan Turner, so she’d been willing to compromise. Except that it felt as if she was the only one doing any compromising.
“We can go through the sample books this evening.” Alix finally said. It was pointless to argue.
“You don’t seem too happy about it.”
“I’m not.” She might be conceding but she wasn’t willing to pretend. “You know what I thought?” she asked, growing a bit sad that their wedding had slipped away from her.
“You were looking forward to some time for the two of us tonight. We’ll have that, Alix, I promise, as soon as we pick out the invitations.” Jordan sipped his coffee.
“It isn’t just that,” she said wistfully. “When you gave me the engagement ring and we started talking about the ceremony …” She paused. “I thought it would be a small service and I’d make the invitations myself.”
“Really?” Jordan seemed impressed. “Maybe we could do it together.”
She doubted it. “How many people on your mother’s list?” she asked. Needless to say, her own would be considerably shorter.
“Three hundred at last count.”
Alix’s heart rate went into overdrive. “Three hundred people?”
“Invitations,” he corrected, apparently unaware of what this news had done to her. “That means maybe five hundred people.”
“You’ve got to be joking!”
“Alix, my father is a pastor. You wouldn’t believe how many friends and associates my parents have. Mom’s whittled the list down to three hundred invitations. If I told you how many she started out with, you’d have a panic attack.”
“I’m having one now.”
Jordan grinned, clearly thinking she’d made a joke; she hadn’t. The idea of walking down the aisle in a church filled with hundreds of wedding guests—all of them strangers—was enough to make Alix sick to her stomach.
“I hope you realize how much I love you,” she muttered.
Jordan grinned again as he reached for his coffee. “I sure do.”
“Can we talk about something other than the wedding?” she asked. The inside of her elbow was beginning to itch and she suspected she was breaking out in hives. She hadn’t experienced hives since she was a kid and assumed she’d outgrown the tendency, which she’d learned to associate with stress. Obviously not.
“Sure,” he agreed readily. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Uh …” A few minutes ago she’d had a dozen different things she’d looked forward to discussing with Jordan. All of a sudden her mind was completely blank. “I went to the first knitting class for the prayer shawl.”
“How’d it go?”
“All right, I guess.”
“Tell me about the other people in the class,” he said.
“There’s only two other women. Susannah and Colette.” Alix enjoyed having a smaller class. She’d helped Lydia teach Susannah, who’d had some of the same problems Alix did when she’d started knitting.
“Susannah, from Susannah’s Garden?”
Alix stiffened. “I suppose your mother’s upset because I haven’t decided on the flowers yet?”
Jordan blew out an exasperated sigh. “Alix, we weren’t going to talk about the wedding, remember?”
“Right.” Actually that was a relief. It seemed there was always something she needed to be doing or should have done with regard to the wedding.
“Okay, so you’re knitting a prayer shawl.”
She nodded. “Lydia gave us a bit of the background on prayer shawls. Some church groups apparently take them to nursing homes and use them as part of their ministry. Lydia said the whole idea came about as a way of nurturing and caring for family or friends who’ve got health problems. I don’t think the recipient necessarily has to be ill, though. The shawls are … small displays of love,” she said on a burst of inspiration.
Jordan smiled in approval.
“I’m going to take your suggestion and knit mine for your grandma Turner.” Right away she could see that Jordan was pleased.
“Alix, she’ll adore you for that.” His brown eyes were soft with appreciation. “You made quite an impression on her, you know.”
Alix had begun to think of Sarah Turner as her honorary grandma. She couldn’t remember having grandparents of her own, although she must have. At any rate, neither her maternal nor paternal grandparents had played a role in her life. If they had, she might not have ended up in foster care.
She’d never spent time around elderly people, so meeting Jordan’s grandmother had been an experience. Grandma liked to talk and Alix had found her fascinating. Everyone in the family had heard Grandma’s stories, but not Alix and she hung on every word. Grandma talked about the Depression and World War II, when she’d worked as a school secretary for twenty-five cents an hour. Later, when her husband was in the army overseas, Grandma Turner had gone to work at the shipyard in Portland, Oregon, as a welder and saved five thousand dollars. At the time, that amount of money was a fortune. With her savings they were able to purchase the property on Star Lake, near Seattle, where she lived to this very day. The Turners had raised their two sons there; she’d been a widow nearly twenty years.
Jordan reached for Alix’s hand and entwined their fingers. “How about if we splurge and go to a movie?”
“Popcorn?”
“Why not?” He smiled and Alix leaned close to give him a lingering kiss.
They left soon afterward, stopping at Alix’s place just long enough for her to change clothes. She’d been tired and cranky when Jordan arrived, but no more.
Date night with her fiancé was exactly what Alix needed to lift her spirits and take her mind off the fuss everyone was making over their wedding.
