by Karen Kelly
Stella fixed her eyes on the eight-year-old, who bobbed up and down from toe to heel, heel to toe, as she waited for the answer. “You may sit and watch, Emily, but no touching, mind you. This delicate, light yarn will show the smallest of smudges.”
Emily held up both hands, as if in surrender. “No touching, I promise. I’ll sit on my hands if I have to.”
“Good thing you’re not the one who tripped on the dock,” Peggy said with a wry grin as she took a seat between Gwen and Alice. Her daughter laughed and plopped herself down next to Stella.
Mary Beth strode past the group. “I’ll be right there!” she explained as she continued to the shop’s small office. A short minute later she re-emerged with something colorful in her left hand. “Before we share our individual projects today, I have a request to pass on from Carla Calloway at the animal shelter. She needs some immediate help.”
“What’s up?” Alice asked, couching a line of tiny dark gray stitches over a curve of metallic silver thread. The other women, and Emily, looked up from their work to give the shop owner their full attention.
“The animal shelter has a challenge on its hands. There is a battery chicken house outside of town and inspectors found the hens to be horribly malnourished. Over a hundred hens have been rescued. They have lost most of their feathers and keep pecking at the few they have left.”
Emily stuck out her bottom lip. “Did the police get the bad guys who were so mean to those chickens?”
“Yes. I did hear those involved with the farm have all been charged with animal cruelty,” answered Mary Beth, “and Carla is trying very hard to help the hens heal. But she needs the help of Stony Point knitters and crocheters.” She unfolded the crocheted piece in her hand, revealing a small sweater. “Kate worked with Carla to design a sweater for the hens to protect the remaining feathers until the others have grown back. I also have a knitting pattern to share.” She handed the sweater to Annie to pass around the circle.
“I saw a news report on something like this,” Alice interjected. “In England, a knitting club made sweaters for battery hens from a similar farm there.”
“Why are they called battery hens, Alice?” Annie asked.
“Because they are placed in very small cages—some so small the hens can’t even turn around,” Alice explained. “They are then put in long rows—called batteries—because that produces the most eggs for the least amount of space and chicken feed. It’s not illegal in the United States—as far as I know—but it sure sounds inhumane to me.”
“If I had to hurt my hand, I guess this was a good time,” said Peggy. “Quilting doesn’t really work for chicken sweaters. So I’ll just cheer the rest of you on.”
Annie turned the sweater over in her hands, noting the stitch types used. “We should be able to knock these out pretty fast. Kate’s design looks simple yet effective. I’ll get started right away. I’m not making anything that can’t be set aside for a little while.” She passed the sweater over to Gwen.
“My needles are yours, Mary Beth, for as long as it takes,” said Gwen, setting her needles and scarf in her lap and examining the sweater. “I’m thankful the authorities put a stop to it. The people of Stony Point will not put up with animal abuse in our community!”
Stella nodded as her hands continued to churn out stitches. “I have a few friends who are knitters and crocheters, but who aren’t able to attend our meetings. Do you have extra copies of the patterns, Mary Beth? I’d be glad to recruit more help.”
“I knew I could count on all of you,” said Mary Beth. “There are plenty of copies to share.”
“What can I do?” Emily asked. “I can’t knit or crochet yet.”
The earnest look on the young girl’s face tugged at the shop owner’s heart. “Emily, as you probably saw when you and your mother came in, business is hopping. I could really use help in collecting and keeping count of the completed sweaters. Would you be willing to take that important job off my hands?”
Emily bounced in her seat. “I can do it, Miss Mary Beth!”
“Wonderful, Emily. I’ve got something for you.” Mary Beth walked over to the storage room and disappeared for a moment, returning with a large red fabric bag emblazoned with A Stitch in Time. “When this is filled with sweaters, return it to me along with the number of sweaters inside it, and I will take them to Miss Calloway.”
Emily took the bag and hugged it to her chest. “You can count on me.”
“Hmmm.” Alice’s eyes narrowed in mock concentration. “Emily’s in charge of sweater inventory; Peggy’s the project cheerleader. What is this cross-stitcher going to do?” She paused, a mischievous smile began in her eyes and spread. “Besides helping Annie with her new mystery, that is.”
Everyone sat up a little straighter and heads swiveled in unison like a parade band commanded to “dress center”—the center being Annie.
“Now, don’t just sit there,” Peggy said, waving her bandaged hand. “Spill it! And please tell us you brought something besides yarn in your bag?”
Annie chuckled as everyone leaned toward her and nodded their agreement with Peggy. Even Stella appeared interested, although the speedy clicking of her needles never slowed. “Good thing for me my discovery doesn’t weigh a hundred pounds,” Annie said. She reached into her project bag and drew out the sporran. “I thought mice had invaded my attic again … but it turned out to be a sporran instead.”
“What’s a sporran?” asked Emily.
“A sporran is a pouch that serves like a pocket for a kilt,” Stella answered her young friend.
Alice anticipated Emily’s next question. “And a kilt is a traditional Scottish garment for men and boys. It looks like a knee-length pleated skirt.”
“I don’t think my daddy would want to be Scottish and wear a skirt.” Emily shook her head slowly.
“Annie, some of your family was from Scotland, if I remember correctly,” said Gwen. “How is the sporran a mystery?”
Annie smiled at her friend whose knowledge of Stony Point’s family lines was quite extensive. “Yes, you’re right, Gwen. Gram’s family was from Scotland. But you know what storytellers my grandparents were. They were always telling me one yarn or another about our ancestors and showing me family heirlooms. Not once during my childhood did they show me this or any other sporran. I find that odd enough to be intrigued.”
“Show them what’s inside,” Alice prompted.
Annie opened the clasp and took out the ferrules. “These ferrules are from bagpipes. Does anyone remember ever seeing my grandparents with a bagpipe?” She walked around the circle with the ferrules on the palm of her right hand, offering everyone a closer look. Aware that Stella had known Annie’s grandparents since her teens, Annie was particularly interested in her reaction.
The group was quiet for a moment as each person besides Annie and Alice examined the engravings on the ferrules. Then Emily whispered, “This is soooo cool!”
Stella handed a ferrule back to Annie. “Obviously, the engraver is a master silversmith. This is truly elegant work. I must say, I do not remember Charles or Betsy ever displaying or playing a bagpipe. Of course, I did live in New York for all those years.”
Gwen jumped in, “But I was in town during those years, Stella, and I never saw Annie’s grandparents with a set of bagpipes.” She smiled in remembrance. “Like Annie, I can’t imagine them not sharing them with the community, if they had them. They shared everything else—their cross-stitch, woodworking, gardening wisdom, animal knowledge, humor, baking, and stories. I understand, Annie.”
“Annie and I searched around Grey Gables for hours looking for a kilt to go with the sporran,” added Alice. “Not a single thread of kilt did we find.”
Peggy rolled a ferrule between the thumb and index finger of her uninjured hand, anticipation brightening her face. “So, what‘s the next move?”
“The mayor gave me a good idea,” Annie answered. “He suggested I might find some helpful information a
t the Maine Highland Games. And I only have to wait until the eighteenth!”
“Ah yes,” Alice said, “Ian was good enough to offer the fair maiden a hand, drive her all the way there and spend a day in her company.” Alice faked a martyr’s sigh. “And I only have to lose hours of beauty sleep to go with her and keep her and Ian out of trouble.”
“Thankfully, you have some beauty to spare,” quipped Annie, blushing a bit about Alice’s references to Ian. “Does anyone else want to come with us?”
Peggy fidgeted in her chair, reminding the others of her daughter. “I went to the Games once years ago. It’s so much fun. And the dancing!”
Emily popped out of her chair and went to her mother. “Can we go? Please? I want to see the dancers!” Besides her parents, Emily loved dancing more than anything else in her young life. She stared at Peggy, pleading with her eyes.
“I’ll talk to Daddy about it,” Peggy promised her little ballerina. “It sure would be nice to have a fun family day, as long as it’s not too expensive.”
“There’s no entrance fee,” Annie told her, “so I hope you will be able to join us.”
Gwen sighed and ran her hand lightly over her neat chignon. “I’ll be gone that weekend at some boring bank event.” She leaned toward her friends and lowered her voice. “They mean well, I’m sure, but some of these spouse events they plan are real snoozers.”
The group chuckled sympathetically, and Alice assured her, “We’ll make sure to tell you every detail, Gwen. Ian’s going too, and you know how observant he is.”
As one, the other women murmured “ohhhh!” and smiled knowingly. Blushing, Annie decided it was time to buy her yarn and get to work on the chicken sweaters.
5
A bit over a fortnight later, Alice opened the door of her carriage house to Ian’s knock with the full intention of surprising him with an energetic greeting. Instead, a wide yawn escaped in place of the hearty “Good morning” she had planned.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, and Ian grinned and said, “And good morning to you too, Alice. Would you mind a short stop at The Cup & Saucer for coffee before we head out of town?”
“If you insist,” she answered wryly, closing the door behind her and locking the deadbolt. “Haven’t you been up for at least two hours, like Annie?” She gestured toward the car where her best friend sat in the front passenger seat.
“Well, yes, now that you mention it,” Ian said as he opened the back car door for Alice. “But Tartan will be home alone again for the day, so I took him on a good long constitutional—a bit longer than I had anticipated, so coffee had to wait.”
“Your eyes are open,” Annie observed when Alice slid into the seat behind Ian. “Good for you.”
Stifling another yawn, smaller than the last, Alice replied, “Very funny, Little Miss Sunrise. We’ll see who has more energy by the end of the day.”
“The Games end at five o’clock. I think even I can stay lively until then,” Annie quipped, even though she had been in the garden as soon as the sun had sent enough light to distinguish between weed and vegetable.
Ian put the car into reverse and backed out of the carriage house driveway. “After a quick stop for coffee we’ll all have plenty of vigor to spare. Watch out, Scottish clans of the Highland Games!” he said.
A few minutes later Ian maneuvered his car into a parking space near the diner. “Three coffees to go?” he asked to confirm. Annie nodded, smiling and Alice blurted, “Absolutely! But you two might need some too.” With a laugh, Ian exited the car and strode across the sidewalk to disappear into the building.
Annie gazed out the window at the quiet street. The fish and lobster boats had been on the Gulf of Maine for hours, but the tourists had not yet filled the walkways to explore the quaint village. A lone woman in jeans and a T-shirt walking briskly toward them caught Annie’s eyes.
“Hi, Carla!” Annie rolled down the car window and called to the veterinarian and head of the animal shelter. “How are the hens doing?” She had spent the better part of the previous two weeks crocheting chicken sweaters in yellow, green, and blue yarn.
“Could be better,” Carla answered in her typical clipped manner. “Could be worse.” At the age of sixty-plus, she didn’t see the need for wasting time on what she saw as superfluous chatter.
“Have you been able to find homes for them?” Alice asked.
“A couple of farmers have stepped up, but we need one or two more,” Carla answered. She fixed her dagger eyes on Annie. “The sweaters seem to be helping.”
Annie wasn’t sure, but it seemed to her she’d just heard a positive statement from the crusty woman, sadly nicknamed “Carla Callous” by someone in Stony Point. “I’m glad to hear it,” Annie said. “Let us know if you need any more.”
Carla jerked her chin down and up in response and continued on her way.
Alice’s eyes followed the woman’s staccato pace until she disappeared around the corner. “Carla’s as different from your grandpa as a person can be, but there’s no denying she’s as strong an advocate for animals as he was.”
“It would have been interesting to watch them interact, I’m sure,” Annie said, picturing the two veterinarians in conversation. That brought a smile to her face.
Alice smiled too, but not because of Annie’s words. She had just noticed the beverage carrier in Ian’s hands as he came through The Cup & Saucer door, the one with two medium and two large coffee cups. “Now there’s a mayor who knows how to serve his constituents.”
Annie’s head swiveled around to look, and then a laugh followed. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, he does. I might consider voting for him when election day comes around. He’ll be running on the ‘More Coffee for Every Cup’ platform.”
“I’d be willing to hand out fliers for that campaign,” Alice practically cooed as Ian opened the back door.
The mayor grinned and lifted one of the medium cups out of the carrier and presented it to Alice. A raised eyebrow replaced the woman’s coo. “It’s not nice to play a joke before caffeine has been administered.”
Ian bobbed his head and set the smaller cup back into the carrier. “How could I forget? That’s one of the first rules I learned while preparing for government work.” He held out a large cup. “My apologies, Alice.”
“If that second large cup is also for me, then apology accepted.” Alice flicked the cover flap up with a thumb and breathed in the strong brew. “Aaaah! The fog is already lifting.”
Ian gifted Alice with the second large cup and took his place behind the wheel of his sedan, placing the remaining two cups in the holders between Annie and him. After tucking the carrier out of sight in the glove compartment, he started the engine, and craning his head, pulled out of the parking space. “Topsham Fairgrounds, here we come!”
Alice lowered her coffee cup after a good deep draught. “Annie, I’ve been thinking. Did you bring the sporran and the ferrules with you? I realized it might not be the safest thing to do with the crowds.”
“I thought about that too,” her friend replied. “So, I took some photos and printed them out.” She reached into her summer handbag and pulled out several pages. “These should be enough to show vendors, don’t you think?” She handed the photos back to Alice.
Alice looked through them. “These should work fine. You’ve taken them from different angles so it’s almost as good as having the sporran with you.” She dangled the pages over the seat so Annie could put them back in her bag.
“I did bring one of the ferrules,” added Annie. “But I left the others tucked away in Grey Gables with Boots as watch cat.”
“I hope you fed Boots well for her assignment,” joked Ian as he turned off Main Street to head south.
The two women snorted simultaneously. “It’s Boots we’re talking about here,” Annie reminded him. “Of course I did.”
Alice chimed in. “Daring to leave Boots without her kibble is like denying Garfield his lasagna. Dangerous.”
The ride to Topsham flew by on the speedy wings of conversation and wit. They were all taken by surprise when the sign for the turnoff to the fairgrounds appeared.
“Where are we meeting the Carsons?” Alice asked as Ian slowly drove by the lines of parked vehicles looking for an open spot.
“Wally told me to call him when we’re at the main parade field so they can meet us there.” Ian paused as he waited for a couple to walk past in front of the empty space he intended to fill. “They usually have big tents with different-color stripes around the field. If we find one with a unique color, it’ll make it easier for them to find us.” The way cleared, he pulled into the space and parked.
Annie exited the car, digging into her bag to retrieve a periwinkle blue brimmed hat. As she adjusted the hat over her forehead so she had just enough to shade her eyes from the sun without blocking her vision, she looked around. “And what direction would the parade field be?”
Ian was gazing at Annie, admiring how the color of her hat made her eyes appear even greener. He paused in answering long enough to draw the attention of Alice, who allowed a shadow of a smile to cross her lips. Ignoring Alice’s expression, Ian gestured ahead of them and to the left. “This way, ladies. Just let me grab the chairs.” He popped open the trunk with his key and ducked behind it to retrieve the chairs.
Alice pulled a Red Sox baseball cap out of her jeans pocket and settled it on her head, drawing her high auburn ponytail through the hole in the back while laughing to herself that the mayor would be much less enamored with her style choice. But since she had never been able to feel anything but a warm friendship for Ian, she was fine with that.
At the entrance to the Highland Games, Ian obtained brochures of the event for each of them. He glanced at his watch. “We have plenty of time to find a good vantage point for the parade of bands. Let’s check out the tents.” The three wove through the groups of people milling around the smaller tents near the entrance. Once they reached the perimeter of the large level main field, they stopped to take in the scene before them. Tall trees wearing their summer green lushness bordered the field, making a fine backdrop for the festivities.