The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society

by Beth Pattillo

  “You-shouldn’t-have,” Hannah said, all the words crammed together in a low monotone. Clearly she was so stunned by Merry’s generosity that she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “I enjoyed making it for you,” Merry said. “I know you really liked the yarn.” And then Merry took a second look at the girl and realized that Hannah wasn’t pleased at all. Thin lines radiated out from the girl’s mouth. Her slumping shoulders seemed lower than usual, and she wouldn’t look Merry in the eye.

  “This is lovely, Merry.” Ruthie jumped into the awkward silence. “What stitch is it?”

  “Fan and feather. Or my version of it anyway.” She said the words, but they tasted bitter on her tongue. Half of her understood the girl’s response, but the other half struggled with the ingratitude. She was only trying to help. Why couldn’t Hannah see that?

  “Very nice.” Eugenie looked at Hannah. “Merry went to a lot of trouble to make this for you.”

  “It’s okay, Eugenie. Don’t worry about it.” The last thing she wanted was to get Hannah in trouble with the librarian.

  “We just had an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

  And then Merry saw the tears that were trying to squeeze out of the corners of Hannah’s kohl-blackened eyes. “Who else has something to show?” Merry asked brightly, turning their attention from the girl. Merry oohed and ahhed over Camille’s project and tried not to look at Hannah anymore.

  Once again, by trying to do the right thing, she’d done it all wrong instead.

  Eugenie shut her copy of Pollyanna and laid it on the tall reference desk in front of her. When the library was quiet, as it had been that morning, she allowed herself to read if all her other tasks had been completed. She reasoned that it never hurt for people to come into the library and see her with a book in hand. She was only setting a good example.

  Or so she told herself.

  In the last several weeks, she’d struggled to complete her regular duties, turning to the solace of books instead. Hard work had been her motto, her creed, her mantra. Now she struggled to drag herself out of bed each morning, much less reshelve books or help patrons look something up on the Internet.

  Paul was to blame, of course. Since that day at the diner, he’d disturbed her daily routine, much less her peace of mind. Once upon a time she had enjoyed her solitary morning walk down Spring Street, past the church and on to the library, where she entered the building at precisely eight o’clock. Now she found herself taking the long way around, through the town square, stopping at Tallulah’s for a cup of coffee as an excuse for her detour. Tallulah was always glad to see her, but Eugenie knew that the café owner was nobody’s fool.

  “You okay, honey?” Tallulah had asked that morning. “You seem out of sorts lately.”

  “I’m fine.” Eugenie was a bad liar. She always had been. Except for that one memorable occasion that involved the very cause of her current distress.

  Eugenie was beginning to regret choosing Pollyanna for the next meeting of the Knit Lit Society. She’d just gotten to the part in the book where the eponymous heroine explained her personal philosophy. The little orphan girl was a determined optimist. Some people would call it finding the silver lining. Pollyanna called it the glad game. Eugenie’s whole life for the past forty years had been a silver lining, a silk purse made from a sow’s ear, the living embodiment of the glad game.

  I’m glad I’ve been able to share my love of reading with so many people.

  I’m glad I’ve been independent, able to come and go as I please.

  I’m glad I never had to be a preacher’s wife. I would have been a disaster at it.

  And now Paul was here in Sweetgum, a living, breathing daily reminder of her folly.

  How could she be glad about that?

  She heard the peculiar sighing sound that the exterior door made when it opened, and she looked up. From her perch, she was a good twenty feet from the library entrance. Late November sunshine backlit the man coming through the door, but Eugenie had no doubt as to his identity. She didn’t need to see his face or the color of his eyes. No, she could tell by the shape of his shoulders, the way he carried himself, the line of his jaw. It was Paul, entering her domain for the first time. Eugenie bristled, like a mother wolf called on to defend her cub from a predator.

  “Good morning, Eugenie.” He greeted her as if they were the oldest and best of friends. As he moved closer, she saw the familiar genial smile on his face. He wore a dark trench coat. Between the lapels she caught a glimpse of a shirt and tie—practically formal dress in a town like Sweetgum. How unfair that he looked even better in business attire.

  “Hello, Paul.” She was proud of her cool demeanor, her aplomb in handling the situation. Thankfully, the height of the checkout desk hid her wobbly knees. “Have you come to get your library card?” She refused to be thrown off her stride. She would treat him as she did every other new Sweetgum resident who came through the door. She pulled a form from one of the slots built into the checkout desk and set it on the counter. “If you’ll fill this out, it should only take a few minutes for me to process it.”

  His eyes sparkled with amusement. Eugenie clenched her jaw. He had no right to come into her library and sparkle like that. Or be amused. Or, most especially, to treat their past as if it were something that could be easily smoothed over with a lunch at Tallulah’s Café and a chat in the library.

  “Actually, that’s not what I came here for, but it’s not a bad idea.” He looked around on the countertop. “Do you have a pen?”

  Eugenie caught herself in the act of biting her lip. She pursed them instead, took a breath, and laid a pen on the counter next to the application form. “Of course.”

  And then she waited for him to tell her why he had come to the library if not to establish himself as a patron. Only he didn’t say another word. Just picked up the pen, winked at her so that she was helpless against the blush that rose to her cheeks, and began to fill in the blanks in bold, masculine capital letters.

  Eugenie picked up her book once more and pretended to read. It was either that or watch Paul’s hands—they were awfully tan for a preacher—as he worked.

  “Not too busy this morning, huh?” he asked without looking up.

  “Monday mornings are usually quiet.”

  He did look up at her then and smiled. “A librarian’s dream come true.”

  Eugenie bristled but still kept her tongue under control. “We have a tutoring program on Mondays after school. If you had walked in at three o’clock, it wouldn’t be quite this peaceful.”

  “Tutoring? Really?” His face showed genuine interest. “What ages?”

  “Older elementary and middle school for the most part.” Whenever she could find tutors that was. Volunteers were pretty thin on the ground these days.

  “How many kids do you work with?”

  “A dozen or so.”

  “And they come here?”

  “Most of their parents work. They walk over after school lets out and stay until I close up.”

  “How many do you work with personally?”

  She couldn’t very well tell him that at the moment she was tutoring all twelve at once. Plus supervising Hannah’s hour a day of penance. “I do my share, I suppose.”

  Paul gave her a knowing look. “I’m sure you do.”

  What was this newfound penchant for blushing she’d developed? “If you’re done, I can type up your card for you.”

  Paul looked at her in surprise, and then his gaze traveled around the library. “You still have a card catalog?” he asked. “Thank goodness. I’m all thumbs when it comes to computers. Usually have to ask one of my grandkids to bail me out after I crash it.”

  Eugenie ignored the tightness that seized her chest at his mention of grandchildren. “We have computers for the Internet, but that’s as far as we’ve gotten. The city has been trying to set aside funds to computerize our records, but invariably a water main breaks or some other disaste
r happens. Then we go back to the bottom of the waiting list.” And indeed she wondered if her harping on the need for computerization wasn’t one of the reasons Homer Flint and his crew were pushing her out the door. Of course, she couldn’t imagine that any younger, more technologically savvy successor wouldn’t push just as hard, if not harder. But their words wouldn’t carry the same weight in Sweetgum as Eugenie’s did.

  “Sounds like small-town life to me,” Paul said. “But I guess you must like it to have stayed here so long.”

  “I forgot to ask you the other day where you’ve been living all these years,” Eugenie said to divert the conversation away from herself.

  “Nashville for the most part,” he answered.

  “Oh.” She couldn’t think of a reply. All that time he’d been so close. She didn’t go to Nashville often, maybe two or three times a year, but to think that she might have seen him there. Run into him on the street. Stranger things had happened. Stranger things, like his landing right here in Sweetgum.

  “I did some volunteering with the literacy council there,” he said. “Maybe I could give you a hand with tutoring.” Eugenie closed her mouth so she wouldn’t blurt out the “no” that sprang to her lips. She swallowed. Twice. “We have more need for math help. I’m afraid I’m not quite as much use to the children when it comes to algebra.”

  Paul leaned forward and rested his forearms on the counter. The pose reminded her of how he used to stand in that very same way when she’d worked at the library in Columbia as a lowly assistant all those years ago. “I helped both my grandsons with that sort of thing. Maybe you should let me give it a shot.”

  Why was he doing this? Was he that insensitive? Did he honestly think that he could walk back into her life so nonchalantly, as if he’d never broken her heart?

  “We like our tutors to make a long-term commitment.”

  That should deter him, she thought.

  “Not a problem. I plan to be around Sweetgum for a good long while.”

  His words formed a tight ball of dread in the pit of her stomach. “You’re not planning to retire soon?”

  “I can’t imagine it.” A shadow of emotion crossed his face.

  “It’s better to keep busy.”

  She shouldn’t hate that the loss of his late wife still gave him so much pain. Of course he mourned her. Eugenie gave herself a good mental shaking and moved to the small swivel chair behind the counter. Using the ancient typewriter, she carefully pecked out Paul’s necessary information onto a small manila card. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” she blurted out before she could think of anything less trite to say.

  “I didn’t think you believed in the devil.”

  She wished he would quit watching her so closely. What was he looking for anyway? “I don’t.”

  “Ruthie, my secretary, says you’re not a regular churchgoer.”

  Eugenie nodded. “Ruthie is correct.”

  “You were a pretty faithful parishioner once upon a time,” he said.

  “Yes. I was.” Before her heart had been broken by a man who thought God’s call was a justifiable excuse for leaving behind the woman he loved. “Here’s your card.” She pulled it out of the typewriter and slid it across the counter to him. “You’ll need to sign the back.”

  “Eugenie.” He reached out and instead of taking the card he caught her hand in his. “Ruthie says you’ve never been to church in all the years since you came to Sweetgum.”

  “I guess it didn’t suit me to do so.” She said the words in her best buttoned-up librarian voice. “Now was there a particular book you wanted to borrow?”

  “Eugenie. It’s me you’re talking to.”

  She couldn’t look him in the eye because she couldn’t afford to let him see what was in hers. “Paul, I know we were … close … a long time ago. But perhaps we should be honest. We don’t really know each other. Not after all this time. I’ve built a good life for myself. I’m happy. I don’t see any reason to look back.”

  He stiffened. “I see.”

  “I’m always delighted to have a new library patron, of course. And if you need any books you don’t have in your personal collection, for sermon preparation or that sort of thing, I’m here to help.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Eugenie.” Tight lines emanated from the corners of his eyes and mouth. “But I won’t trouble you any more than necessary.” He paused. “There is one book I was looking for. Maybe you can help me with that.”

  “Certainly.” How could such an ordinary conversation cause such extraordinary pain? She wanted to stamp her feet, fling pencils and books and papers at the ceiling, shake him until that concerned facade he wore cracked and shattered. She wanted to reach out for him, grab him, clutch him in her arms. Because it might have been forty years since he belonged to her, but it felt like forty days. Forty hours. Forty minutes. “What book were you looking for?”

  “Dante’s Inferno.”

  Eugenie locked her spine in place, straight as a ramrod and not nearly as yielding. “We do have a copy of that. Let me see if it’s checked out.” She reached for the box of patron slips and rifled through them, barely able to remember the alphabet so she could find the right card. “Here it is. I’m afraid it’s not due back until Friday. Shall I hold it for you when it comes in?”

  He had no right to have that look of pain in his eyes. No right at all. “Please. Should I check back that day?”

  “I’ll call you when it comes in.” Smooth. Professional. Better. “Your number’s on your application.”

  “Right.” He hesitated. “Eugenie—”

  “There’s the mailman.” She nodded over Paul’s shoulder.

  The exterior door opened once again with its distinctive sighing sound, and David Gonzalez walked in, his arms piled high with magazines topped by a stack of envelopes. “I’m afraid David gets his daily workout when he delivers here.” She stepped around the counter toward the mailman. “Here.

  Let me take that.”

  “Morning, Eugenie. Morning, preacher.” David had been delivering the library mail as long as Eugenie could remember. He crossed to the checkout counter and plunked down the mail. Once his hands were free, he reached up to rub his right shoulder. “I swear those magazines weigh more than they used to.”

  “Or maybe there are just more of them,” Paul said. Eugenie scooped the mail off the counter and laid it on a table behind her for later sorting.

  “Thank you. Mr. Hornbuckle will be in by lunch to see the latest Bait & Tackle.”

  “I know he gets testy when his magazine is late.” David lifted a hand. “Gotta be going. Can’t stand around chatting with the likes of you all.” His wide grin belied the gruffness of his words.

  “Go on then. Rascal,” Eugenie added under her breath with a bemused smile. They called their good-byes as the mailman headed back into the frosty day.

  “I expect I’d better go too,” Paul said.

  “I’ll call you when that book comes in.”

  “Book?”

  “Dante’s Inferno.”

  “Oh. Yes. That one.” He frowned, paused. As if he were making a decision. And then he lifted a hand, much like the mailman had done, in a farewell gesture. “Thank you, Eugenie.”

  “You’re welcome.” He probably didn’t hear her quiet words as his dress shoes tapped against the polished tile floor.

  Eugenie watched him as he disappeared through the door. Without meaning to, she crossed the lobby and walked to the glass door, her eyes following his tall, lanky figure as he headed up Spring Street toward the church. Yes, she could certainly present him with an indifferent facade. But inside? Well, it was a good thing the Reverend Paul Carson didn’t have x-ray vision. Or else he’d see just how much her insides were tied up in knots over his renewed presence in her life.

  Everyone else in town had a back porch. Esther had a veranda. She sat there now despite the cold and poured a steaming cup of coffee from the insulated carafe. Frank thought
she was out of her head to sit out here on cold mornings, but this wicker rocking chair with its floral cushion and view of the gardens centered her universe. She would no more think of giving it up, no matter what the weather, than she would consider telling anyone about—

  Esther sipped her coffee. Any more than she would consider telling anyone about the ashes that had been scattered there, in the far corner of the garden, around the small stone statue of an angel. No one knew about the baby. At least no one who was still living. Her parents had known, of course, but their disappointment over her pregnancy had been mollified by her hasty marriage to Frank. They’d left Sweetgum shortly after their wedding so Frank could attend law school, and before they could even begin to formulate a plan for explaining the baby’s early arrival, they’d learned that the infant wouldn’t survive for more than a few hours. Esther and Frank didn’t come home to Sweetgum until a long time afterward. And she hadn’t sprinkled the ashes until they’d bought this, their dream house.

  Over her shoulder she heard the sound of the sliding glass door that led from the breakfast room to the veranda.

  “I can’t believe you’re out here.” Frank wore his old velour robe over a worn pair of flannel pajama bottoms. On his feet were a pair of even older slippers. “You’re going to freeze to death,” he said with a frown.

  “I have coffee.” She raised her cup in a mild salute. “Why don’t you join me?”

  He looked dubious but moved the rest of the way through the door and closed it behind him. Esther filled the second mug and added a splash of cream and a healthy spoonful of sugar. There was no point in lecturing him about the benefits of skim milk at this late date. He lowered himself into the matching rocker next to her.

  “Esther, I need to—”

  “I want a divorce, Frank.” She handed him the mug but averted her eyes. He accepted it automatically. “Esther—”

  “My mind’s made up.” She looked at him then because she hadn’t been able to when she said the D word. He was paler than usual, his lips tinged blue. Was there still enough time? “I want you to move out of the house.”