The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love

by Beth Pattillo

  Merry and Eugenie stepped apart, and the librarian looked decidedly guilty. Camille took a deep breath, ready to launch a preemptive strike, but she was stopped by Merry’s staying hand.

  “Before you say anything, we weren’t talking about you,” Merry said with a small smile. “Eugenie was just breaking some news to me. I think you’ll want to hear this too.”

  Camille stepped closer to them, her chest tight with apprehension. She’d had enough news of any sort to last her for quite a while. Eugenie noticed her wariness, because she softened her expression and gave Camille an encouraging smile.

  “I’ve invited Maria Munden to join the Knit Lit Society,” Eugenie said. Merry nodded encouragingly, as if willing Camille to respond positively to the news.

  “Sure. Fine. Whatever.” Camille shrugged her shoulders. Like she cared one way or another. Maria Munden was a dour woman, but Camille didn’t have any strong feelings about her. If Eugenie wanted to fill Ruthie’s slot, did it matter? After the events of the last week, did anything matter? She shouldn’t even be reacting to Natalie’s news, much less to the addition of a new member to the Knit Lit Society.

  “It’s okay with you then?” Merry looked worried. Camille was sick of people looking concerned every time they came into the shop. Or, before that, the funeral home. Or, before that, the hospital. Why were they worried now? It was over. Her mother was gone.

  “Well, then.” Eugenie hitched her pocketbook further up on her arm. “I’ll let Esther and Hannah know about Maria. And I’ll look forward to seeing you all on Friday evening.”

  “Can’t wait,” Merry said with a generous smile and a wave. “I’d better get moving. My mom actually volunteered to keep the baby for an hour, and I need to run some errands before the kids get out of school.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll have to come back to do my shopping for the homecoming game.”

  Camille bid the two women good-bye and saw them to the door of the shop. Once it closed behind them, she turned and hustled toward the storeroom with long, determined strides.

  She would get back to work. She would somehow manage to get herself through the day. And she would not think about her mother. Or how she would never be able to find a buyer for the dress shop now, given the current state of the town’s economy. Neither would she think about Dante Brown. Or spending the rest of her life trapped in Sweetgum.

  No use in brooding over things that could never be changed.

  And no use wondering how at twenty-four she could feel as old as the antebellum courthouse across the street.

  “That’s all?” Esther Jackson stared at the number on the piece of paper in shock. She kept her hands firmly in her lap, resisting the urge to grip the arms of the chair. “There should be more zeroes.” It was all she could think to say. Frank had taken out life insurance when they were younger, and they had paid the premiums faithfully. “There should be more—”

  “Your husband had a term life policy Esther. That’s different from universal life insurance.” The sympathy in Alvin Fraley’s voice was almost her undoing. She kept her eyes glued to the paper, afraid to look right or left, but mostly afraid to look at Alvin across the expanse of his desk. In all her fifty-five years, she’d never felt so awash with shame and anger. “It’s not intended to leave you with a lump sum.”

  Esther did look up then and met Alvin’s gaze. The thin, bald man had handled their insurance for more than a quarter of a century. He would never lie to her, and he didn’t make mistakes. Which only made the number on the piece of paper all the more distressing. And all the more real.

  “You weren’t expecting this,” Alvin said. It wasn’t a question but a statement. His watery green eyes were filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry Esther. I thought you understood. With term life, the idea is to take the savings on your premiums and invest them for a better return. That’s what I advise my clients to do anyway.” He paused. “That’s what I advised Frank to do.”

  But there was no stock portfolio. No mutual funds. No IRA or 401 (k) or whatever other combination of letters and numbers meant she could continue to live her life in the way she had always lived it now that her husband was gone.

  “And there’s no other…?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

  “I’m afraid not.” He paused, cleared his throat, and looked over her left shoulder as he hammered the final nail in her financial coffin. “I should also tell you that your insurance premiums-house, cars, boat—are all overdue.”

  “Frank didn’t—”

  “No.”

  She’d known it would be difficult. Even before Frank’s sudden death from a heart attack, she’d been aware that their financial state was precarious. There had been so many expenses along the way—their home, the country club fees, Alex’s education and loaning him a down payment for his first home. They’d even paid for their son’s wedding since his wife’s parents could never have afforded the kind of event necessary for people of Frank and Esther’s standing in Sweetgum.

  “Esther, I hesitate to suggest this, but you may need to consider selling your home.”

  Her head shot up at Alvin’s words. She couldn’t possibly part with her house. What else would she have left then of her life with Frank? “What about the condo at Sweetgum Lake? I can sell that immediately.”

  Alvin sat back in his chair and shook his head. The movement caused a tight knot to form in Esther’s stomach.

  “I think you should consider selling the house and living in the condo.” He crossed his arms over his thin chest. “Your expenses will be much less—utilities, insurance, upkeep, taxes.”

  Live in the one-bedroom condo? He couldn’t possibly be serious. She might have lost her husband, but she refused to lose her dignity.

  Fifteen years ago, developers had come in and tried to turn the lake into a resort area. She and Frank had purchased the condo for a song. But the development had never taken off. She and Frank had kept the condo only because they couldn’t sell it.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. I still have Frank’s interest in the law firm.”

  Alvin nodded but looked unconvinced. “Of course. I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds. I’m just concerned for you.”

  Esther straightened her spine and smiled with all the graciousness she’d cultivated as Sweetgum’s social leader for the last thirty years. “I appreciate your concern. And I’ll take your advice into consideration, of course.” She didn’t add that she had no intention of following it.

  “You know, Esther, you might also think about—”

  “I might think about what?” She tried to keep the chill tone out of her voice, with little success.

  “You might consider finding a job.”

  Esther shrank back as if he’d slapped her. “I don’t think there will be any need for that.” She picked up her handbag from the floor beside her chair. “I appreciate your help, Alvin. If you’ll have your secretary send me another invoice for the premiums, I’ll pay them immediately.” Although how she would accomplish that, she had no idea. Her bank account was very low, and now that there would be no life insurance settlement coming in…

  “Just pay them when you can,” he said, standing when she did. “That will be fine.”

  And there it was. In his voice. In his expression. The thing she’d hated the most since the moment the paramedic had looked up at her from where he’d been crouched over Frank’s prone form on the eighteenth green.

  Pity.

  Esther Jackson had never been an object of pity in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now. Head high, she bid Alvin good-bye, secured her Louis Vuitton bag more firmly on her shoulder, and headed for the door.

  The life insurance was merely a temporary setback. Surely she would realize all she needed from her interest in Frank’s law firm. She made her way from Alvin’s office to her Jaguar parked at the curb outside. Her next appointment was with Franks law partner, Lloyd Manning. Certainly he would have better news f
or her.

  Matters simply could not be as dire as they seemed. Esther refused to allow it. Circumstances had never managed to thwart her before, and she wasn’t going to allow them to do so now.

  Two hours later, Esther wasn’t feeling quite so positive. Lloyd Manning had broken the bad news that Frank had very little equity in the firm. He would be happy to buy out Esther’s share, but the small amount of money was a pittance compared to what she’d hoped for.

  Too agitated to go home and too upset to be around other people, Esther pointed the car west. The afternoon sun, low and piercing, made her squint as she raced down Old Lake Road toward the condo on Sweetgum Lake. Even with her oversized Chanel sunglasses in place and the car’s visor pulled down, she could hardly see the two-lane highway for the glare. She and Frank had learned long ago not to set off for Memphis in the late afternoon to see their son because of that very problem. Now, though, the bright light was complicated by the tears that filled Esther’s eyes and streamed down her cheeks.

  Dear Lord in heaven, what was she going to do? Fervent prayer had never been a part of Esther’s spiritual routine. She and the Divine had been cordial but distant acquaintances for years, and that had seemed to suit them both. Esther knew her duty, she did her duty, and she expected God to do His. Why she still thought that the Almighty would hold up His end of the bargain, though, she had no idea. Any real hope of divine intervention in her life had died with her first child more than thirty years before.

  The road curved sharply to the left, and Esther’s foot pumped the brake. The piercing sun blurred her vision, and then a haze of brown and white streaked across the highway in front of her. She slammed on the brakes, her high heel catching beneath the pedal. The car skidded to the right, and Esther whipped the wheel in the same direction to correct her slide, but to no avail. She heard a sharp thump and then the car banged against the guardrail that separated the highway from Cooter Creek ten feet below. The Jaguar jerked to a stop, the engine and her own blood thrumming in her ears. Her breath came in short gasps. The seat belt pressed against her chest, pinning her in the car.

  She had hit something living. She knew it instinctively.

  With shaking hands, she struggled to unfasten the seat belt. After several tries, she managed to release the catch and untangle herself from the restraint. She opened the car door and pulled herself out.

  She’d hit some sort of animal, of course. Not a skunk, or she would smell it. And the fast-moving blur had been too small for a deer. Esther moved around the front of the car and saw a mop of fur lying motionless on the asphalt.

  A dog.

  More tears stung Esther’s eyes. She knelt beside the animal and felt for a pulse at its neck. Did dogs even have a pulse there? A wave of nausea overcame her, for this was exactly how she’d knelt beside Frank when he’d collapsed that last fateful day.

  “Come on,” she pleaded, not sure whom she was addressing—the good Lord in heaven or the limp form of the dog. And then she felt a small movement beneath her fingers. It wasn’t dead.

  Relief washed over her but was quickly replaced by dread. What did she do now? She’d never owned a pet in her life. Her experience with animals was limited to shooing them away from her so they wouldn’t put a run in her stockings or get paw prints on her designer suits.

  The dog whimpered, and instinctively she reached to rub the animal behind the ears. His fur was wet and matted, and when she ran a gentle hand down his side, she could feel his ribs. She needed to get him to the veterinarian, but how?

  Esther could arrange a seating chart for the Centennial Society luncheon in under fifteen minutes. She knew how to pressure the local florist into letting her buy wholesale. And she could motivate a caterer to stretch food for fifty to accommodate an extra ten people. But she didn’t know how to get this pitiful animal off the highway and into her car.

  The sound of an approaching vehicle caught her attention, and she looked up to see a battered pickup truck slowing to a stop on the shoulder of the road. At that moment, she realized how vulnerable she was, kneeling in the highway by the dog, but the animal looked up at her with huge, sorrowful brown eyes, and she couldn’t bring herself to move to safety.

  A tall, red-headed man, about ten years younger than Esther, emerged from the truck. His shirt was the same rusted gray as the pickup. “You all right?” he asked as he moved toward her. Then he saw the dog beside her. “Is he dead?”

  Esther shook her head, beyond grateful that the man had stopped. He looked like a farmer. Surely he would know what to do about the dog.

  “He’s alive, but he’s hurt. I need to get him to the vet.”

  The man nodded. “I can help you get him into your car.”

  Her heart sank. She had hoped the man would offer to take over and see about the dog. “Thank you. Although…” She fixed a troubled expression on her face. “I don’t really know anything about dogs.”

  “Not much to know.”

  He dropped to one knee and ran his hands over the animal, much as Esther had, but his motions were far more competent, experienced. He was oblivious to the damsel-in-distress signals she was sending out, but he was certainly solicitous of the dog. She wasn’t as young as she used to be, but she was still the best-dressed, best-coiffed woman in Sweetgum.

  He looked up at her. “He’s not in any immediate danger, but he needs his leg set. Just take him to Doc Everton’s. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Oh. Of course.” She hid her dismay, and the man turned back to his truck. He returned with an old army blanket that had seen better days and spread it on the ground next to the dog. Esther stepped back to give him room to maneuver. He lifted the dog and smoothly settled him on the blanket. The animal whimpered but otherwise didn’t protest.

  “You grab those two corners,” he instructed Esther. She started to object—surely he could lift the dog by himself—but his look silenced her. She took hold of the corners of the blanket nearest her while the man did the same on his end. “All right. Lift on the count of three.”

  “Wait!” Esther glanced back at her car. “I need to open the door.” She darted across the asphalt and opened the passenger door of her Jaguar, thankful for the blanket to protect the leather interior. She returned to the dog and gripped the blanket. “Okay.”

  Together, they maneuvered the dog around the front of her car. Trying to get the animal through the door, though, wasn’t as easy.

  “Slide in there,” the man said to Esther, motioning to the space between the car frame and the open door. She did as he instructed, and he moved in behind her so they were both wedged into the small space. The dog whimpered when they gently swung him onto the seat. For a long moment, Esther thought the man wasn’t going to let go of the blanket and step away. He was very tall, and he smelled like new-mown grass.

  “There you go, pup.” He settled the end of the blanket over the dog before moving away. Esther let out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t used to being close to strange men. Or any man, for that matter. Even Frank had learned to keep his distance over the years.

  “Thank you.” Esther suddenly felt awkward. The man stood on the shoulder of the highway, and his green eyes met her gaze.

  “No problem. I’d go with you, but—” He paused to glance at his watch. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. Must be the day for emergencies.”

  “If you’ll give me your card, I’ll return your blanket after—” She broke off. Given her recent run of luck, the dog would probably die, but she didn’t want to say it out loud.

  “I don’t have a card.” A smile teased at the corners of his lips. “And I don’t need the blanket back. It’s not good for much anyway.” He paused and looked at her so closely it made her take a small step backward. “He’s going to be okay. Just get him to Doc Everton’s.”

  “Oh. Well, thank you again. For your help.” Another step backward. He must not be from Sweetgum, because she’d never seen him before. She wanted to ask him his name, but something stopped
her. “I’d better get to the vet.”

  “Drive safely.” He lifted his hand, waved, and turned to jog back to his truck. He drove off in a spurt of gravel, clearly anxious to get to his unknown destination.

  Esther watched him go with a mixture of trepidation and relief. And then a sound from the car, the dog’s soft cry, turned her attention back to the problem at hand. She shut the passenger door and crossed back in front of the car. Esther slid behind the wheel and, after a quick glance over her shoulder, made a U-turn so that she was headed in the direction of town.

  Straight back into the muddle that was her life, only this time with a broken dog in tow.

  Eugenie arrived earlier than usual for the Knit Lit Society’s first meeting of the year. Tonight brought a fresh start—a new reading list and new knitting projects.

  Under normal circumstances, Eugenie would have looked forward to this meeting, but the last few months had brought anything but normal circumstances. Camille’s mother had died less than two weeks ago. Ruthie was off doing mission work in Africa, and in her place would be Maria Munden, whom all of them knew but none of them knew well. Esther’s recent bereavement was not quite as fresh as Camille’s, but no doubt just as painful. And now that Hannah, the youngest member of the group, lived with Eugenie and Paul as their foster daughter-well, Eugenie wasn’t sure how their new relationship might affect these meetings.

  The biggest problem, though, was Eugenie’s trepidation about the reading list she’d chosen. She took the folder containing the lists from her knitting bag. What had she been thinking? They were all going to laugh at her. Maybe not out loud or to her face, but her choices could be the buzz of the Sweetgum grapevine by this time tomorrow.

  “Good evening, Eugenie.” Merry appeared in the doorway, baby carrier in tow. Her fourth child, Hunter, lay snuggled amid the padding and blankets, his head crooked at the impossible angle that only a baby can manage. “I can’t believe I’m the first one here.”