The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love

by Beth Pattillo

  “Esther?” Brody laid a hand on hers where she held Ranger’s collar. The simple human touch weakened her knees. Not in a romantic way. She was long past that. But other than the occasional hug from her grandson, Esther’s human contact was limited to politely shaking hands while passing the peace at church.

  “Yes?” She refused to jerk her hand away, kept it still. But she gripped Ranger’s collar far too tightly.

  “I do apologize for my phone call that night. I didn’t mean to disparage your ability to take care of Ranger. It’s clear you’re fond of him.”

  Esther nodded. “I overreacted. Don’t give it another thought.”

  They stood there for a moment. Brody opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Finally, Esther resumed her task, clipping the leash onto Ranger’s collar, and Brody dropped his hand.

  “If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thank you, Dr. McCullough.” Calling him by his title, the formality of it, helped her cope with the strange moment. Esther was not someone who reached out to others or who did well with others reaching out to her. But at that moment, she wanted to stay in the exam room. She wanted to sink into the chair behind her, take refuge from the mess of her life, and let Brody McCullough be in charge. But she couldn’t.

  “We’ll see Ranger for his checkup in a few months,” Brody said. “Pam will call you to schedule it.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded. “I appreciate it.”

  She scooped Ranger up from the exam table and set him on the floor. Ranger was delighted to leave. He raced ahead, straining against the leash and pulling Esther down the hallway and out the door. In her high-heeled Donald J. Pliner pumps, she labored to keep up with him. He stopped when he came to her Jaguar and waited beside the passenger door, tail wagging, for her to let him in.

  Esther was supposed to put him in his crate when he rode in the car, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. He enjoyed hanging his head out the window so much. With a sigh and a furtive look over her shoulder, she opened the passenger door and Ranger bounded in.

  “Tomorrow,” she warned the dog in dark tones. “Tomorrow we turn over a new leaf.”

  Ranger looked blithely unconcerned as he settled in for the ride home. And Esther wondered if she had the wherewithal to manage all the leaves in her life that needed rotation.

  The November meeting of the Sweetgum Knit Lit Society fell on the Friday before Thanksgiving. Eugenie half worried, half hoped that several members would phone her in advance to say they couldn’t make it. If that happened, she could cancel the meeting altogether and they’d never have to discuss the Song of Solomon.

  Sadly though, no one did any such thing, and so twenty minutes before the appointed hour, she was wiping off the table in the Pairs and Spares Sunday school class.

  The tabletop was sticky with spilled coffee and doughnut sugar, which meant that Napoleon, the church custodian, must be on vacation. She vaguely remembered Paul mentioning it to her. She often listened with only half an ear when Paul talked about church business. She was so overwhelmed with all her own new church activities that she just didn’t have the energy.

  Eugenie was depositing the wad of paper towels into the brimming trash can near the door when she heard her husband calling her.

  “Eugenie? You here?”

  She stepped into the hallway, and the smile that spread across her face when she saw him was as inevitable as it was pure. “I’m here.”

  He gave her a quick kiss and squeezed her shoulders. “I wasn’t sure I’d have a minute to come up between meetings.”

  Although most of Sweetgum was at the homecoming football game, Paul and a handful of the church leadership had scheduled a stewardship meeting. The annual pledge campaign, where they asked people to turn in an estimate of their giving for the next year, was not going as well as he’d hoped. The thought caused her stomach to twist. She had never mentioned her conversations with Hazel to Paul, and he seemed to take her sudden immersion in church life at face value.

  “Have you had any great insights into the mysteries of church giving?” she asked with sympathy. When it came to managing the library, at least she had compulsory tax money—instead of voluntary philanthropy—to count on.

  “I don’t think that mystery will ever be unraveled,” Paul replied, teasing, but then his expression sobered. “I think it’s far more likely we’ll be faced with some budget cuts for next year.”

  From what Eugenie could tell, the yearly budget of Sweet-gum Christian Church had as much fat as an anorexic. “I’m sure people have just forgotten to turn in their pledge cards.” Guilt, undeserved as it was, pinked her cheeks.

  “I hope you’re right.” He exhaled. “Anything else you need for this evening?”

  “No. We’re fine. Looks like Napoleon’s gone this week.”

  “That noticeable?”

  “It’s nothing.” She was sorry she’d brought it up. He tended to worry about the endless details of running a church, and she hadn’t meant to contribute to his stress. It was also why she’d never told him about Hazel’s insinuations about the validity of her faith. Thankfully, the gossip hadn’t reached his ears.

  “I may need to come in tomorrow and make sure everything’s in shape for Sunday,” he said with a frown.

  Esther bit back the protest that sprang to her lips. For a minister, working evenings and weekends was as much a part of the job as money worries and busybody parishioners. Frankly, she still couldn’t comprehend how he could find so much satisfaction in it. To her the church seemed like a black hole of human need. Unlike the library, where her boundaries were clear and where her role as librarian was put aside when she locked the doors in the evening. Unless, of course, she chose to extend those boundaries, as she had done with Hannah.

  “I’d better get back.” Paul kissed her again, soft and lingering, and Eugenie was once more reminded of the Song of Solomon. However embarrassed she might be about its sensual nature, she could certainly appreciate it now that she was married to Paul, and she intended to do everything within her power not to lose him again.

  Later, after all the members of the Knit Lit Society had assembled and the discussion was underway, Eugenie decided to confront her own embarrassment and bring up the very issue that had been worrying her.

  “So,” she said to the group assembled around the tables. Unaccustomed color rose in her cheeks. “I realize that this particular selection might have come as rather a… surprise to some of you.”

  She was sorry Ruthie wasn’t there. With her breezy good humor, she would have laughed kindly at Eugenie’s discomfort and helped dispel the tense undercurrent in the room. To Eugenie’s surprise, assistance came from a quite unexpected source.

  Esther nodded toward the Bible open on the table before her and laughed. “If your husband preached from Song of Solomon on a regular basis, I think we might double our membership.” Esther seemed in good spirits. Eugenie wondered what the source of her cheer might be, especially given her rumored financial difficulties. Even when Eugenie didn’t want to listen, she couldn’t totally ignore local gossip.

  Everyone laughed at Esther’s observation, and Eugenie saw more than one pair of shoulders relax.

  “What did you think about what Solomon had to say about love?” she asked. “What would you say was his definition?”

  Merry shook her head. “I’d say he must have had a lot of nannies to take care of the children he had with all those wives. I mean, Jeff is my beloved and everything, but at this point, with four kids, I’d rather he did dishes than tell me my hair is like a flock of goats flowing down the mountainside.”

  Esther nodded in agreement. “I only had one child, and I felt the same way.”

  Camille’s thin smile told Eugenie that she probably had a different take on the matter. Everyone in town knew that Dante Brown was determinedly courting her. Eugenie wished him luck. Camille had closed down her emotions long ago, had
been forced to so she could deal with her father’s defection and her mother’s long illness.

  “Romantic love’s just something women made up to rationalize clinging to a man,” Camille said. “I don’t know why Solomon had to drag God into it.”

  “I disagree.” Maria spoke with firmness. “I’ve seen that kind of love between two people. We all have. I think it’s what we all secretly long for.”

  Eugenie nodded her head. “I guess it’s no secret that I would agree with you, Maria.”

  This comment elicited a chuckle from the other women-all except Hannah. She bit her lip, and Eugenie realized with a start that the girl was about to cry.

  “Of course, love can be complicated,” she said hastily.

  Although Hannah hadn’t confided in her, Eugenie had heard the gossip about Hannah and that young man, Josh Hargrove. She knew they’d been friends when they were younger. She remembered them coming into the library in the summers. Now, though, their relationship appeared to be rising to a new level, an adult level. Eugenie wasn’t so old that she couldn’t remember what that had been like when it had happened to her. She could easily recall the excitement, the terror, the uncertainty, and the occasional devastation.

  “I don’t think Solomon accounts much for the outside world,” Camille said with disdain. “Sure, it can be great if it’s just you and the other person. But love doesn’t occur in a vacuum. In real life, it’s not that simple.”

  Ah, Eugenie thought. So Camille wasn’t completely indifferent to Dante.

  “Especially if you fall for the wrong person,” Maria interjected.

  Eugenie’s head shot up at this. What in the world was going on with Maria? “So is Solomon’s description of love just a fantasy? Can two people ever really achieve that kind of intimacy?” Eugenie asked.

  Merry blushed. “They can.” And then she smiled. “At least, Jeff and I have. Not every day and not every hour. But most of the time. Or at least enough to make life a really wonderful thing.”

  Eugenie had to nod her assent at Merry’s assertion. “I think so too.”

  Camille shook her head. “I think it’s cruel to put that kind of unobtainable ideal out there and then lead people to think they can have it.” She stopped, nodded at Merry and Eugenie for politeness’ sake. “Although maybe there are exceptions,” she offered by way of apology.

  “Why put this book in the Bible then?” Eugenie asked, interested to see what the women would say.

  “It’s simple. Love comes from God,” Merry said. “All forms of love.”

  “And none of them are easy,” Maria pointed out. “But this book”—she waved at the Bible on the table in front of her—“when something like that is in there, it says that God wants us to have the gift of romantic love.”

  “Are you sure it’s not just to show us what we’re missing?” Camille replied. “Or another example of what we can never achieve as human beings?”

  “What keeps us from having that kind of love?” Eugenie wanted to push them on this question. “Why is it so difficult to establish that level of intimacy?”

  “Because men are stupid,” Hannah answered flatly. Her eyes were suspiciously damp, Eugenie noticed. Something had definitely gone wrong with the Hargrove boy. Tonight was the first time Hannah had missed a football game.

  “Because most of them can’t see what’s right under their noses,” Maria said, adding her two cents to the condemnation of the opposite sex.

  “Intimacy doesn’t work because you can’t depend on a man,” Camille said. “They never turn out to be worth your trust.”

  Merry laid a gentle hand on Camille’s arm. “Not all of them are that way honey. Just some.”

  Camille pulled her arm away from Merry’s touch. “I’ve yet to meet the ones who aren’t.”

  “Are women any better, though?” Eugenie said. “We don’t always make it easy on the men.” She knew that from personal experience. When Paul had reappeared in her life, she’d pushed him away and continued to hold him at arm’s length until she’d finally come to her senses and decided that holding on to past resentments wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as moving forward with the man she’d always loved.

  “Loving someone that much is always risky,” Merry said. “There are no guarantees. Even after you get married.”

  “You can’t love without making yourself too vulnerable.” Clearly Camille felt strongly on the subject.

  “Love isn’t worth it.” Hannah didn’t look up from her knitting.

  Eugenie suppressed a smile. She wasn’t so old that she couldn’t remember how painful a first love could be, and it appeared that Hannah was discovering that for the first time.

  “Well, I suppose we all have to form our own opinions about whether it’s worthwhile to fall in love,” Eugenie said. “Now, I’m eager to see your projects. What do you have tonight?”

  “I hope it didn’t have to be all purling,” Merry said. “I made Jeff a checkerboard scarf. I thought it looked more like something a man would wear.” She showed the maroon piece, on which she’d alternated groups of knit and purl stitches to create the desired effect.

  “I made Paul a scarf too,” Eugenie said. She’d chosen a warm shade of blue to match Paul’s eyes.

  Maria produced a round piece of lavender wool from her bag. “I made a hat for Daphne.” She shook her head, but a small smile played at the corner of her lips. “I don’t know what I would have done without her these last few weeks.”

  Eugenie nodded, wanting to console Maria somehow, but now was not the time. Perhaps simply having a place to talk about her difficulties, even with as little as she had said during the meeting, would be of some help.

  “I made something for myself,” Camille said, her chin lifted a little, as if daring anyone to question her on her choice. “It’s a shell. I can wear it under one of those new denim jackets I have in the store.” She spread the lipstick pink garment on the table, and they all oohed and ahhed over it.

  “Anyone else?” Eugenie asked. Esther and Hannah still hadn’t shared their projects, but she didn’t want to push either of them.

  “Not tonight.” Esther swept her customary tangle of yarn back into her designer bag.

  “Me either.” Hannah didn’t look at Eugenie when she answered. Eugenie knew that the girl had started on a sweater— her first—and from the amount of yarn the girl had asked for, it must have been intended for Josh Hargrove. If Eugenie had known for sure, she would have told Hannah about the old knitting superstition—never knit a sweater for a boyfriend or you’ll break up. Sweaters were reserved for husbands, fathers, and brothers.

  “All right. Thank you, everyone.” She looked down at the reading list on the table in front of her. “Next months assignment is Gone with the Wind and the seed stitch. You can use single or double, whichever you prefer.” She paused, smiling. “Just don’t everyone knit Scarlett O’Hara a petticoat.”

  The others laughed, and the meeting ended on a positive note. But as Eugenie and Hannah turned out the lights and left the church, she couldn’t help worrying. The holidays were just around the corner—Thanksgiving next week and Christmas coming faster than any of them probably would have liked. It was a stressful time of year. She hoped they could all weather the strain.

  “Good night, Eugenie. Good night, Hannah,” Merry called as she disappeared into her minivan. Camille had already left, and Esther was unlocking her car. She could see Maria’s disappearing figure as she headed toward the square. Change was in the air. Eugenie could sense it. She hoped that whatever obstacles and transitions lay ahead, the members of the Knit Lit Society could see one another through them.

  Even though the air held a distinct chill, Camille was on the front porch waiting for Dante when he arrived on Saturday. Better not to let him past the front door. She leaned back into the tattered cushions on the porch swing and stared at the open book in her hands without comprehending it.

  Gone with the Wind. Camille couldn’t relate to the
single-minded Scarlett, who pursued her own desires at the expense of everyone around her. Well, then again, maybe she could—at least in theory. Shed certainly fantasized enough about what she would do with her life if she didn’t have to care about anyone other than herself. Or, more to the point, if she could bring herself not to care.

  Camille turned the pages, trying to concentrate, but every time she heard a car engine her head bounced up even though it was a good twenty minutes until Dante was due to arrive. She resisted the urge to go back in the house and change her outfit. It had taken her an hour to decide on this ensemble—black low-rise jeans, high-heeled boots, and a deep purple sweater. She had her black pashmina tied around the handle of her trendy black patent handbag. It would keep her warm in the movie theater or later at dinner, if the restaurant was chilly. Not that she thought she’d have trouble keeping warm with Dante around. Just looking at him—

  No. She was not going to do that, not about to indulge in those feelings. She could go near the flames without throwing herself into them.

  At least she hoped she could.

  Another car engine broke the peaceful silence. Camille looked up to see a familiar black sports car approaching. The car turned into the driveway, and a moment later, Dante emerged.

  Camille bit her lip. He looked amazing in blue jeans and a button-down, the preppy pink oxford shirt the perfect contrast to his dark skin. He wore the shirt untucked, which somehow emphasized his broad shoulders all the more. He wasn’t wearing a coat. Maybe the cold didn’t bother him. Maybe he was strong enough to withstand it, to withstand just about anything.

  Camille swallowed. That strength might be her undoing.

  “Hey” He moved toward the porch, mounted the steps, and walked toward her. “I’m a little early.”

  She laid the book on the swing beside her. “That’s okay. I’m ready to go.”

  He glanced at the book. “What are you reading?”