The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love

by Beth Pattillo

  Eugenie fiddled with the thermostat, and Hannah took her usual place at the table. This months project had been to use the fan-and-feather stitch. The combination of decreases and yarn overs had confused her at first, but gradually she’d gotten the hang of it. She’d had plenty of time to work on it since she spent all of her free time holed up in her bedroom at the parsonage.

  As much as she resented Josh’s betrayal, she resented the freedom it cost her even more. Even all these weeks later, the popular kids still laughed and pointed at her. Josh had left a couple of notes in her locker, but she’d dropped them in the trash without reading them. And in honors English class, she’d taken to sitting in the front row, a move that kept her from having to look at the back of his head for an hour every day.

  “It will warm up in here in a minute,” Eugenie said, setting her knitting bag on its wooden legs next to her chair and then rubbing her arms vigorously.

  “Doesn’t bother me,” Hannah said. She hoped the rest of the women showed up soon. She’d managed to avoid being alone with Eugenie for extended periods, which helped the whole don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy succeed when it came to Josh.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Merry appeared at the door. She could hardly walk since she carried her purse, a knitting bag, a diaper bag, and Hunter’s infant seat.

  Hannah sprang to her feet. “Let me help.”

  She had missed the baby when Merry quit bringing him to meetings in the fall. Hannah hadn’t seen him since he’d been so sick, although he looked pretty healthy now from what she could tell. She reached for his carrier, and Merry reluctantly handed him over.

  “Thanks,” she said, but Hannah knew she didn’t really want to let go of him. She’d heard from Eugenie that Merry still hadn’t taken him back to day care. Hannah wondered what that would be like, to have a mother who cared about you so much she was afraid to leave you alone even for a minute.

  One by one, the others arrived. Maria looked out of sorts, so Hannah avoided her. Camille didn’t look much better. Hannah thought she’d probably been crying, judging from the dark circles under her eyes.

  “Let’s get started, everyone,” Eugenie said, calling them to some kind of order. “I’m interested to hear what you have to say about Wuthering Heights. I know, as a love story, it’s not to everyone’s taste.”

  There was a general murmur of assent to that comment.

  “It was pretty convoluted,” Merry said, leaning down to rock Hunter with one hand while trying to hold on to her knitting with the other. “Of course, I don’t have the greatest powers of concentration these days. I may have missed the point.”

  Hannah was impressed she even had time to read the book, what with Hunter’s illness and all.

  “I’ve never heard of people who were so good at making themselves miserable,” Camille said. “I don’t think any of them really wanted to be happy.”

  Hannah bit her tongue. If ever she’d met anyone who ran away from happiness at top speed, it was Camille St. Clair. She’d been the golden girl in high school, not a loser like Hannah, but she was still miserable. Hannah couldn’t understand why. If she’d been homecoming queen, prom queen, and head cheerleader—the perfect trio—she’d never know a minute of unhappiness the rest of her life.

  “What kind of love would you say Emily Brontë was writing about in the novel?” Eugenie asked, keeping to her theme. “Try to describe it in one word.”

  “Obsessive.” Camille’s answer was as flat as it was succinct. “She’s trying to show that you can love too much. That in the end it can destroy you.”

  Well, that was cheery. Hannah shook her head, then looked up to see if Camille had noticed.

  “I disagree.” Maria frowned. “That horrible old man, Cathy’s father. What was his name? He couldn’t love enough. Not real love. He wanted everything on his own terms. There was no room for anyone else’s needs or desires in his mind.”

  Hannah nodded her agreement. Frankly, the old man had born a distinct resemblance to her mom. Self-centered, ruthless, and manipulative.

  “I think Emily Brontë must have been haunted by love,” Merry said. She reached down to adjust Hunter’s blanket so he was fully covered while he slept.

  Another pang shot through Hannah. She’d felt alone before the whole disaster with Josh. Now, watching Merry with Hunter, she felt even worse. It didn’t help that Merry was Courtney’s mother. She thought Courtney would have turned out nicer given how much love and attention she’d always had.

  “So what can we learn about love from Wuthering Heights?” Eugenie asked. “What does Brontë say that’s unique? Different from the other authors we’ve read?”

  Hannah wanted to say she’d learned to quit thinking that one day she’d finally find someone who loved her enough to put her welfare above his own. As nice as Rev. Carson and Eugenie were, they weren’t family. They could change their minds at any moment and kick her to the curb without looking back. Not that they would—at least, she didn’t think so—but the possibility still existed.

  “Brontë’s not much of a romantic,” Maria said. “Her characters are all so mean to each other.”

  “But they’re mean out of love, which is weird,” Hannah couldn’t help but add. “I thought love was supposed to make people nice.”

  Camille shook her head. “No. Sometimes love is the worst thing that can happen to you.”

  Hannah looked around the table, wondering what the others would say to that. As she expected, everyone was quiet. Eugenie tried several other questions to prompt more discussion, but there wasn’t much energy. Hannah looked at Eugenie, at the lines of frustration around her mouth. Too bad that by making them read all these love stories, she’d made everyone less of a believer than they were before.

  “All right. Well, what about the project then?” Eugenie asked. “What did you design with the fan-and-feather stitch?”

  The majority were shawls for one of the Cathys. The colors and textures, though, ran the gamut from Camille’s sparkly silver angora to Eugenie’s sensible navy wool. Hannah’s own project—a scarf for Heathcliff—looked a little strange. The lacy pattern was hardly masculine, but Eugenie said it was okay to experiment. Hannah thought she’d about had her fill of trying new things.

  “You’ve all done a nice job,” Eugenie said. “Next month we’ll discuss Pride and Prejudice.”

  “Appropriate,” Esther said under her breath, and Hannah chuckled at her sarcastic tone. After Mr. Jackson died, Hannah thought Esther might lose her edge, but she seemed to be returning to her usual prickly self. Hannah preferred people like that, because you always knew where you stood with them.

  The group remained around the table for a while longer, chatting and knitting. Hunter woke up at one point, crying for a bottle. When Merry asked Hannah if she wanted to give him his bottle, she started to refuse, but before she knew what was happening, she had the baby in her arms and he was greedily sucking away.

  “You’re a natural,” Merry assured her. Hannah looked down at the baby, touched that Merry would put him into her care. Hannah knew how distressed she’d been about his illness.

  Looking at Hunter McGavin, Hannah wondered, not for the first time, why her own mother couldn’t love her enough to stick around. Once upon a time, Hannah had been a baby like this. Her mother must have fed her, rocked her, changed her diaper. But somewhere along the way, that love had gone wrong, like in Emily Brontë’s story. It had been twisted out of recognition and then abandoned.

  Hannah bit back tears and hoped no one noticed the spots where some of them fell on the baby’s blanket.

  Eugenie had never been given to rash actions. All her life she’d taken measured steps. As Jane Austen would say, she was a rational creature. Eugenie knew that sound, considered decisions yielded the best results, but her decision to speak in front of the church, as impulsive as it had been that day in Paul’s office, wasn’t one she wanted to change.

  So the next time Hazel Emerson c
ame into the library, Eugenie was prepared.

  “About the concerns you’ve shared with me,” she found herself saying to Hazel. “I’ve—”

  “Made your position quite clear.” Hazel sniffed. “I’m not here to pester you anymore. If you don’t mind watching your husband’s career implode, I’m sure there’s nothing I can—”

  “I’ve asked Paul if I can speak to the congregation.”

  Hazel’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. If nothing else, the decision was worth it just to behold that sight.

  “I’m sorry?” Poor Hazel seemed quite disoriented.

  “I’ve thought it over,” Eugenie continued, “and I think the only way people’s questions about my faith can be put to rest is if I address the church members directly”

  “But—”

  “Isn’t that what you suggested? That I prove my faith to the church?”

  “Well, I didn’t mean it in exactly…that is, of course, it would be your decision…” For the first time since Eugenie had known her, Hazel Emerson was at a loss for words.

  “Some people still won’t be satisfied, I know.” Eugenie paused. “But I can tell you what I will say.”

  Hazel stiffened. “It’s not as if we’re judging—”

  “Yes, you are.” Eugenie made an effort to keep her tone measured and even, although it wasn’t easy. “Which is one of the reasons I stayed away from church for forty years.”

  “You can hardly blame the church for that.” Hazel put her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “After all, if God is missing from our lives, it’s because we turned away.”

  “Yes, yes. I’ve heard that one before.” Eugenie wondered that people could find comfort in old chestnuts like that one. “That’s the kind of belittling reprimand that passes for theology. Frankly, I don’t think it’s worthy of a loving God. I would think He’d have a bit more compassion for the lost.”

  “I’m sure I—”

  “I’m sure you didn’t.” Eugenie didn’t want to make any more of an adversary out of Hazel than she already had. “What I will say, when I speak to the congregation, is that they are certainly free to criticize my faith if they feel I’ve acted in an un-Christian manner over the last forty years. And they certainly have a point if they censure me for not being an active part of a congregation. But as to my relationship with God—” She drew a deep breath. “As to my status as a believer, they have no right to anything. While my practice may have been lacking in some people’s eyes, my faith is a private matter.”

  Hazel didn’t seem to know whether to look jubilant or disappointed. She’d gotten what she asked for, but not really. Eugenie was smart enough to know that what Hazel really wanted was to have Eugenie under her thumb as she’d had the last few pastors’ wives.

  “I’m sure you’ll do as you see fit,” Hazel said, but without her usual conviction in her own judgment.

  “I’m glad that’s settled then.” Eugenie nodded at the library book in Hazel’s hand. “Did you want me to check that out for you?” If nothing else, Hazel’s quest to make Eugenie prove her faith had turned the other woman into a library regular. Perhaps one day she’d even open one of the books she checked out and start reading it.

  That evening after supper, when Hannah had drifted off to her room and Eugenie sat with Paul in the living room by the fireplace, she broached the subject of her testimony.

  “I told Hazel I would speak to the congregation,” she said to Paul.

  He lowered his book and looked at her over the top of his glasses. “I still want you to reconsider.” He’d been putting her off over the last few weeks, hoping she would change her mind. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” Paul’s mouth drew down. “You know that I—”

  “Have never pushed me to be the traditional pastor’s wife. Yes, I know.” She stopped, laid her own book in her lap, and sighed. “Much as we both might want to pretend it doesn’t matter, it does. How people perceive me affects you and your work.”

  “But—”

  She held up one hand. “I made this choice because I want to, Paul. Not because of Hazel Emerson or anyone else.”

  He paused, then took off his glasses, rose from his chair, and came toward her. With one hand, he reached out. She clasped his hand in hers, and he drew her to her feet, into his arms.

  “I should have prepared you better, given you more of a chance to turn me down,” he said. “When you marry a minister, you’re taking on a lot more than just one man.”

  Esther rested her hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I’ve learned how true that is, thanks to Hazel.” She lowered her gaze and studied the buttons on his shirt for a long moment. “It’s been a long time, Paul, since I had much use for church. Or God. I’m a little rusty.”

  “I think you bring a fresh perspective.”

  She laughed. “That’s one way to put it.”

  “Eugenie, I don’t want you to think your actions are going to make or break what happens financially with the congregation.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t. But it can only help, as far as I can tell.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Besides, if the ship is going down, my place is with the captain.”

  “Thanks for that image.” Paul’s laugh always made her heart jump a little.

  “Everything will be fine,” she reassured him.

  “I know that. I’ve always known that. I just forget to believe it sometimes.”

  Eugenie was glad Hannah was in her room. She was certain the teenager would have been horrified by the kiss that followed.

  This time, when Merry pulled into the church parking lot on an early March morning, Jeff sat beside her in the passenger seat. Hunter babbled happily in the back, unaware of his mother’s turmoil.

  After the last meeting of the Knit Lit Society, she’d done a lot of thinking—about what it meant to love Hunter, but also what it meant to love her family. And then they’d gone straight on to Pride and Prejudice, and now everywhere Merry turned, all she could see was how difficult it was to be a parent, to manage a family, to choose the needs of one child over the needs of the others.

  Love was not always the clear-cut choice people wanted to believe. Or as Merry had believed, until those long days in the hospital when she’d felt a fierce desire to protect Hunter but also longed for her other children. Somewhere in the days since the last Knit Lit Society meeting, Merry had accepted that she would never be the mother she’d thought she was supposed to be. She would have to compromise, over and over again.

  And today that compromise meant taking Hunter back to day care and heading for Jeff’s office.

  Her other realization had been that she shouldn’t have tried to shoulder this burden alone. Jeff worked hard, but so did she, and when it came to placing an infant in day care, it wasn’t the mother’s job to go it alone.

  Jeff had balked the night before when she’d told him she expected him to come with her the next morning.

  “I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, honey, and I don’t think it takes two grownups to carry one baby to day care.”

  But Merry had been adamant. Jeff humphed and grumped about it until bedtime, then fussed a little more that morning, but he was here beside her.

  And suddenly looking white as a sheet. She knew she should feel sorry for him, but his pallor made her feel a lot better.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Jeff said when she pulled into a parking place.

  Merry switched off the engine. “Right about what?”

  “Maybe it’s better if Hunter doesn’t go to day care.”

  Somehow she kept the corners of her mouth from tugging upward into a smile. “On a scale of one to ten, how nauseated are you?”

  He turned toward her and grimaced. “There’s nothing higher than a ten?”

  Like a lot of men, Jeff dealt with difficult emotions by pushing them to the side. Merry wasn’t trying to inflict additional pain or stress on him. She just needed him to understand why she’d been having such
a hard time with the whole Hunter-in-day-care thing.

  “I’m sure there’s something higher, but I try not to think about it,” she said. “Come on. It doesn’t get any better if we sit here waiting.”

  “You sure?” He gave her a ghost of a smile.

  “Believe me. I know that for a fact.”

  Getting out of the car was both easier and more difficult than it had been the last time. Easier because Jeff was there. More difficult because she knew this time she was actually going to leave Hunter in the infant room with Sandra.

  Merry took the diaper bag while Jeff wrestled Hunter’s car seat free. Together they turned and crossed the parking lot. They were ten feet from the door when Merry saw Eugenie approaching from the opposite direction.

  “Good morning,” Eugenie called, smiling kindly.

  For once, Merry didn’t have tears in her eyes when she spoke to the other woman. “Hello, Eugenie.”

  “Big day today?” There was no censure in her expression. Just encouragement and maybe a bit of humor.

  “Finally,” Merry answered. “It’s been a long time coming.”

  Eugenie nodded toward the car seat in Jeff’s hand. “Hunter will do fine. And so will you.”

  “I know.” When it came to children, there were no guarantees, no infallible choices or perfect scenarios. Life happened, even to your kids. The most frightening thing was accepting that. Ironically, it was also the most liberating.

  Someday Hunter would grow up and leave her. As possessive as she felt toward her children, she’d come to realize that they weren’t really hers to keep. God had given them to her on loan, like the master in the parable who entrusted his treasure to his servants when he went on a journey. Parents had a choice. Merry had a choice. She could let her children breathe freely and thrive, or she could try to protect them so much that they suffocated. While the first one was more painful for her, it would be far more beneficial for her kids.

  “We can do this,” she heard Jeff mutter under his breath as they walked down the hall toward Hunter’s classroom.