by L. M. Reed
Chapter 1
“Excuse me,” a tentative voice broke into my thoughts, “Do you work here?”
Grateful for an excuse to stand and stretch, I hurriedly finished putting the skeins of yarn I was holding in the correct bins and straightened up turning towards the voice with a smile.
“Yes Ma’am. What can I do for you?”
As I met the woman’s eyes, I almost gasped. I had never seen such bright green eyes. They were gorgeous. People were always complimenting me on my blonde hair, blue-eyed combination, but that woman’s eyes put mine to shame. Gathering my scattered thoughts, I tried to focus my attention on what she was saying.
“…my old eyes, you know.”
I was startled, had I babbled aloud?
She must have noticed the blank look on my face, because she asked, suddenly concerned, “Are you alright?”
“Um…yes, I’m fine,” I quickly reassured her, “I’m sorry I missed the first part of your question,” I apologized, “I was…distracted.”
She laughed and said, “My son tells me I am easily distracted, so I understand perfectly. What I’m looking for is something to thread my needle, but made for yarn, not thread. My old eyes aren’t as young as they used to be.”
It was my turn to laugh as I replied, “I don’t think it has anything to do with ‘old’. I use one of those things myself. I can’t seem to get some of the yarns through the smaller tapestry needles without the yarn splitting all over the place. They’ll be over here on aisle two if we have any in stock.”
“Oh I hope you do…I broke my last one while using it with my yarns instead of the thread for which it was intended. The poor thing was much too flimsy for what I was putting it through and I’m rather desperate,” she admitted. “I was hoping to finish my son’s Christmas present before Christmas.”
“Oh, that’s nice, what are you making him?”
“A sweater,” she replied, “not very original I’m afraid.”
“Do you knit or crochet?”
Something about the woman reminded me of Hannah. She had very kind eyes and a warm sincerity that I hadn’t encountered much in my 20 years of life. I missed Hannah.
“Actually, I do both,” she admitted, “but my son prefers my cabled sweaters so I’m knitting this one.”
“I’ve never been very good at knitting,” I lamented. “I mean, I can knit and purl with the best of them, but I never know what to do with it. I’m really more of a crochet person.”
“It’s nice to know that some young people still do yarn work,” she commented, “Most youngsters think it’s just an ‘old people’ thing.”
“I know how to knit, crochet, embroidery, tat, and quilt,” I quoted the list. “I have to admit, I crochet more than anything. I love making stuffed animals and things like that. The others never appealed to me.”
“Tatting is my favorite,” she offered, “and I am ashamed to say I have never liked embroidery or quilting, even though my mother forced me to learn them. I’m Elsee, by the way, Elsee Wilson.”
She offered me her hand.
“I’m Allie,” it must have been the fact that she reminded me so strongly of Hannah that had me telling her Hannah’s nickname for me instead of my given name; suddenly I had a strong urge to hear it again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Wilson.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Allie.”
“I’m sorry, here I’ve been chatting away, when I’m sure you have things to do,” I apologized, leading her over to aisle two.
“Not at all…I love to chat,” Mrs. Wilson returned smiling. “My son tells me I’ve never met a stranger.”
“Here is the yarn-threader,” I reached over, took one off the rack, and handed it to her. “I use this one, so I know it works well.”
“That is wonderful. Thank you.” She thought for a moment, “Perhaps I should take two, just in case.”
“I always like to have a spare,” I agreed. “These are very sturdy, I doubt that you will be able to break them, but they are so small I seem to misplace mine just when I need one the most.”
“This is such a wonderful little craft store. I am extremely glad I found it,” Mrs. Wilson said, “Do you work here full-time?”
“No, I’m a student at UT,” I answered, “I’ve known the owner for a long time, so I help out whenever she’s short-handed.”
“How nice,” she commented, looking at her watch, “Oh my, I best hurry or I’ll miss the bus. I’m afraid I spent too much time browsing. There was more to see than I had accounted for in the short period of time I have.”
While I led her to the counter in order to ring up her purchases, a debate raged in my head. Should I or shouldn’t I? Would she think I was a lunatic? There was something about her that drew me, something in her eyes that reminded me so much of Hannah I felt physically sick at the thought of not seeing her again, although I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.
Quickly making up my mind, I decided I had to take a chance or she would be gone and I might never again experience the warmth she had rekindled inside of me.
As I put the receipt in her bag, I asked, without looking up, “Could I give you a ride home?”
Handing her the merchandise, I risked a glance at her face. There was surprise and something else, but I wasn’t sure what.
“My dear, that is very sweet of you to offer, but I would hate for you to have to go out of your way.”
“I don’t mind, I just…” how to explain, when I didn’t fully understand myself. “I can get the owner to vouch for me, I’m really not dangerous,” I added in a rush.
Mrs. Wilson laughed at that…she had a nice laugh.
“I have no doubt that you are dangerous to any young man within a hundred miles. I am also one-hundred percent certain that you are exactly what you appear to be, a very sweet and kind young lady whose generosity I don’t intend to abuse.”
“Please,” I begged, “just give me a minute to tell the owner I’m leaving. I know it may sound silly, but you remind me so much of someone I lost a few years ago, and I’m afraid that when you leave…it will be like losing her all over again,” I finished in a whisper.
“Go say your goodbyes,” Mrs. Wilson said immediately. “I’ll wait outside for you.”
I took less than a minute grabbing my purse and sweater from the back room and letting Yvonne know that I was done for the day.
She smiled and waved me off with a “Thanks for the help, see you later”.
Mrs. Wilson was on the sidewalk in front of the craft shop waiting for me and suddenly I felt like an idiot asking a total stranger if I could give her a lift. What was Mrs. Wilson thinking of me? Maybe I should apologize and let her take the bus, if she hadn’t already missed it.
“I’m sorry…” I began.
“No need to apologize, my dear. I am…honored…that I remind you of someone you obviously cared so deeply for,” Mrs. Wilson worded her reply carefully. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“I don’t want to bore you with the details of my life,” I said apologetically as I unlocked the doors of my car. “I’m really very fortunate that I have everything any girl could ever want.”
I could see Mrs. Wilson taking in every detail of my red BMW convertible.
“Please just forget I said anything.”
I realized I had made a big mistake. It hurt to think that she might consider me a “spoiled rich girl,” but I was sure I deserved it. I had everything, even though it felt like I had nothing.
“Materially, it does indeed look like you have everything you could ever want,” I flinched, “but I see a trace of sadness in your eyes and I’m a good listener.”
I smiled at her gratefully. She was a lot like Hannah, not in physical appearance, but in her eyes where it counted the most. That was the similarity I’d noticed earlier but had been unable to account for…the caring in her eyes.
“If you don’t
mind giving me directions I’ll get us on our way and then we can talk.”
“It’s just off of West 35th Street, on the other side of the MoPac.”
“Oh, my parents live in that area,” I offered relieved that I knew how to get there. I hated driving in traffic especially if I didn’t know exactly where I was going. “No problem.”
We were silent for a few minutes while I concentrated on my driving. Once I decided on my route, I relaxed.
“What was her name?” Mrs. Wilson prompted me gently.
“Hannah,” I answered. “She was my nanny…and my best friend.”
“Nanny…?”
“My parents are…wealthy. My dad’s a lawyer, aspiring to be a judge, and my mother is a…socialite…for lack of a better word.”
“I see.”
I usually didn’t have trouble making conversation, but I never spoke about my parents to anyone if I could avoid it. I found it difficult to talk about them.
“I have an older brother and sister. They’re already grown and married off to the right people.”
I couldn’t quite keep the bitterness from creeping into my voice. She noticed.
“The right people…?”
“My parents are very concerned about appearances. My brother is a lawyer, married to the daughter of one of my dad’s partners in the law firm, and my sister married a doctor, plastic surgeon of course.”
My mother used his services frequently, ecstatic at having one in the family.
“Of course,” I could hear the smile in Mrs. Wilson’s voice. “And you…are you expected to marry a doctor, too?”
“No, I’m lucky that my dad has another partner with a nephew my age,” I replied sarcastically.
“How fortuitous,” Mrs. Wilson agreed.
I had to laugh and she joined in.
“So…Hannah…” Mrs. Wilson prompted again.
“My siblings are quite a bit older than I am. By the time I was born, they were already at boarding school, so my parents had to find me a new nanny; the old one was long gone. I was an accident.”
Once again, I tried unsuccessfully to hide my bitterness.
“My parents didn’t want me, but they couldn’t risk an abortion being made public since my father is a Republican. God must have truly been watching out for me because he not only kept my mother from aborting me, he sent me Hannah.”
“Who told you all of this?” Mrs. Wilson was shocked, “Surely not your parents.”
“No, but when you have a jealous older sister…” I trailed off, feeling the familiar ache the memory of that long ago conversation with Brittany always stirred inside of me.
“I’m so sorry, my dear,” Mrs. Wilson touched my arm sympathetically.
Stifling the pain, I continued.
“Hannah wasn’t my original nanny, but someone lured the other woman away with the offer of more money when I was about two or three years old…I don’t even remember her…and my mother was frantic. She would have hired the devil himself at that point because she had no idea how to take care of a small child and I was still too young to wander around on my own. She wasn’t the maternal kind, but she was very concerned about appearing to be maternal, if that makes sense.”
Mrs. Wilson nodded her understanding.
“Hannah’s husband was military, and unfortunately was killed in Vietnam shortly after they were married. She loved children, but they hadn’t been married long enough to start a family of their own, so she decided that she would become a nanny to earn her living. Even though she had never been a nanny before, she was available, seemed presentable, and my mother was desperate so they hired her immediately. It’s the only thing my parents have ever done right.”
I didn’t even attempt to hide my bitterness.
“Hannah was special?”
“Hannah was the best person I have ever known,” I asserted. “Of course, in my circle of acquaintances that isn’t necessarily saying much,” I added sadly.
“Turn here,” Mrs. Wilson indicated with her hand.
She must be rich, I thought in surprise.
She hadn’t struck me as the type, but all of the houses on that road were fairly new and very expensive.
“That one,” she added, pointing.
“Oh,” I exclaimed in astonishment. “That’s the Fowlkes house isn’t it?”
“You know the Fowlkes?” it was her turn to be surprised.
“They used to be one of my grandfather’s clients, but apparently when he died, they found another firm. My father was very angry; I’d never seen him in such a rage. By that age, I realized that anyone who didn’t want my father as a lawyer was probably very smart.”
I smiled reminiscently as I recalled sharing my newfound revelation with Hannah who had laughed so hard, tears had come into her eyes.
I pulled into the long driveway and Mrs. Wilson directed me to the servants’ entrance.
“The Fowlkes are very nice people,” she agreed, “I work for them as their housekeeper.”
I nodded to myself in understanding. She and Hannah had a lot in common. I glanced over at Mrs. Wilson, and saw her watching me for my reaction. I smiled at her and started to explain, but she interrupted me.
“My husband was killed during the Vietnam war, also,” Mrs. Wilson informed me. “I can understand Hannah’s sadness at not having any children. I’m very thankful I had James. He was only three years old when his father died, but he was a great comfort to me. I think Hannah and I would have been friends.”
“I’m sure of it,” I agreed smiling widely. “I know you have to go, but I was wondering if you would mind if I visited you sometime…”
“I would be delighted,” Mrs. Wilson assured me. “I will get it approved by Mrs. Fowlkes, but I’m sure she’ll be fine with it.” As she was getting out of the car, she turned back and said apologetically, “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your last name.”
“I’m Allison Tate,” I told her, “but Hannah always called me Allie. She’s the only one that ever used that name. My parents would have had a stroke.”
“Allie it is, then,” Mrs. Wilson said with a wink. “If you call the Fowlkes’ number during the day, I’ll be the one that answers. Mrs. Fowlkes hasn’t been well and Mr. Fowlkes is usually out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I sympathized. “I hope she feels better soon. Shall I call you tomorrow? I’m dying to see the sweater you’re knitting.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
I wore a huge smile the rest of the day. I had a friend.