by Anne Canadeo
Running a seasonal business like a garden nursery would be challenging for anyone, no less a young woman like Holly, who also had to care for her sister. Now that they’d arrived, Maggie recalled visiting once or twice in search of plants for her garden but could not remember meeting either of the sisters.
She did know Piper’s was not the place to find pumpkin festivals or flower-arranging classes. It was a no-frills operation that offered plants and garden design at decent prices, the sort known to dedicated gardeners and attracting a loyal, if not large, patronage. Still, it looked a bit run down and not very successful.
But it was a dormant season for the business, and best not to judge from first impressions. Maggie had learned that lesson more times than she wanted to admit.
The sound of barking dogs grew louder as they approached the front door. Not just two or three, but a chorus of canines worthy of any Wagnerian opera. One soloist let out a long, echoing howl, and others quickly joined in. A lonesome, eerie sound that lifted into the night sky.
Maggie and her friends clustered on the front steps, and Dana knocked. Maggie wasn’t sure if it was the howling that gave her a chill, or a sharp wind that swept across the countryside, seeping under her jacket and rattling dead leaves.
“I know you said she has some dogs . . . How many are there, do you think? Approximately?” Phoebe sounded nervous.
“Oh, a dozen or so. Maybe a few more than that,” Dana said. “Not counting the puppies, of course.”
“So it’s maybe like . . . a hundred?” Phoebe asked in a small voice.
It wasn’t that Phoebe disliked dogs. Maggie knew she loved all furred and feathered creatures. But the barking and howling was intimidating, even for a genuine dog lover.
Suzanne gripped Phoebe’s arm on one side and Lucy’s on the other. “Isn’t this the scene in a horror flick when you start shouting at the characters? ‘Go back! Go back! Don’t go in there! Are you crazy?’ ”
Maggie didn’t know much about horror movies, but she did know Suzanne had a flair for drama. “You’re just being silly. I hope the Pipers didn’t hear you.”
“The dogs are all gentle and well behaved. Rose is amazingly good at keeping them under control,” Dana promised.
Before she could say more, the front door swung open. A tall, slim woman greeted them with a smile. She had to be Holly, Maggie decided.
“Did it start to rain already? I hope you didn’t get wet. We’re so happy you could come. Can I help carry anything?”
Dana kissed her godchild on the cheek and stepped aside to let everyone enter.
“I can’t believe you came all this way and brought dinner, too. I’m sorry to have put you through all this trouble,” their hostess added.
“No trouble at all,” Maggie insisted.
“We always eat well at our meetings. It helps you knit better,” Suzanne said.
Maggie silently agreed. What had Virginia Woolf once said? One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well. Maggie would definitely add knitting to that list.
Introductions were exchanged as they moved into the center hall, which opened onto large rooms on either side. They dropped their tote bags and pocketbooks on a wooden bench and shed their jackets.
Holly looked very much as Maggie had pictured. With dark, wavy hair pulled back in a loose braid, a long oval face, and dark eyes that reminded Maggie of portraits by Modigliani. She was not beautiful in the conventional sense, but there was a unique loveliness to her features, and she possessed a distinct air of intelligence and independence. Her work outdoors clearly kept her fit. She stood straight and strong, dressed in a big brown sweater and jeans, her smooth skin bare of makeup.
“Just leave your things in here. I’ll help you take the food into the kitchen,” Holly told them. “The dogs won’t bother you. Don’t worry.”
The dogs weren’t barking anymore. Maggie wondered how that could be. But Dana had promised that Rose had control over them.
Another young woman hung back near the staircase. This had to be Rose. The similarity between the sisters was striking, yet they looked like different versions of the same person.
Rose was a little younger than Holly—in her late twenties, Maggie recalled—though her wide gaze and curious expression made her seem younger. While her older sister had dark eyes, her eyes were bright blue, her hair the same wavy texture but golden blond, hanging loose past her shoulders. She was not as tall as Holly and didn’t look nearly as strong. Her face was round and softer, with rosy apple cheeks. Holly appeared confident and open, but Rose seemed cautious and far more vulnerable.
Yet in total control of her canine charges, Maggie noticed. Three dogs lay obediently at Rose’s feet, making her look like a Greek goddess. Diana of the Hunt? Though the dogs were far from celestial ideals—a motley group that ranged from a large shaggy specimen with pale white fur and a wolfish grin, which displayed an impressive row of teeth, to a small barrel-shaped dog with stubby legs and pointed ears.
Maggie didn’t know much about breeds, but in the big dog she could see German shepherd or husky mixed with . . . coyote? The stout tan-and-white one was a corgi, the favorite breed of Queen Elizabeth. Its quick gaze darted between its mistress and the visitors.
There was also a medium-sized dog, with black-and-white markings and long fur. Its body was lithe, with floppy ears and a pointed nose, like a collie. The dog leaned into Rose’s leg, and Rose had her hand set on the dog’s soft head.
Maggie heard more panting and followed the sound. The entrance to a room off the foyer—a parlor or dining room, she guessed—was blocked with a wooden gate, the type used to corral children. Behind it, many other dogs huddled together, tails wagging, as they sniffed the air and stared curiously at the guests.
The room appeared to be a large front parlor. A dog parlor, she’d have to call it, filled with dog beds of various shapes and sizes, chew toys, and a line of silver bowls along one wall. There was some furniture for humans and even a TV. But the seating was covered with sheets and blankets, available for dog lounging, and the TV was tuned to a nature show.
How many dogs were there? More than a dozen, that was for sure. Before Maggie could manage a wet-nose count, she heard Rose greet Dana, enveloping her in a warm embrace, which her aunt heartily returned.
Dana stood with her arm around Rose’s shoulder as she introduced each member of the knitting group. “And this is Maggie. She owns the shop in town that I told you about.”
“How nice to meet you, Rose.” Maggie took the young woman’s hand.
Rose offered a shy smile. “I’m glad to see you, too . . . Did you bring us something good to eat?”
Maggie managed not to laugh out loud at her refreshingly honest question. “I think so. But I guess that depends on what you like to eat.”
“Oh, I’m not fussy. Holly’s not a very good cook. But I’m even worse. I clean up and set the table. Holly made me use the good china tonight,” Rose confided, sounding as if she didn’t understand the fuss. “Bella and her puppies are in the mudroom. We made a cozy spot. Want to see them?”
“Absolutely,” Maggie replied. “That’s why we came.”
“And to do some knitting,” Dana reminded them.
Maggie had not forgotten the fundamental purpose of the visit, of course, but she knew her answer would please Rose. And was also true.
Maggie wondered if the dogs would join them for dinner, and had a fleeting thought of so many sniffing noses under the table. Rose’s special trio did follow them into the kitchen but immediately lay down in a corner near the stove at Rose’s command.
While the food warmed in the oven, Rose led them to the mudroom, a small space off the kitchen that doubled as a storage area and pantry. She turned and stopped them before they could enter en masse.
“Just peek in a few at a time, please. Bella might get nervous. She’s very protective.”
Maggie understood. Poor Bella was watching over a large brood
. She didn’t need a crowd of strangers hovering over her.
Maggie took her turn with Lucy, who had seen plenty of puppies by now. Or one would assume. But she oohed and aahed as if she’d never seen a one before.
“I forgot how small they are,” Maggie whispered, careful not to upset their mother.
“Me too,” Lucy replied. “They look like little balls of fur.”
Maggie thought so, too. Though her mind made the analogy to balls of soft, fuzzy yarn. Maybe angora?
Most of the pups were reddish brown, with thick fur. A few, however, were a golden color. Most were also asleep, flopped this way and that on top of each other. Others were cuddled next to Bella, eagerly nursing. Rose leaned over and stroked her head.
“They are adorable,” Maggie remarked. “How long do they stay with their mother?”
“They’ll be with Bella four more weeks. They can’t be separated until they are six weeks old,” Rose replied.
“Can we have our turn?” Phoebe poked her head around the doorway before Maggie could ask Rose any more questions.
Maggie and Lucy left, and Suzanne and Phoebe stepped in, and everyone was soon seated at the table.
Maggie took a moment to admire the china, cream-colored plates with a pattern of pink roses. Perhaps a wedding gift to Ava Piper or a family heirloom passed down? Maggie knew her own good china would go to her daughter, Julie, a long time from now, she hoped.
Holly and Rose were so young when they’d lost their mother. Maggie felt sad to think of it. They’d lost both parents close together, Dana had mentioned, barely past their teenage years, a time when young women really need guidance and support. At least they’d had Dana to fill the gap. She was still doing her best to help them.
Holly took a seat at the head of the table. She had opened a bottle of white wine and had also set down a large pitcher of ice water. “Everything looks delicious. I don’t know where to start.”
“I’ll start,” Rose cheerfully volunteered. She scooped up a large portion of the dish Dana had made—a cheesy mix of vegetables and brown rice, oven baked. Dana had mentioned that the sisters enjoyed it, especially Rose.
Maggie liked it, too, and served herself a scoop.
Lucy had made roast chicken with lemon and herbs, and Maggie had brought a green salad and crusty bread. Phoebe had baked a dessert she called Blackout Brownies. Maggie fully expected a chocolate hangover but never doubted it would be worth it.
As they ate and chatted, Maggie noticed the rain was coming down harder. Heavy drops spattered on the windows and struck the roof with a dull, steady rhythm. Suzanne had passed on the wine, Maggie was glad to see. If the rain kept up, the drive back to the village would be even more difficult than the one out here.
But she didn’t want to worry about that now. She wanted to get to know the Pipers and teach them some knitting.
Everyone’s appetite was keen, and they made short work of dinner. Holly and Rose began clearing the dishes, and Maggie’s friends jumped up to help.
“Just leave it all in the sink. We’ll take care of it later,” Holly said.
Rose drifted off to check on Bella. She had saved scraps from dinner for the dogs and gave some to the three pets who had lain patiently near her seat and the rest to the new mother, who needed all the good food and energy she could get.
While she was gone, Holly quietly confided, “Is it okay if we knit in here, too? I let Rose have the parlor for the dogs. She’s rarely in her room upstairs anymore. She basically lives down here with them now, even sleeps on one of the couches. It’s obviously inconvenient at times. But we hardly ever have guests, and the responsibility has been very good for her.”
“No need to explain. We’re happy to knit anywhere,” Maggie assured her.
“Is it time to hear about your surprise lesson, Maggie?” Lucy asked.
“I’m more interested to find out what this lesson is than what’s for dessert. That’s saying something,” Suzanne clarified.
“It is,” Maggie agreed. “The lesson is quick, so we’ll get to dessert soon enough.”
She unpacked her supplies, medium-weight balls of soft yarn in many colors, and set them in the middle of the table. “Pick some yarn, everyone. I have printed instructions, but I’ll just demonstrate first.”
Everyone at the table chose a ball of yarn.
“What size needles should we use?” Phoebe asked, glancing through her bag.
“No needles necessary. We’re going to use our fingers.” Maggie glanced around the table, enjoying their surprised expressions.
“Fingers?” Phoebe, the most skillful in the group, after Maggie, seemed the most incredulous.
“That’s right. This is an interesting stitching technique, and you can make some very nice projects quickly with just yarn and your fingers.” Maggie took her own yarn in her right hand and extended her left on the table so everyone could see. “I’ll show you first, and then everyone can try it.”
She let the strand of yarn dangle down her palm about six inches and turned it toward the outside of her hand. “You drape the yarn like so and then just wind it in and out of your fingers. We’ll start with two fingers for now,” she said, showing them, “but you can use all four. You need to wind the yarn two times to make stitches.” She slowly wove the yarn between her index and middle finger, trying to show everyone the easy technique. “When that’s done, you just slip the bottom loops over the top loops and slide them off your fingers.”
She completed that step and showed them the back of her hand. “See how the stitches are forming? You can’t see much yet, but I’ll do a few more rounds.” She quickly did two more turns on the winding and lifting of the yarn.
Before she could show them the growing chain of stitches, Lucy and Phoebe were starting off for themselves. Rose sat between Maggie and Dana and seemed very pleased by the process, which Maggie thought a good sign.
Maggie glanced around the table. “Ready to start, everyone? Just give a shout if you have any questions.”
She turned to Rose, who had put the yarn in the right position on her hand and now carefully pulled it around the base of her fingers. “Like this?” she asked Maggie.
“Perfect.” Maggie nodded, watching her. She found it was best to let students make their mistakes. They remembered much better for the next time.
But Rose carried out the procedure easily and pulled the first stitches over her fingers. She looked over at Maggie and smiled. “I like this. I was sort of nervous about working the needles,” she admitted. “I’m not even very good with chopsticks.”
Maggie smiled. “I think knitting needles are a little easier than chopsticks. You’ll get to that in time.”
She took out a fringed scarf, finger stitched with thick yarn, and showed it around the table. “Some people might call this more of a weaving technique. But you get fast results, and the projects can be really lovely.”
Dana stretched the scarf out on the table. “That is very pretty. Why didn’t you ever teach us this before?”
Maggie shrugged. “I wanted to do something a little different than my usual Knitting one-oh-one.”
Even her basic beginner knitting lesson took some will and focus, but finger knitting seemed the perfect starting point for Rose. Maggie silently gave herself a pat on the back for thinking of it.
Suzanne was delighted and perhaps had finally found a project she would not abandon. “Maggie, I so love this. I’m never going to knit with needles again.”
Maggie wondered about that. Anything was possible.
“I’m going to make a dog collar,” Rose announced.
Maggie leaned over to check her work. She was doing very well and working at the same pace as the others, too.
“Good idea. You can make all your dogs new collars this way. I’ll leave you extra yarn.”
Holly caught her gaze and smiled. Maggie thought she appreciated the way the evening was going, how everyone was not simply nice to Rose but was treating he
r with respect. Maggie imagined that was not always the case once people knew about Rose’s disability.
Holly brought a pot of coffee and a teapot to the table, along with mugs and Phoebe’s brownies. While they quietly worked, a harsh wind whistled in the big trees outside the house.
“The storm is getting worse,” Phoebe remarked.
“Maybe it will pass by the time we’re ready to go.” Lucy was the eternal optimist. Maggie loved that about her pal. The skies above answered with a huge rumble of thunder and a clap of lightning.
The dogs in the kitchen jumped up, alert and on edge, and the gang in the parlor began barking again.
“Guess it’s going to get worse before it gets better,” Suzanne said. Maggie had to agree.
Rose put her work down. “I’d better check the dogs. Most of them hate thunderstorms.”
Holly met her gaze and nodded. “Let me know if you need help.”
Rose left the kitchen, and her four-legged squad followed, looking all business.
Holly stood up and began to serve the coffee and tea. “Some dogs are fine with the bad weather. But many get very nervous. Rose gives them a herbal medication, and a few will tolerate a thunder jacket.”
“Thunder jacket? What’s that?”
“It’s a tight-fitting garment that makes the dog feel secure. The pressure soothes anxiety. The technique helps humans, too,” Dana explained.
“I think I’ll try that for Kevin. He has a meltdown in a thunderstorm. He’s worse than the kids,” Suzanne said, mentioning her big, burly construction worker husband.
Lucy took a brownie and set it on her plate. “You’d think with Matt being a vet, we’d have the storm thing figured out. But it’s still mayhem. Tink jumps on the bed, shivering, and we have to hug her under the covers, and Wally digs all the shoes out of Matt’s closet, then hides in the back.”
“Van Gogh doesn’t like storms, either, but he’s much more sensible than that.” Phoebe sounded a bit smug describing her cat. But she was clearly outnumbered by dog lovers tonight. Then she asked everyone, “Hey, isn’t anyone going to try the brownies? I made up the recipe myself.”