The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love (34 page)

“I’m sorry, Esther. You probably would do better with the dress shop than I ever could.”

Esther waved a hand in dismissal. “It was just a thought.”

Just a thought. Just everything Camille had ever wanted. Esther had just offered Camille her last chance out of Sweetgum, and she had turned it down. Because she loved Dante. Once again, the price of love would be her dreams.

Hannah’s heart was as heavy as her steps. She hadn’t wanted to go to the Knit Lit Society meeting, but Eugenie talked her into it. They walked the short block from the parsonage to the church together without saying much. Hannah still hadn’t told the librarian about her break with Josh. Thankfully, Eugenie wasn’t the type to pry. Other than to keep tabs on Hannah’s schoolwork, of course.

The Pairs and Spares Sunday school classroom was cold. Rev. Carson had told her they were trying to conserve electricity because the bills were so high. Hannah was an old hand at that. When she’d lived with her mom in the trailer, they had their power cut off all the time. A little chill in a Sunday school room was nothing compared to seeing your breath frost in the air when you lay in bed at night.

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 came 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.