“That’s…that’s absurd,” he stammered.
Alix felt he was the absurd one, thinking she could change who she was, wipe out her past and play the role of pastor’s wife. “I’m sorry. More than anything, I wish I could be the woman you and everyone else want me to be. I tried, but it’s not going to work.”
“You’re serious, then? It isn’t just the wedding you’re calling off, it’s the whole marriage?”
This wasn’t a ploy or a trick to get him to change his mind about the wedding and do it her way. He’d summarized the situation clearly. She couldn’t marry him. She’d let her love cloud her feelings, confuse her actions. She’d realized, while scratching the skin off her arms, that Jordan hadn’t listened to her. He thought he had, assumed he’d allayed her fears. Because she’d wanted to believe him, she’d allowed his confidence to momentarily reassure her.
“What do we do now?” he asked. He gestured weakly, then let his arms fall to his sides.
Alix shook her head and shoved her hands in her pockets for fear she’d start scratching again. “Your mother will know the proper protocol,” she told him.
His mouth thinned, and Alix could tell that the prospect of facing his mother displeased him.
“I don’t think canceling the wedding’s going to be that much of a problem. Don’t worry. Your family will smooth everything over.” With these words, she walked out of his office.
Jordan didn’t come after her.
Alix got on the bus and rode around for a long time, lost in her misery. On impulse she changed buses and went out to Sea-Tac Airport, then walked to nearby Star Lake, where Jordan’s grandmother, Sarah Turner, lived. With the wedding officially canceled, Alix didn’t know if she’d ever see her again. The prayer shawl was finished and she wanted to give it to Sarah. Unfortunately she didn’t have it with her.
It was quite a hike from the road to the residential area around the lake, but the physical exertion made Alix feel better.
She recognized the house from her visit at Christmas and the time she and Jordan had gone in January. She walked down the dusty driveway and discovered Grandma Turner busy working in her yard. The old woman held a large watering can and wore coveralls and rubber boots, her thick white hair tied back with a red-and-blue bandanna. She straightened when she saw Alix.
“Hello, Grandma,” Alix said, although she knew it was presumptuous to address Pastor Turner’s mother as Grandma, since Alix was no longer going to be part of the family.
“Alix? Is that you?”
She nodded.
“Where’s Jordan?”
Alix shrugged. “Work, I guess.”
Grandma set the watering can aside and clumped over to the house to turn off the faucet. “Well, come inside and have a glass of iced tea. I’m glad you’re here.” Her welcome was so warm, it almost brought Alix to tears.
Obediently Alix followed her to the house.
“I was watering my garden and tending the rhododendrons,” Sarah said as she removed her boots, lining them up on the back steps. “They’re gorgeous this year. Did you notice?”
Alix barely heard her. She stood in the doorway, hands in her pockets, and knew she had to say something, had to explain. “I shouldn’t have come,” she mumbled.
“Nonsense,” Grandma Turner said briskly. As if to prove her point, she took two glasses from the kitchen cupboard.
Alix stepped inside and breathed in the simple beauty around her—the scarred oak table, scrubbed clean, the pots of herbs, the handwoven curtains and braided rug. She loved this house and she loved Jordan’s grandmother. To her horror, she began to cry.
Sniff ling, she ran her sleeve under her nose. “I…wanted to tell you I knit you a shawl.” Somehow she managed to get the words out but she didn’t know if they were even intelligible.
Jordan’s grandmother turned to squint at her. “Where’d I put my eyeglasses?” She started moving things on the table in a fruitless search. “I hear better with my glasses on.”
Despite her misery, Alix grinned. Seeing them on the counter, she walked farther into the kitchen and handed them to the old woman. Grandma Turner slid them on, then looked at her and frowned.
Alix wiped her nose again. “I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again,” she said. “I came to say thank you and to tell you goodbye.”
“Goodbye? Aren’t you marrying—” Grandma stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowed.
“There isn’t going to be a wedding,” Alix told her, refusing to lay blame or offer elaborate explanations. Grandma Turner would hear all about it soon enough.
The old woman pulled out a kitchen chair, sat down and sighed. “No wedding. Now, that’s a crying shame. I like you, Alix. You’re exactly what this family needs.”
Alix desperately wished that was true.
“Talk about a bunch of stuffed shirts.”
“Grandma!”
Sarah Turner sipped her iced tea, then patted Alix’s hand.
“I didn’t…know where else to go.” Even now, Alix wasn’t sure what had drawn her to the old woman. Telling her about the shawl was only an excuse.
“You came to exactly the right place,” Grandma Turner assured her.
Alix choked on a sob. “I gotta leave.” The old lady didn’t need her blubbering all over the kitchen. Besides, Alix wasn’t in the mood to sit around and exchange polite chitchat.
“Did I ever tell you about Jordan’s grandfather and me?” Grandma Turner asked. “Before we got married?”
“No.”
Grandma passed her a box of tissues.
“The Turner family didn’t think I was the girl for him.”
Alix found that hard to believe.
“As you know, I worked back in the days when it was rare for a woman to hold a job outside the home. The Turner family was in the ministry and disapproved of that.”
“But you did marry him,” Alix said, dabbing at her eyes. She hated showing any kind of weakness.
“Yes, I did—because Lawrence stood up to his family and insisted he loved me. I remember him talking to his parents as firm as could be. He said he was well past the age of consent, well past letting them make his decisions for him. If they couldn’t see the blessings I brought to the family, then they needed to open their eyes.”
Grandma Turner thought she was helping, but the old woman didn’t realize how badly her words hurt. Jordan would never do that for Alix. In fact, he seemed almost relieved about canceling the wedding. What worried him most was facing his mother and telling her the whole thing was off. Alix loved Jordan, but it had become obvious that she wasn’t the right woman for him—and that he wasn’t the right man for her.
CHAPTER 25
“Why do people who love to knit complain about knitting a row with 1200 stitches and not about knitting 20 rows with 60 stitches?”
Candace Eisner Strick, author of Sweaters From a New England Village (Down East Books, 1996), Beyond Wool (Martingale Books, 2004) and Knit One, Stripe Too (Martingale Books, 2007)
Lydia Goetz
I was now standing guard over Margaret, and that was a real switch. From my teen years onward, I was the coddled one, fragile and sickly, and as a result, I developed the troubling habit of waiting for others to step in and take care of me. That didn’t change until my life finally stopped revolving around my needs, my desires—which happened when I opened the yarn store three years ago.
I’ve learned such valuable lessons about running a business and coping with people and making decisions. And that included everything going on in our family. I’d become my sister’s protector, and one manifestation of that was shielding her as much as possible from what was going on with Mom. Margaret had enough to deal with in taking care of Julia—and herself.
Because of this, Margaret was taking a lot of time off work. I let her go as often as she felt necessary, which wasn’t easy for me. Some days I didn’t even get a lunch break. It was one customer after another until the end of the day. Thankfully, I loved what I was doing! I still love it.
This Wednesday morning in early May was unusual—because Margaret had nothing to say. My sister’s always been quick to share her opinions, wanted or not. She showed up for work and hardly said a word. Questions hovered on the tip of my tongue. I knew Julia had joined a support group for crime victims—which I’d learned from Hailey.
At first it irritated me that my own sister hadn’t given me this latest update. But vocal as she is, especially about other people’s actions, Margaret can be intensely private about her own life and affairs. I supposed she would eventually have mentioned this counseling group of Julia’s; at least I hoped so.
As if she’d been reading my thoughts, Margaret approached me where I was taking inventory. This particular wool was one of my favorite brands and it felted beautifully. I could hardly keep it on the shelves. The key is choosing the right colors and with hundreds of choices from which to select, I’d been experimenting, bringing in new shades.
“I’m going to need time off this afternoon,” Margaret announced bluntly. “That isn’t a problem, is it?”
“It’s the shawl class,” I reminded her. I counted on my sister to be there in case customers stopped by.
“Yes, I know, but this is important.” I heard the defensiveness in her voice.
I bit off the words asking my sister how much longer she’d be requiring time away from work. “I’ll manage,” I told her, although I didn’t look forward to running the class while waiting on customers.
Margaret’s reluctance to explain worried me. At one point she’d talked about hiring a private detective, but if she’d done so, I wasn’t aware of it. I hoped—trusted—that Matt had talked her out of it.
After an interminable pause, Margaret answered my unspoken question. “Julia’s going into police headquarters at three to identify the defendant in a lineup,” she said.
“The police caught him?” You’d think Margaret would’ve said something!
“Detective Johnson believes this is the one,” she muttered. “He’s in a lineup so Julia can get a good look at him.”
My immediate concern was for my niece and how she’d react to seeing her attacker again. “How’s she handling that?”
Margaret didn’t betray her feelings easily; nevertheless, I could see she was nervous. “Matt and I talked to her this morning. We told her the suspect—” she spat out the word “—can’t hurt her again. I assume he’s already behind bars.”
I didn’t tell my sister that just because he’d been brought in for a lineup didn’t necessarily mean he was in jail. Of course, everything I knew about police procedure I’d learned on Law & Order. I did realize that a lot depended on Julia’s ability to make a positive identification. Then and only then would the suspect be charged.
“Julia’s stronger now than at any time since the attack,” Margaret went on. “Matt and I are going with her.”
