The Restoration of Celia Fairchild - Marie Bostwick Page 0,94
for you. And it’s not. You’ll get the hang of it. Don’t be so nervous, this part is just for practice, so you’re knitting in the right gauge. We’ll start the blanket next time. All I want you to do this week is cast on and knit a piece that’s four inches square. Don’t worry if you have to rip it out and do it over a few times. Practice makes progress.”
“Practice makes progress,” I muttered in a nasally and wholly inaccurate imitation of her voice, which was way more cigarette smoke and gravel than nasal and nag.
“I heard that!” Polly chirped.
As I sat there, grumbling and struggling, the knots in my shoulders were almost as tight as the stitches on my knitting needles. But after a few minutes of struggle, it occurred to me that knitting a blanket, or crafting anything by hand, was actually hard and that was what made it special. I hadn’t expected that something as seemingly simple as knitting could stir up so many emotions or make me feel so connected to other women, and not just those in the room.
For generation upon generation, expectant mothers had chosen yarn, fabric, and thread, wielded needles and hooks, to create lovely things for children they hoped to have. Crafting was an act of faith as well as love. Sometimes those hopes were dashed. But they did it just the same, and now I was one of them. The thought was so big and so beautiful that I dipped my head low over my knitting and frowned, pretending I’d dropped a stitch, and quickly swiped away a tear.
It was a good night, unexpectedly good, and it got unexpectedly better. Just as we were wrapping up, I heard footsteps on the stairwell and looked up to see Happy standing in the doorway, looking tired but sober, and clutching a crumpled paper grocery bag.
“I . . . I hope it’s okay that I let myself in,” she said, and clutched the bag a little closer to her chest. “I was just wondering, is it too late to join you?”
AFTER EVERYBODY LEFT, I helped Polly repack the suitcase and carry it down the stairs to the front door. She’d made a few sales that night, so it was lighter, but not a lot lighter.
“Thank you for this,” Polly said, bobbing her head and then pressing her lips together, as if she was afraid to say more.
“Are you kidding? All I did was make iced tea and open the door; you’re the one who did the work. What are you thanking me for?”
“Because it was fun. And because you gave me a chance to do what I love. I’m still a good teacher. Even if I am a bad businesswoman.” Polly paused, swallowed hard, and forced a smile. “I went over the books again this weekend and . . . It’s just no use. I’m closing the store at the end of the month. July thirty-first will be my last day in business.”
“Oh, Polly.”
Sheepish was her dream. She’d put everything into making it come true—sweat, money, and hope. My heart broke for her.
“It’s no big deal,” she said, even as her smile became brittle. “Could have been worse. At least I had my shot, you know? At least I tried. Some people never do.”
I blinked back tears. Polly’s smile flattened to a line.
“Stop. Do not look at me like that.” She pointed a finger directly at my nose. “Celia, if you make me cry, I swear I will never, ever forgive you. Do you hear me?”
“Oh. Polly.”
I couldn’t help myself. Neither could she. When I opened my arms, Polly fell forward and cried on my shoulder, and I cried with her. Sometimes, the only thing that makes life bearable is not having to bear it alone.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Hang on.”
I lowered my end of the dresser back down to the floor, then bent down to put my hands on my knees and sucked in several big breaths.
“You okay?” Pris asked.
“Just gimme a second.”
I took a couple more breaths and straightened up. “Lorne took Red and Slip to help move Teddy and left us here to get the room ready because he didn’t think I’d be strong enough to lift furniture. So what are we doing?”
“Lifting furniture,” Pris said at the same time that I did.
“This thing is heavy. Maybe we should just leave it here.”
“In the middle of the room? That’d be an interesting design choice.”