The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love - By Beth Pattillo Page 0,78
to carve the turkey?”
Her question made Maria’s chest ache. Yet another of her fathers responsibilities, yet another hole in their lives. But once again James stepped into the void.
“If you need me to, I can do it.”
Maria looked at her mother, whose eyes were moist. The older woman nodded. “Please.”
And that simply, that quickly, James Delevan found a place in the Munden family circle. It was the last place in the world Maria would have expected him to seem at home, but he did. He wielded the carving knife with experienced precision, and in another few moments all of the dishes had been handed around, the turkey had been distributed, and they were laughing and eating and squabbling as they had every other Christmas dinner of their lives.
“So what does Scarlett learn about love?” Eugenie asked the assembled members of the Knit Lit Society on the third Friday in January.
Esther looked around the table. The discussion would commence with one member notably absent. Although Hunter was much better, Merry still stuck close to his side. The baby’s illness, along with the rest of the upheaval the women were experiencing, had put a cloud over the group.
“Love? Scarlett learns she’s better off without it.” Hannah’s answer was immediate. “She should have hooked up with Ashley and left Melanie to fend for herself.”
“Scarlett was too young to know what she wanted. It takes maturity to learn what you want. Or who you want.” Maria shifted uncomfortably in her seat, as if she feared she’d revealed more than she’d intended. Esther thought she had. Maria wasn’t much past thirty, but the gray streaks in her hair, the faded wardrobe, and her lack of makeup added another decade. Someone needed to give her a makeover.
“Do we ever really know what we want when it comes to love?” Eugenie asked. “Or do we come to understand that when it’s too late?”
“It’s not always a Rhett or Ashley choice though, is it?” Camille didn’t look up from her needles. “The good guy or the bad boy. Life’s not that simple.”
“Or that complicated.” Esther was weary of Eugenie’s way of confusing the simplest question. “I think we make it too… what’s the word? Messy, maybe. Or mysterious. We get carried away with our feelings.”
“Scarlett was afraid of any man who was her equal,” Hannah said with authority. “She just wanted to dominate and manipulate Ashley. Kind of like most of the cheerleading squad at the high school.”
Esther pursed her lips to keep from smiling. Hannah always tried to shock them, but mostly her insights were amusing. And accurate.
“So how do we know if a man is an Ashley or a Rhett?” Eugenie asked.
For a moment, Esther resented Eugenie’s analytical bent. The librarian had finally found the love of her life and could afford to be detached about the search for a mate. But Esther, having just lost hers, was at the opposite end of the spectrum. The prospect of finding another man with whom to share her life was so daunting that it made her want to run home, jump in bed, and pull the covers over her head. Especially when coupled with thoughts of Brody McCullough.
Thoughts that made her blurt out an answer.
“Frank was my Ashley Wilkes.” Esther’s words pierced the gloomy atmosphere, and the other women and Hannah looked at her as if she’d just sprouted another nose on her face.
“Esther, I know it’s been a difficult time.” Eugenie reached over as if to pat her hand, then stopped herself. “That is to say—”
“Then who’s your Rhett Butler?” Hannah asked. Fourteen-year-olds apparently had fewer qualms than adults when it came to impertinent questions.
For once, Esther didn’t resent the teenager’s presence in the group. Hannah’s honesty ordinarily irritated her, but today Esther felt like confronting things—the past, her feelings, and the other women seated around the table.
“I’m sure it’s the shock of the loss—,” Eugenie began, but Esther held up her hand and interrupted.
“No, Eugenie. It’s the truth. I loved Frank, but was he my grand passion? I don’t know.” She felt her cheeks grow warm. Self-revelation was new to Esther, and she didn’t like it one bit, but something was happening to her. Whether it was that dog or the loss of her lifestyle or Brody McCullough in his decrepit pickup truck, she didn’t know. Whatever the cause might be, she couldn’t stop what was happening.
“So who was your Rhett Butler, then?” Hannah asked again.
“She might not want to answer that.” Maria laid down her