Embroidered Truths (29 page)

Betsy smiled. “Yes. Very romantic.”

Godwin sighed, nodding. “We’d make a beautiful couple, him so dark and me so blond.” He sighed again, and after a few moments more of reflection, his eyes opened and he put his lemonade down. “I think I’ll take a little walk, okay?”

“All right. Lunch in half an hour?”

“Right.”

She watched him walk away, pleased to see this rekindling of his blood. He was heading downhill, in the direction of the band shell, where young people had gathered to listen and dance to a rock group. His movements were as lithe and youthful as he could possibly wish—at least judging from her end of the calendar. Those youngsters down there wouldn’t be fooled, Betsy knew. She remembered from her own youth, how anyone over twenty-five was instantly detected—and thought to be over the hill. She hoped it was true that Godwin was going to accept his age—or at least something a little closer to it.

It was nice to be very young, but even nicer to be grown up. Then, of course, there was real maturity. What would those youngsters think of her—for that matter, what must Godwin think of her, trundling inescapably down her fifties?

She was saved from further consideration by a voice talking cheerfully, coming up behind her.

“It’s the assistant superintendent of education standards, the cultural integration liaison, the curriculum instruction specialist, the management program specialist for math, and for fine arts, language arts, physical education, science—for every subject. There are pages and pages of these people, you’ll see. Every one of them has a secretary and at least one support person. They’re the ones who soak up all the money, they’re the reason I have to make every student bring me boxes of Kleenex every fall. I tell you, it’s discouraging. Whew, it’s hot! Hi, Betsy!”

Shelly was looking very attractive in a fluttery dress, her hair up on top of her head with tendrils falling in front of her ears. With her was a woman in her twenties, comfortable in denim shorts and a T-shirt advertising the Children’s Museum of St. Paul. Between them was slung an ice chest. The young woman looked at Betsy, then Shelly. “I didn’t believe you, I’m sorry,” she said.

Shelly explained, “I tried to tell her we were dressing for the picnic, but she said no one dresses for a picnic.”

“You look very comfortable,” Betsy said to the woman. “Would you like a glass of lemonade?”

“Thank you, yes. I’m Alison March.”

“She’ll be teaching second grade this fall,” said Shelly, who would herself have third graders. “Where is everyone?”

“Susan Lavery and Liam are swimming, Goddy’s down the hill dancing, and the others haven’t arrived yet.”

As if on cue, Nikki and three other part-time employees of Crewel World came panting up the hill with folding chairs and ice chests and wicker baskets. They were wearing sundresses and straw hats. There were high-pitched cries of greeting and compliments on the costumes, then lemonade was poured and everyone sat for five minutes of rehydration. Then chairs were set out, another blanket was spread, and Rennie brought out the silver and china picnic set she’d inherited from her grandmother. Linen napkins her great-grandmother had embroidered were an added touch.

Everything was just about ready when Susan came back with Liam, who was wrapped and shivering in a towel. Betsy stood to look for Godwin, who was just coming up from the band shell, an odd look on his face.

“They’re all so
young,
” he said.

“And so are you, Goddy!” said Susan, coming to kiss him on the chin. “Funny how it took so long to finally meet you, because now I see you all the time.”

Everyone sat down, either on blankets or on folding chairs, handed around bowls of salad or plates of chicken, draping linen napkins across laps, trying not to look too superior to the people across the way ducking the smoke from their grills as they prepared a hot meal while the temperature climbed to ninety-three.

“T’wooooooooo! T’wooooooooo!” breathed the low-pitched steam whistle of the antique steamship
Minnehaha
as the streetcar-shaped boat pulled away from the dock, taking passengers on a one-hour tour. Sailboats dotted the bay, and powerboats cruised among them.

On land, it was a Norman Rockwell day in the park. The parade up Water Street had been this morning, but children with decorated bicycles cruised the park, still showing off. A high school band began rocking Sousa in the bandshell. Distant squeals of children playing in the water down by the beach could be heard. Down at the baseball diamond, a dad was showing his son how to throw a sinker, his daughter smacking her hand into her glove as she waited to catch it. A woman was laughing with her infant as they watched a kite shaped like a butterfly climb into the cloudless sky.

Lars and Jill came by. Jill was wearing one of Lars’s shirts over her shorts to disguise the bulge just starting to show in her tummy. They didn’t stay long; they were so wrapped up in one another, they didn’t have much to say to anyone else. All the Crewel World people sighed and smiled after them when they walked away.

Soon after, the women gathered up the remnants and dishes and put them away. Then, one by one, they visited the rest room down by the baseball diamond to wash their hands. Back under the big, old trees, stitching projects were brought out.

Shelly said, “Goddy, you’re not knitting a sock,” her tone indicating surprise.

“No, I thought I’d try a little printed needlepoint canvas I found when I was rearranging a rack of them.” He handed it to her.

Shelly looked at it and put a hand vertically over her mouth, as if suppressing tears.

“What?” asked Betsy, and Shelly handed it on to her.

It was a bird perched in the open door of a cage set before an open window. Half finished as it was, Betsy could see Godwin had changed the colors; the bird had been green and was now white and silver, the cage had been gray, but was being stitched in metallic gold.

Betsy looked over at Godwin, who smiled at her. Walter D’Agnosto had denied any knowledge of what had happened in John’s house that evening; there seemed no chance to recover any of Godwin’s good jewelry, most especially his little diamond bird in its ormulu cage.

But with this piece, Godwin was saying it was all right; it was time to let the little bird go free.

“Do you miss him?” asked Shelly.

“Sometimes,” admitted Godwin. “But what I’m coming to understand is that it was so important to John that he be the boss that nobody else could take him on vacation and make him have a good time.” He looked at Betsy. “Right?”

Betsy nodded. “I’m sure that’s true. That’s why, even though it really was a wonderful vacation in one of the biggest cities in North America, where you visited a world-famous museum, an ancient Aztec pyramid complex, he whined and complained about it. It couldn’t be any good; it wasn’t his idea and he didn’t get to buy it for you.”

“Why, that’s despicable!” said Shelly.

“On the other hand, I don’t think he would actually have signed that new will,” said Betsy.

Bershada said, “Well, since he didn’t, does that mean you’re now independently wealthy, and too good to be consorting with the likes of us?”

“The will hasn’t finished probate yet,” said Godwin, “so I’m not rich yet. Nor,” he sighed sadly, “will I be when it is all done with.”

Shelly asked baldly, “How much did he leave you?”

“A lump sum of eight thousand,” said Godwin, “
plus
the interest from a trust fund that will bring me a few thousand a month for the rest of my life. The lump sum is supposed to be for me to move somewhere else, like San Francisco. He specifically mentioned San Francisco.” He looked around the blankets, at the smiling faces looking back. “As
if!
” he shouted, and fell back in his chair, laughing.

Later, as the long summer twilight turned to night and everyone began focusing on the lake in anticipation of fireworks, Betsy leaned toward Godwin and murmured, “You’re not even tempted to try San Francisco?”

“No,” he murmured back. “Too expensive. Besides, out there, I’d just be one of several thousand brilliantly gay men. Here, in this little pond, I’m the shiny big frog.”

Out on the lake, two long barges were anchored. Small figures could be seen hurrying about on them. Down in front of the bandshell, someone had set off a big fountain and children could be seen dancing around its golden sparks.

“Betsy,” Godwin said, his tone just a trifle too studied, “do you think I’ll ever fall in love again?”

“Of course you will. You’ll find a nice young man with a future. A doctor fresh out of medical school, perhaps.” She nodded. “Yes, I can see you settling down with a doctor.”

“You sound like a Jewish mother,” said Bershada with a deep chuckle.

“Or an Italian one,” said Shelly.

“She sounds like Mrs. Everymother,” said Nikki, “including my own.”

“Oh, look!” said Godwin, pointing. From somewhere across the lake, Wayzata perhaps, a big skyrocket was spewing stars. Then, farther south, another.

A minute later, something out on the barge went,
“Phoomp!”
A silver-white rocket painted a squiggly line up the sky, and with a multitude of stars and a rattle of little explosions the Excelsior display began.

“Aaaahhhhh,” sighed everyone, happily.

Directions for Tlatolli Pattern

There are two ways to approach this pattern.

 
First way: Using the DMC 321 red floss (or any red floss), using two strands, make a single cross for every black square on the pattern. Outline the design in backstitch using a single strand of DMC 310 black, or any black floss.

 
Second way: Do the back stitching in DMC 310 or any black floss. Use a single strand. Then fill in with DMC 321 red, or any red floss, using two strands. You may wish to use half or other partial stitches.