The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society (12 page)

A cold tremor worked its way up Ruthie’s spine. “Are you saying you’re in financial trouble?”

“No, of course not,” Esther snapped. “However, if Frank’s income were suddenly to be lost …”

Even after all these years, the depth of her sister’s mercenary tendencies could still surprise her. “This is about money?”

“This is about my life!” Esther almost came out of her chair. “Everything I’ve ever been. Ever done. Of course it’s not just about the money. I want my husband to live.” She paused, and then the color drained from her face. “Contrary to what you’ve always thought, I do love him, Ruthie.”

Unbidden, the book they’d been reading for the Knit Lit Society came to mind, and Ruthie thought of young Sara Crewe, the little princess of the book’s title. She’d borne her demotion from an indulged child of a wealthy man to a servant in the school where she’d been the star pupil with the courage and grace of a classical heroine. Esther, however, was not made of the same stuff as the fictional Sara Crewe. Not when it came to the thing that mattered to her the most—the appearance of perfection.

“What do you want me to do?” Ruthie asked.

“Has he talked to you about this?”

Ruthie’s hesitation spoke volumes. Esther pursed her lips. “I thought as much. What did he say?”

Ruthie had been dreading this very conversation for decades, and she had certainly never expected to have it at four o’clock on a Monday afternoon sitting in the church office. She’d imagined different scenarios, of course, most of which involved Frank declaring his love for her and informing her of
his decision to leave her sister. But when it had actually happened that night at her house—well, reality was a very different thing from one’s imaginings.

“He’s just upset. He’ll see sense soon,” Ruthie said. “I’m sure of it.”

“But what did he say to you?”

Ruthie knew now why she never should have let Frank into the house that night. “Whatever he said doesn’t make any difference. He’s your husband, Esther. If his mind is to be changed, you’ll have to do it.”

“Is he going to leave me?” Suddenly, Esther looked every one of her fifty-plus years, something she never, ever did.

“No. He’s not going to leave you.”

“Because he wants to stay or because you wouldn’t give him a reason to?”

The accuracy of her sister’s question chilled Ruthie to the bone. “Esther …”

“You have to tell me.” She leaned forward in the chair, and Ruthie thought she might slip off, her balance was so precarious. “I have a right to know.”

All those years
, Ruthie thought. Days and weeks and months of living one life while dreaming of another. Guarded words and furtive glances. Loving her nephew as if he were her own, because under different circumstances he might indeed have been hers. All of that was going to end right here in the church office on an ordinary day.

“He said that he’d have the surgery if we could be together,” Ruthie said finally.

Her words hung in the air, as fragile and as sharp as glass. Ruthie saw understanding and then acceptance fill her sister’s eyes, and it was the most painful sight she’d ever seen. In some ways even more painful than looking at herself in the mirror every day. Because she’d known all this time that she’d been wrong to stay in Sweetgum. She should have left long ago. It would have been the brave thing to do. The Christian thing to do, for that matter. But she’d stayed and suffered and secretly hoped that someday, somehow, this very thing would happen. Even though she’d known that a happy ending for her was no different from a tragic one. The desires of her heart could only come at the price of her sister’s broken one.

“You have to go to him,” Esther said with a matter-of-fact tone that brooked no argument. “Tell him anything he needs to hear that will get him to agree to the surgery.”

“Esther—”

“No.” The crossing guard hand again. “You owe me this, Ruthie.”

“I owe you this?” A little flame of anger kindled in her chest. “How in the world can you think that?”

“What else am I supposed to think? I’ve known every day for more than thirty years that my sister is in love with my husband. I’ve lived with that. Pretended that it didn’t matter. Overlooked it with determination.”

“And loving Frank puts me in your debt
how
exactly?” Ruthie stood up, and the secretary’s chair that had molded to her body over the years rolled to the edge of the protective plastic mat beneath it.

Esther, too, rose to her feet. “It’s not your love for Frank that puts you in my debt,” she said. “It’s his love for you.”

“How in the world did you come to that conclusion?” Ruthie moved around her desk to stand a few feet from her sister. “I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous in my life.”

“Because you never told him no, Ruthie. You never did me the honor of killing his hope. Every family dinner, every Christmas, every birthday party for Alex. There you were. A living reminder that his life might be there in our marriage, but his heart wasn’t.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ruthie couldn’t believe she needed to defend herself. She had been the one who lost the most. No husband. No children.

Esther scooped up her handbag from the floor and flung it on her shoulder. “It’s time, Ruthie. Time to stop all of this pretending. It’s not a matter of sibling rivalry anymore. Now it’s a matter of life and death. Frank’s life and death.”

“And your financial well-being.” Ruthie knew even as she uttered the words that they were unfair. Life was never that simple. Neither were human beings.

“Do what has to be done, Ruthie. That’s what I’m asking of you. Tell him whatever he needs to hear.” For the first time,
tears appeared in Esther’s eyes. “After the surgery, you can tell him that you lied.”

“And if I don’t?”

“How long do you think it would take for the good people of Sweetgum to run you out of town on a rail when they find out you’ve been trying to seduce my husband all these years?”

“But that’s not true. You wouldn’t—”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

“I’m your sister.”

“And Frank’s my husband. Also, you’re not in any danger of dying at the moment.”

“I won’t do it.”

“You will. Sooner or later, but it better be sooner, Ruthie. Frank may not have a later.”

With that, Esther turned and walked away. She pushed open the glass door and marched across the foyer, and all Ruthie could do was watch her go.

Esther refused to cry in public, so why were tears streaming down her face as she hurried to her car? Anyone might see her, and the last thing she could stand at the moment would be sympathy or concern.

Her fingers trembled, and she struggled to unlock the car door. Cars drove past on Spring Street, but Esther kept her head down.
Hold on
, she ordered herself sternly.
Just a few more seconds …

She slid behind the wheel and pawed through her handbag for her sunglasses. When she had slipped them on, she let out a sigh of relief that sounded more like a choked sob.

He had really done it, the coward. He had told Ruthie he was ready to leave his marriage. The very thing she’d feared for so long had finally happened. Why? Why couldn’t he love her, or at least respect her enough to stay away from her sister? And the irony of it? When now was the one time Esther would want her sister to act on her feelings for Frank, Ruthie refused.

She started the engine and checked for traffic before backing out of the parking space. No one who passed by now would ever suspect that Esther Jackson, in her dark green Jaguar, had just sought to bring about the thing she most feared in order to keep her husband alive.

Merry never should have agreed to take Hannah to Nashville to the yarn store. She realized that yet again as they drove the long, straight stretch of I-65 north. In fact, after Jeff had been so uncooperative about it, she’d delayed the trip twice until Eugenie had started to pester her about it every time Merry went to the library to return another overdue book for her kids. Then she knew there’d be no escaping her promise. Truth be told, Hannah hadn’t seemed any more eager to go than Merry had been to take her.

Merry saw Hannah now and then as she was dropping Courtney off at the middle school, waved to her, and received only a vague nod in return. Hannah rode the bus with the free lunch kids, as Courtney called them despite Merry’s scolding. Merry would see Hannah slouching down the long sidewalk from the bus to the school’s front door, looking neither left
nor right. At first Merry thought she must have headphones in because she seemed so removed from her surroundings. But further observation discounted that theory. No, Hannah simply had the ability to withdraw so far into herself that she almost wasn’t there.

Almost.

When Merry had announced her plans the night before at dinner, Courtney had pitched the obligatory fit. “You’re doing what?” It had ended with Merry’s older daughter stomping out of the dining room. Jake had frowned briefly when she told him she wouldn’t be at his soccer game, but he brightened upon hearing that Mrs. Redding was the snack mom for the week. Homemade sugar cookies iced to look like soccer balls could apparently cure any feelings of abandonment. Sarah took the news with the most aplomb, but then she had a play date to spend the day with a friend whose family owned an entire stable of horses.

“You’re good to go?” Merry asked Jeff as she stocked her purse with mints and tissues and snagged a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “If you lose track, just call me on my cell phone.”

Jeff sighed. “Honey, I manage to run a law office pretty much on my own. I think I can handle the kids for one day.”

Merry decided not to correct him. Let him learn for himself why that statement was so laughable.

And now here they were, she and Hannah, having spent
most of the last hour in deafening silence. Hannah curled into the passenger seat of the minivan, her feet propped up on the dash. Merry would never let Courtney get away with that, but she was afraid to say anything to the girl. What if Hannah flat-out defied Merry’s authority? It was too late now to threaten to turn around and take her home.

“There are three yarn shops in Nashville. We can visit as many as you want,” Merry said as they passed the upscale CoolSprings Galleria. Nashville’s newest mall swam in a sea of big-box shopping, the roads packed with cars like schools of fish. “I thought we’d start with the one farthest north and then work our way back this direction.”

Hannah grunted what Merry assumed was her assent.

“Sorry it took a couple of weeks to set this up,” Merry said and then mentally kicked herself. When it came to teenagers, apologies were the death knell of authority.

They drove for another twenty minutes in the same silence. Merry wished her cell phone would ring. Something, anything to fill the emptiness. Even a wrong number would help.

She exited off the interstate onto White Bridge Road and followed it around toward a commercial area a couple of miles into town. Haus of Yarn was tucked into the bottom level of a brick shopping center across the street from a sprawling Target. The abundance of stores made Merry’s mouth water. The shops in Sweetgum could fill most of her family’s basic needs, but real selection or novelty required a trip to the city.

“Here we are.” She pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. “Ready to shop?”

Hannah shrugged. “Whatever.”

Merry had enough experience with teenage girls to know that this response could mean one of three things—Hannah was completely indifferent to what was happening, she hated being there with Merry, or she was excited and eager but far too cool to show it.

“This will be my treat, you know,” Merry said as they approached the shop. “I insist.”

Hannah stopped, clutched her enormous sack of a purse more tightly, and scowled. “I’ve got my own money.”

“But—” Merry knew the girl didn’t have any idea of the difference between buying cheap acrylic yarn at Munden’s Five-and-Dime and the elegant silks and wools she was about to encounter.

“I said I have my own money.”

“Okay.” Merry also knew better than to argue with an adolescent when she got that stubborn look on her face. “Then let’s shop.”

While Camille preferred Angel Hair Yarn in Green Hills and Ruthie was partial to Threaded Bliss in Brentwood, Haus of Yarn was Merry’s favorite of the three Nashville shops. A saleswoman greeted them with a cheery hello and an offer of help, but Merry declined. “We just want to look around a bit.”

What she really wanted was to give Hannah the chance to explore without someone watching over her shoulder.

“Take your time,” she said to the girl, who appeared not to hear her. Merry took a deep breath and plunged in. The shop wasn’t large, but it was well laid out with an abundant selection. The bright colors of the yarn stood out against the dark wood of the bins and shelves. Finished pieces—sweaters, shawls, scarves, and more—hung from the ceiling and adorned partial mannequins, a riot of color and texture that both soothed and energized Merry. One of the things she liked best about a yarn shop was the sense of endless possibility. She reached out and fingered some merino wool, silky to the touch but sturdy. Bright pinks and fuchsias contrasted with deep blues and greens. Merry moved from one set of shelves to another, her eyes drinking in the bounty before her. She glanced around the corner of a freestanding set of shelves to see what Hannah was doing, and the sight stopped her in her tracks. The look of joy and wonderment on the perpetually sullen girl’s face must’ve been akin to what Sara Crewe, the heroine of their current novel, looked like the morning she and Becky, the housemaid, awoke to find that “the magic,” as they called it, had visited their little attic garret and transformed it into a place just shy of heaven.