Till Death Do Us Purl (3 page)

Right on cue, Lucy thought. As if Maggie had stashed the mother and daughter on the front porch until she’d finished negotiating.

Greetings were exchanged as Nora and Rebecca found seats at the table. Phoebe left to help Maggie bring in the dinner they had prepared.
The shop was on the first floor of a Victorian-era house turned into commercial space. Some basic equipment remained in the former kitchen, which now served as a storeroom.

“I hope we’re not interrupting anything.” Nora smiled politely as she took a seat between Dana and Suzanne. “Maggie said you wouldn’t mind us crashing the party. But I know this is your special meeting night.”

“We’re happy you could join us,” Dana replied quickly. “We’re amazingly free of rules around here.”

“Totally. We’re like free-range knitting chickens or something,” Phoebe chimed in.

Free-range knitting chickens? Everyone paused a moment to process the image. Lucy suddenly saw herself in a barnyard, pecking at bits of corn, knitting needles tucked beneath a feathery wing.

But it was true. They didn’t have any rules, just a few comfortable habits that seemed to work well for them over the years. Opening their circle to Nora and Rebecca tonight didn’t feel odd at all, they were such regulars around the shop.

Nora was in her early fifties, at most. Her smooth brown hair was cut to chin-length with long sweeping bangs. She was always carefully made up and her taste in clothing and jewelry tended toward conservative style and good quality. Small and trim, she was attractive, in a quiet, classy way, Lucy thought. Her blue eyes were her best feature, a trait that Rebecca had inherited.

Otherwise, Rebecca didn’t look at all like her mother. She had very fair skin, pale blond hair that went past her shoulders and fine, cameo-like features. She never wore
makeup, but really didn’t need any. Rebecca was quite a bit taller than Nora, and just plain bigger all over. Her figure, a softly rounded hourglass was the ideal of some bygone era. She even dressed a bit retro, Lucy noticed, with her long hair clipped back and a ruffle trim peeking out from the edge of her hand-knit cardigan.

While so many young women were starving themselves to match some bony body type, Rebecca seemed quite comfortable with her generous silhouette. The large diamond solitaire on her finger seemed to support a radical theory—real women had curves and some men really liked them that way.

Weddings could make people crazy under any circumstances. Lucy, who had been married and divorced, knew that for a fact. But she could see why the unexpected crash deadline had thrown the bride and her mother into a tizzy. Rebecca was not a little slip of a thing who could be covered with a few rows of lace here and there.

How long did it normally take to knit a wedding gown, anyway? Lucy had no idea. Longer than two weeks, she was certain of that.

No wonder they’d called in Maggie and her reserves. She only hoped her dear friend’s nimble fingers were up to the challenge.

Maggie and Phoebe soon returned with the food. The smell was tantalizing and reminded Lucy that she had skipped lunch.

“Here we are. Everything’s nice and hot. Chicken with black beans and yellow rice.”

Maggie and Phoebe set out the serving dishes, the entrée, and rice, along with a green salad and some
trimmings—cheddar cheese, avocado bits, and sour cream. The women rose and fixed their dishes, returning to the table to eat.

“This is delicious, Maggie. I’d love to get the recipe,” Rebecca said as she took another bite.

“Rebecca’s already a good cook. Lucky Jeremy,” Nora reported. “Miles ahead of me when I was a bride. These days most young women look at cooking as more of a hobby than some required skill they need to run a household. A sign of progress, don’t you think?”

“I want to marry a man who can cook for me,” Phoebe announced. “I think that’s progress.”

“You’re always ahead of the curve, Phoebe,” Lucy noted.

“Sometimes, right off the grid,” Maggie agreed. “Does Josh cook for you?” she asked curiously. Phoebe’s boyfriend played bass guitar and sang for a band called the Big Fat Whining Babies. With all that musical talent, Lucy wondered if he had any in the kitchen, too.

Phoebe shrugged. “He makes really good coffee . . . and he made this quesadilla once. It had a scrambled egg in it. And some lunch meat.”

Maggie’s eyes widened. “Case closed.”

“Kevin cooks every once in a while,” Suzanne said of her husband. “But he makes such a big deal out of it. You’d think he’d just discovered fire. He’s like, ‘Look at me. I’m cooking food! Isn’t this amazing?’ I don’t expect a standing ovation when I put dinner on the table every night, know what I mean?”

Dana smiled. “Jack’s the same way. It might take a few more generations of sharing that gender-specific
task before men stop expecting applause.”

“In other words, not in our lifetimes, ladies,” Suzanne translated with a laugh. “Anyway, getting back to the wedding,” she quickly shifted gears. “We hear that your plans have been bumped up, Rebecca. Two weeks from now, is that right?” Suzanne posed the question in her best TV talk show hostess voice.

“March 24, not this weekend, the weekend after.”

Rebecca seemed surprisingly resigned to this accelerated schedule, as Maggie had mentioned. But she did seem the type who took life’s many speed bumps in stride.

A character trait that would come in handy during married life, Lucy knew well. Her marriage to her college boyfriend had lasted almost seven years and she’d been divorced now for three.

While Rebecca had sailed serenely through the change in plans, Nora obviously had not. “We’d booked the Harbor House. Settled the menu, the flowers, everything. They were going to be married at that pretty stone church on the green.” Nora’s voice held a shaky note of longing. “We had to cancel everything.”

“But Jeremy’s father offered to have the entire party, the ceremony and reception,” Rebecca quickly explained.

“They have a huge estate . . . and a fabulous house,” Nora added.

“And we managed to find a really good caterer. Even at the last minute. The rest of it, the music and flowers and all that, was rearranged somehow. Jeremy’s family really saved the day,” Rebecca said.

“It’s only fair,” her mother added. “The plans
were changed because of some business situation at his father’s company. Some big deal going on in the spring with a new product Jeremy is working on. His father told him that if they didn’t get married now, they would have to wait until the summer. Or maybe even the fall. Neither of them liked that at all. They want to have a reasonably sized reception and a honeymoon.”

“I really want to be married with my family and friends around me.” Rebecca smiled at her mother. “And we didn’t want to wait. The wedding is just one day, no matter how nice the party. The important part is starting a new life with the person you love, for the rest of your life, right?”

“How true.” Maggie nodded. “The way some young women plan their weddings these days, you’d think the priority was just the opposite.”

“What does Jeremy do for a living?” Suzanne asked.

“He’s a scientist. The senior chemist at At-Las Technologies. His family owns the firm.” Rebecca sounded proud. Rightfully so, Lucy thought. She’d heard of that company, one of the largest in the area.

It all made sense now. The groom was the crown prince of At-Las Technologies, raised in a beautiful castle on the harbor, where the couple would soon be married. No wonder Rebecca seemed so serene. She was marrying into a fortune.

All the more impressive that she insisted on making her own gown, when her fiancé could have afforded to buy her any one in the world.

Nora seemed to sense what Lucy and the others must be thinking after pegging her affluent, soon-to-be in-laws. “I told Rebecca we should just go to Boston
or even New York and buy a gown and all the trimmings. But she has her heart set on knitting her own—and the shrugs for the bridal party. She still wants the wedding to have a personal touch, to be meaningful to her and Jeremy.”

“I’m going to do this just one time in my life,” Rebecca insisted. “I want it to be special. Anyone can go out and buy a dress in some wedding boutique.” She paused and glanced at her mother. “I’m sorry . . . does that seem really crazy or unreasonable?”

“Not at all,” Maggie quickly assured her. “I understand. I made my own wedding gown, too.”

Lucy and the rest of their group all turned to look at Maggie. Obviously, none of them had ever heard that before. “You did? I don’t think you ever mentioned it.” Lucy glanced at her friends, just to be sure.

“Oh, I must have.” By the way Maggie shrugged, Lucy could tell Maggie knew she’d never told them.

“I definitely would have remembered.” Dana pinned Maggie with a look.

“I wasn’t a very proficient knitter back then. Ambitious, I will say. I’ll show you pictures sometime,” she added. “It was sort of a hippie-girl, granny-gown style.” Maggie motioned on her figure as she described it. “Quite in keeping with the Golden Age of Granola. The first Golden Age, I mean. Anyway, Bill and I were married in a farm meadow. I dragged that gown through some nasty stuff on my way to say my vows and back. It wasn’t very well made and didn’t wash well, either,” she finally admitted. “Maybe that’s why I’m eager to try again to do it right. I promise you my skills have
improved considerably.”

“You’re the best, Maggie,” Rebecca replied quickly. “I appreciate any help you can give me. I really want to do this.” She glanced over at her mother. “I just feel bad for my poor mom. She’s been so great about all these sudden changes with the wedding. I know it’s been harder on her than me.”

“How sweet,” Suzanne cooed. “I wish my daughter would say something like that. She’s in that horrid teenage stage right now. She even hates the way I breathe,” she added with a laugh.

“Rebecca went through all that. I promise it will pass,” Nora said. She reached over and patted her daughter’s hand. “It all passed much too quickly. Before you know it, they’re all grown up and you’re planning a wedding day.”

“With a few unexpected glitches,” Rebecca added.

“Hey, that’s what we’re here for,” Dana said. “Maggie already signed us on to help you.”

“Really?” Nora looked as if she didn’t quite believe it. “All of you?” she asked, gazing around.

“Absolutely. One for all and all for one. We’re like the musketeers,” Suzanne said.

“With knitting needles,” Dana added.

“We’re your basic knitting dream team,” Phoebe said.

“We’ll each make a bridesmaid shrug. Phoebe is going to make one for the flower girl,” Lucy noted.

“If you show us the patterns tonight, we’ll get started.” Maggie told Nora. Lucy could tell that their fearless leader was pleased the knitting circle had come to the rescue.

Nora glanced around at the circle of women, her smile wide and incredulous. “I thought we’d have to give up on the
bridal party and just focus on the gown at this point. Honestly, we appreciate the offer, but you don’t have to go to all this trouble—”

“No buts about it,” Suzanne said, interrupting. “Where Maggie knits, we follow.”

“There’s not nearly as much chitchat once I get them pointed in the right direction,” Maggie said. “Okay, ladies. Let’s clear away these dishes and get to work.”

Once the table was cleared, Nora and Rebecca took out the patterns and pictures of the gown and shrugs. Then they showed the group their progress, which was alarmingly little, Lucy noticed.

The shrug was fairly simple, as Maggie had promised. It was styled with a three-quarter-length raglan sleeve. The long V-shaped opening trailed off into two long sections that tied above the waist.

The style was very forgiving for a knitter and flattering to almost any figure. And it wouldn’t need personalized fitting on the various bridesmaids, Maggie pointed out. Luckily, for there was no time for that step.

Nora had brought enough yarn to get them all started. Phoebe made copies of the pattern and picture, and Maggie handed out the correct size needles to everyone. They all cast on at the same time, Maggie acting as if the NASCAR of knitting was about to take place.

“Okay, ladies . . . on your mark. Get set. Knit!”

Lucy knew she was only kidding, but it was hard to ignore the four sets of needles suddenly clicking all around her. She struggled to keep her own pace and focus on her own knitting without looking over at her friends to check their
progress. It was the best way to run any race, she knew, and just another way that knitting imitated life.

Rebecca and Nora had chosen a silky, extrafine yarn in a dusty rose color that immediately brought to mind rustling gowns, rose petals, and the opening chords of the wedding march.

The bridesmaids’ gowns were off the shoulder and fairly bare, they’d told the group. Since the gowns had been chosen for spring weather, the matching sweaters were needed now just for warmth.

Lucy liked the style, which she knew would make her knitting easier and faster. It was funny how that worked. She often knit items for her family—her two nieces mainly, who lived in Concord and sent in their orders by e-mail. She rarely refused to fulfill their requests. But when she didn’t share their enthusiasm for some zany hat or miniskirt, it was slow going.

The wedding gown was another story. A long, complicated story, Lucy thought as she listened to Rebecca and Maggie discuss the pattern and formulate a plan of attack.

Like a general in a battle tent, Maggie didn’t seem the least bit dismayed as she compared the completed sections to Rebecca’s picture and tried to figure out ways they could speed along the process. The material for the gown was a fine ecru lace that draped over a lining of the same shade satin. A local seamstress had made that part of the dress, which now served as a basic outline for the rest.

Maggie brought out a dressmaker’s form from the storeroom and they slipped the satin lining over it, then pinned on the pieces of knitted lace Rebecca had
so far completed. It wasn’t much, Lucy noticed . . . and didn’t look like much, either.

But Maggie had an amazing ability to visualize. Not just imagining the blank spaces filled in, but also redesigning the entire style. She was amazingly artistic, using her needles and fiber the way a painter used a brush and pallet.