Cutwork (7 page)

“Hardanger,” Char replied. Betsy had heard of Hardanger, but had never seen any. She asked Char to bring in a sample of her work. A week later she did, a spectacular table runner of her own design. Well over a yard in length, it was stitched on platinum-colored Cashel linen with threads matching in color—“Hardanger is usually stitched color on color,” said Char, meaning white on white, buff on buff, or some color on a matching color.

The piece was composed of three geometric motifs made up of tiny squares filled with very fine, lace-like designs. These were interrupted by star-like satin-stitch motifs, and the whole surrounded by a border pattern made of more of the little squares in geometric patterns that identify Hardanger.

“I know it looks complicated,” said Char, “but it isn’t. It’s made up of squares surrounded by five simple stitches on a side. The centers can be left alone, or snipped out entirely, or you can snip the weave threads and leave the warp threads so they look like little stripes, or you can wrap the threads into shapes called ‘bars.’”

Yes, well, Betsy thought, bending to discover that what appeared to be tiny beads attached to some of the bars were, in fact, a loop of thread. She touched one gently. “Those are called picots,” said Char, which she pronounced
pea-koze
.

Delicate rows of triple cable stitch flowed along the outer edge, just inside the buttonhole binding. Every stitch was as flawless as its sister, yet there was an indefinable feel and look to the pattern that said a human hand had done this, not a machine.

Running her fingers over the luxuriously textured squares, Betsy, feeling more than a little overwhelmed, said, “How long does it take to learn to do all this?”

Char shook her head. “Not long. If you can count to five, you can make a Hardanger kloster block. After you learn that, the rest is just patience.”

And Betsy, who at this stage of learning needlework should have known better, believed her. “Would you be willing to teach me? No, let’s do this right: Would you be willing to teach a class here at Crewel World?”

Char’s hazel eyes darkened with pleasure. “All right.”

So here she was, carrying a basket filled with beginner kits: fabric squares, fibers, needles, and a sheet of instructional text. “Is everyone coming?” she asked as Betsy let her into the shop.

“I suppose so. At least, no one’s called to cancel.” Four people in addition to Betsy had signed up. Betsy needed five in order to break even—she didn’t count herself—so this was a bit disappointing.

Char went to the library table in the middle of the room. She put her materials on it, and stood with her back to Betsy for a moment. “Betsy, can I ask you something?” she said without turning around.

“Sure,” said Betsy, but before Char could continue, there was a knock at the door.

It was the first of the other students; the rest followed in quick succession. They were Shelly Donohue, retired librarian Bershada Reynolds, and regular customers Ivy Jackson and Doris Valentine. After they were seated, Char asked each one to introduce herself to the others and tell what kinds of needlework she already knew how to do. Bershada was explaining that she’d done counted cross-stitch for “twenty years, at least,” when there was a knock on the door.

Betsy went to open it, and found Godwin standing there looking near tears. “What’s wrong, Goddy?” she asked in a low voice.

“I had another fight with John and it was my turn to go for a cooling-off walk, but I don’t feel like walking. I remembered we have a class in Hardanger starting tonight and thought maybe I could try it.”

“You’re really upset. Do you think you’d get anything out of it? No, no, wait a minute! This may be just the thing! It’s one of those kinds of needlework that takes a little concentration and a lot of patience. Very soothing to the distressed mind. Come in.”

“I’ll write you a check tomorrow.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” She gave him a quick hug. “I’m glad you came by.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he murmured, and squaring his shoulders and assuming a cheerful face, he went to the table and sat down. “Hi, Char,” he said with a smile, “hi, Bershada; hi, Shelly; hello, Mrs. Jackson; hello, Ms. Valentine.”

Char giggled. “I guess this is one person who doesn’t need to introduce himself.” Then she continued, “In theory, Hardanger isn’t difficult.” She handed the small squares around the table. “Hardanger cloth is a variety of Aida, which is a two-thread weave, so be careful not to split the weave or it will throw your count off.” Ivy, the senior woman present, moved down a chair so she could use the Dazor light attached to the table. She snapped it on and held the cloth square under it, looking at it through the big magnifying glass in its center.

“You make a kloster block by placing five stitches side by side, working over four threads,” Char said. “Everyone cut a length off the Number Five Perle floss.” She handed balls of floss and blunt needles around the table. “You’re less likely to split the fabric if the needle is blunt,” she explained. She noted with satisfaction that no one reached for a needle threader from the jar of them Betsy kept on the table; that meant there were no beginning stitchers present.

“Now, stitch a row of five vertical stitches near the center top of your fabric.” She picked up her own fabric square, pinched it to mark the center, and began to stitch. Heads came together as bottoms rose off the chairs and everyone looked at Char’s stitching. Satisfied, they all sat down and began to stitch. When everyone had done five stitches, Char said, “Now, bring your needle back through the bottom of the last stitch, and let that be the start of five horizontal stitches. You want them at an angle of ninety degrees to the vertical stitches.” She began stitching on her own cloth, but this time the others watched only the very start before sitting back down and doing their own.

Char had them do five vertical stitches across the bottom of the forming square, and five horizontal stitches leading back up the other side. “There, that forms the square that is the basic shape of Hardanger.” She told them to run the end of the thread under the original kloster and cut it off short, “So when you’re finished, it will be hard to tell the top from the underside of the project. In fact, I recommend that once you start your real project, you run a short piece of thread in near the border, bring it back up, and tie the two ends, so when you come back to it after a break, you’ll know which side is the top.”

She brought out the small heart-shaped project they’d be working on, and everyone started in. “It’s much more important that the stitches be placed correctly than that you finish this in one sitting,” said Char.

Everyone settled in to stitch; Char went around the table answering questions and pointing out errors. Betsy found it easy to do and went around quickly. But as she was forming the last kloster block, she found she only needed four stitches instead of five. It didn’t seem important, so she ran the end of her thread under the first kloster and sat back with a smile. She was the second one finished, behind Shelly.

But then Char told them the next step: Snip the fabric at the bound edge of one kloster block and the corresponding block on the other side of the pattern from it. The idea was to pull the threads out. And in Betsy’s case, that was not possible, because the two blocks were one thread off.

So Betsy had to start pulling out her stitching until she came to the mistake that caused the error. She began stitching from there—and it still didn’t match. She had counted carefully this time; there was no mistake.

Char came by and at a glance saw that Betsy had made two errors originally and had corrected only the second one. She had to go even farther back to the first mistake.

Rattled now, Betsy found that no matter how carefully she counted, she kept making mistakes. The others were happily snipping threads while she was still working on the doggone outline of the heart.

“Oops,” said Godwin. “Rats.”

“Also,” Char pointed out, taking Godwin’s project from him and holding it out as an example, “you have to be careful to cut the proper side of the kloster block, which Godwin has done. Good for you. But not to cut beyond it, which he also has done. That’s why I recommend a really good pair of little scissors.”

Char had brought along several pairs to lend, but Shelly, holding out her piece admiringly, said she thought she’d buy a pair. Bershada, also smiling, said, “Me, too.” Betsy pulled two pairs from a spinner rack of accessories. Shelly set to clipping with hers. Shelly paused long enough to look at the price and sigh, but she didn’t give them back.

By the end of the class, everyone but Betsy and Godwin had finished pulling threads, and he was in the process of making his first snips. Shelly, who was halfway through a second heart, wanted to know how to make the little lace-like pattern in some of the squares on Char’s big piece, but Char said that was for a later class. Betsy was thinking of getting another piece of fabric and starting over. She’d pulled her thread out so often the weave of her fabric was becoming distorted.

At eight-thirty, the class broke up. As the others filed out, Char lingered. Betsy, tired after a long day and frustrated by her first attempt at Hardanger, hoped Char wouldn’t remember she had not asked the question she started to earlier.

But she did. “Betsy, I really need to talk to you.”

“What about?” asked Betsy as politely as she could.

“Did you see the Channel Four news tonight?”

“No, I didn’t have time. I am hoping to stay awake long enough to watch at ten—but I’m awfully tired.” Hint, hint.

But Char was determined. “Did you see where they arrested a juvenile for the murder of that artist at the art fair?”

“Was it on the news? Someone told me about it.”

“Yes, I heard that Jill told you.” Char either didn’t see or ignored Betsy’s wince. “Betsy, the boy they arrested is my nephew. My sister and brother-in-law are frantic, as you can imagine.” Char took a strengthening breath and said, “They want to know if you can help.”

Betsy didn’t want to say yes to anything that would add to her burdens right now. “I don’t know how I could help. I don’t know any of the people involved in this. And Sergeant Malloy is sure he’s got the right person.”

“Yes, I know he’s sure. That’s what’s got Faith and Greg so frantic. You see, Mickey’s been in trouble ever since he was eleven. He’s been arrested half a dozen times for stealing bicycles and shoplifting, for getting in fights, and for smoking marijuana at school. But he’s never done anything like this; this is
murder.
He’s sixteen and the police told Greg that when it’s a homicide by a sixteen-year-old, the county attorney automatically petitions that he be tried as an adult.”

Betsy said, “That’s too bad. I’m so sorry.”

“Yes, and you know Malloy, he’s as sure as he can be he’s got the person who did it, so he’s not even looking at any other possibility. Mickey swears he didn’t do it, but he’s scared and angry and so he’s acting out, which isn’t helping a bit. Please, Betsy, won’t you just talk to him?”

“To who? Mickey’s father? I’m not sure that’s a good idea; he may think I’m willing to help, but I don’t know if that’s true.”

Char said, “No, they want you to talk to Mickey.”

“Why? Do they think I can make him behave?” Betsy really was tired.

“No, no, no. Listen to me, please. They don’t think he’s guilty—”

“I’m sure they don’t. Parents always want to believe their children are good and obedient creatures.”

“Betsy, they know better. I’ve told you that Mickey is a very troubled young man. But what if he didn’t do this?”

Betsy couldn’t think of an answer. Her reputation
was
for clearing the innocent of criminal charges. “Is he out on bail?”

“No, they’re not going to let him out. For one thing, he’s run away from home twice in the past six months, so he’s what they call a flight risk. But even if he weren’t, he’s charged with murder while committing a robbery, which makes it automatically first degree, so if they set bail, it’s going to be an enormous sum, which his parents won’t be able to raise. Betsy, if he gets convicted, they’ll send him to prison for life. Mickey’s parents really, really need help. Could you just please talk to him?”

“How? I mean, is he allowed visitors?”

“His attorney says he’ll take you with him if you will go. Please, Betsy. Maybe if he talks to someone who isn’t his family and not a police investigator or a lawyer, someone who’s coming in as a friend, he’ll say something helpful, instead of mouthing off and denying he was anywhere near The Common that morning.”

“Was he in the park?”

“He says he wasn’t. But they found a pair of shoes his size in a Dumpster behind the food vendors, and Faith says a pair just like them is missing from his closet.”

Betsy sighed. “This doesn’t look good, you know.”

“I know.”

“If I get involved in something like this, I may have to drop out of your class,” she warned, a last-ditch plea.

“Fine,” said Char, and she hugged Betsy hard.

So Betsy didn’t get to go shopping on Thursday, her day off. Which was annoying, since she needed new underwear and there was a sale at Penney’s.

It was a beautiful Minnesota summer morning, the temperature just approaching eighty and not much humidity. She drove with her windows down to the eastern edge of downtown Minneapolis, where the new Juvenile Detention Center on Fifth and Park was. She parked in a lot between the Center and the Metrodome; the Twins were out of town, so the lot was half empty.

The Center was a modern building of large, dark bricks. The main entrance was in the middle of the building, its tuck-in entrance marked with fat concrete pillars.

A short young man, his light brown hair cropped close, stood just outside the dark glass door. He wore a nice lightweight suit, very modern eyeglasses, and an expensive new briefcase. There was an aggressive set to his mouth. He gestured impatiently as Betsy walked up and opened the door more to encourage her to keep moving than to be polite. “Glad you could make it,” he said as he nimbly stepped ahead of her to open a second door into a small, diagonal lobby and again to show her to the window with a tray under it and a man in Dockers and a blue polo shirt behind it.