Free Embroidered Truths by Monica Ferris Page A

know they’re doing the coffeehouse thing, with lattés and chai and all? They’ve even put some computer connections in the back. Anyway, I just stopped for a chai, and Jimmy Folsom was there and he said Leecia Millhouse, who lives practically next door to John, watched while they brought him out in a body bag . Girl, there’s crime scene tape all around the house. It looks like murder .” Bershada stopped to draw a breath, and her expression changed. “Wait a minute, you already know about this, don’t you?” She reared back and looked at Betsy sideways. “Who told you?”
    “No one. We were there.”
    “Where—at the house ?”
    “Yes.” Betsy explained how she and Godwin had gone over to see why John hadn’t gone to work and found him.
    “Oh, the poor baby !” said Bershada, meaning Godwin. “Is he all right?”
    “I think he will be. He’s badly shaken up, of course. I put him to bed and told him to stay there.”
    “Well, of course, and I hope he does. He and John hadn’t made up?”
    “No, and that’s what’s making it so hard.”
    “Yes, of course. Is there anything I can do?”
    “No, I don’t think so. But thank you. I’ll tell him you asked after him. Now, this pattern, would it be entrelac you’re looking for?”
    “Yes, I think that’s the name of it. You use circular needles to make a purse.” She gestured a round shape.
    “Yes, I just got a very nice pattern in, so I don’t have a model yet. I’m going to try it myself, or maybe a sweater, I like the look of it. I have a nice yarn for the purse, it’s from Japan, all wool, and overdyed. Do you know how to back knit?”
    “No, what’s that?”
    “Well, the pattern calls for knit and purl, but sometimes as few as two stitches. Having to turn the needles around every two stitches is a nuisance, so there’s this thing called back knitting, where you knit backwards, off the lefthand needle. Godwin showed me how to do it. Let me see if I can remember.”
    She pulled two knitting needles out of the vase of accessories on the library table, picked up a small ball of yarn and swiftly cast on ten stitches, then knit a row. “See, here’s how it works.” Bershada came to stand looking over her shoulder. “Knit two,” Betsy said, doing so. “Now, put the left needle behind the stitch, throw your yarn around it counterclockwise, and pull it through. And again. See?”
    “Well, I’ll be. That doesn’t look hard at all.”
    “It’s not. Well, it’s a bit clumsy at first, but it’s not hard to do.”
    Bershada bought the pattern, and two skeins of the Japanese wool in shades of purple, green, and blue, and a pair of number-five knitting needles. “I have circular needles in that size already,” she said.
    As she prepared to leave, she asked again, “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do for Goddy?”
    “A card would be—oh, for heaven’s sake, I am an idiot. He’s feeling abandoned, of course, so I remembered what happened when I got that dose of poison and came home to a flock of hot dishes. So if it’s not a huge imposition . . .”
    Bershada smiled. “Not at all. Just let me get myself home and I’ll start cooking.”

Seven
    THE next day, the hot dishes started to arrive. Bershada must have told everyone she knew, and each of them spread the word even further. Customers Betsy hadn’t seen in months came in, bearing Corning Ware and Pyrex, wrapped in newspaper to keep it warm—or frozen, some women apparently keeping something always ready to bring to a bereavement.
    At first Betsy brought them upstairs. Later, she trusted Nikki, who was threatening to become full time, to bring them up. By the end of the day, she was waving them through. Still, by the time she closed at five, her legs ached from all the climbing.
    They continued to come all evening. Touching at first, it became amazing, then silly, finally ridiculous.
    The last one arrived around nine. Godwin, hearing laughter, came out of his room to see