Part Five of “The Red Sweater” A Serial

During the month of April I participated in the A to Z blogging challenge.  A first for me, I attempted fiction for the first time.  I had such fun with it that I decided to give it another go.

This time I will be writing a serial type of story.
As I meander through my imagination, I expect an episode to take shape in time to be posted each Tuesday.  

If you would like to catch up, simply click on the “Red Sweater Serial Tab” at the top of my blog. 

The Red Sweater

Part Five 

Evie sat on the stool behind the counter, staring into space.  She was having a hard time concentrating on the inventory report and there were four boxes of yarn to unpack in the stock room.
Ed had gone out.   He told Evie that he was going to take a walk down to Uncle Pete’s deli.
“What would you like for lunch, Eve?” he asked before he left.
He was wearing his red sweater.  It was one of Rachel’s creations.  He had been in a panic earlier that morning when he thought it was missing.   He finally found it hanging on the back of his chair in the study.
Hand knit sweaters, in any shade of red, designed by Rachel was her way of showing affection and appreciation for those she cared most about.
“For my heart’s love” she would say.
Rachel tried to entice Evie to learn to knit.  She was a patient teacher.
“I’ll cast on for you,” she would say.  “And I’ll even start a few rows,” Rachel said, trying her best to convince her sister.
Then she would hand the ball of yarn and a pair of wooden needles over to Evie.
"Okay, hold the left needle like this.  That’s it, wrap your fingers around it and secure the stitches with your thumb.  Hold the other needle in your right hand the same way, with your thumb on top.”
Rachel made it look so easy.  But when Evie did she felt like she was all thumbs.
Evie remembered when Rachel first took up knitting.  It was in the late 70s.  Evie was sixteen, Rachel fifteen.
Rachel was trying to think of a unique gift for Sam’s mother, Marge.  Well, it wasn’t actually for Marge, but for the baby Marge was carrying.
“I’m going to knit a sweater.  A little red sweater for Marge’s baby, she told Evie.”
“You don’t even know how to knit, Rach,” Evie said.
“No,  big deal,” she told Evie.  “I bought a ‘How to Knit' book.  And I used to watch Grandma all the time. Remember the socks she made for us?”
Rachel and Sam were teenagers in love.  Marge was like a second mother to Rachel.  She could talk to Marge about anything.  Not something she could do always with their own mother.
Then one day, Marge, Sam and Sam’s father suddenly left town.
“I don’t understand, Evie,” Rachel sobbed.  “Why would they just leave like that?  They didn’t even say good-bye.”
She did not want Rachel to be sad. Evie did her best to console her younger sister.
“Come on, Rach, let’s go to the movies.”
Rachel would sigh, “No, I’m not in the mood.”
“Hey, how about if we go to Pinky’s and split a Belly Buster.”
But all Rachel wanted to do was work on the little red sweater.  It was to be the first of many she would eventually make to give away as gifts.
And then, years later, fate stepped in.
“I’m back, Eve,” called Ed.  “Got your BLT on rye toast, light on the mayo.”
“Let’s sit out front,” said Ed.
They sat in the white slat rockers, quietly eating their sandwiches, each distracted by their own thoughts.
“Ed?”
“Huh?  What is it?”
“I was thinking that maybe we should take a little vacation.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Eve.  Rachel is away.  We can’t leave the shop, you know.”
“Eve?” Ed hesitated before saying, “There’s something I have to tell you.”
Evie held her breath.
Her phone rang.  It was her mother.
“Evie, sweetie?  Can you come by later?  There’s something I have to tell you. "

Part Three The Red Sweater Serial

During the month of April I participated in the A to Z blogging challenge.  A first for me, I attempted fiction for the first time.  I had such fun with it that I decided to give it another go.

This time I will be writing a serial type of story.

As I meander through my imagination, I expect an episode to take shape in time to be posted each Tuesday. 
If you would like to catch up simply click on the “Red Sweater Serial Tab” at the top of the blog. 

Part Three

Rachel sat at the white painted desk with her chin cupped in her hands.  The desk fit cozily in the windowed alcove of her Inn room.  It was barely sunrise.  She was exhausted.
As she gazed out the window,  she saw Michael, the inn keeper, leading the horses out of the barn into the field. 
Rachel was having second thoughts about this visit to the Charington, especially after her restless night.  She was particularly questioning her judgement to stay in the White Pine room. 
She had tossed and turned, unable to find solace in the oversized bed.  Fond reminisces of happy times she shared with Sam turned into taunting nightmarish dreams.   She woke several times during the night feeling fitful and uneasy.     
Rachel, who struggled with anxiety, had panicked the night before when she thought she had lost the sweater.  
It was barely a swatch.  The sleeves were pilled from years of stroking.  The heart shaped buttons dangled, barely hanging on by a single thread.  
Like her life, she ruefully thought. 
She still could not figure out how the sweater wound up on the floor next to the bed.  It must have fallen out of the tote when she tossed the bag on the bed, she reasoned.   She laughed when she spotted it. 
That’s what I get for being so careless,  she thought.  
Sam would have been the one to neatly place the luggage on the bedside rack.
Remembering the scare she had last night, thinking that she might have lost the most precious link she had, her stomach clenched.  She could feel a warm flush creep up from her neck and into her cheeks.  The palms of her hands began to sweat and her heart pounded in her chest.  Only she understood why a shabby faded piece of cloth meant everything to her.  It was like the fuzzy pink “blankie” she carried around with her when she was a child.   
Pull yourself together, woman!   You have to follow through with your plan, she admonished.
Sam was the easy going one.  His mild, serene composure provided the stability her chaos required.   The shock of  the past two months, not having Sam with her,  had jolted her into realizing that she should have trusted his love.  
Rachel looked at her watch.  She had to talk to Evie, but it was too early to call her.  
She could smell the aroma of fresh brewed coffee wafting up from the kitchen and decided to go down to grab a cup. 
The pot was set up in the dining room along with fresh warm croissents.  As she was pouring her coffee, Roz came into the room.
“Good morning, Rachel!  You’re up mighty early.  Did you sleep ok?” 
“Morning, Roz,” Rachel answered.  “To tell you the truth, I didn’t get much sleep.”
“I think I understand,” Roz said kindly. 
“Roz I need to ask a favor.  I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me.” 
“I’ll help, if I can,” said Roz. 
“I’m trying to locate an old friend of mine,” she said.  “I’ve found out through “ findanyone.com” that she may have relocated to this area.”
Rachel reached into her jean’s pocket and pulled out a scrap of folded paper.   She opened it flat and read off a name.  
Rachel caught a look of recognition on Roz’s face.  
But, Roz hesitantly said, “Uh…no.  No, I can’t say I’ve ever heard the name.  Sorry.”
“Oh,” said Rachel.  “Well, I have an address, here.  Are you familiar with this area?”  Rachel asked, pointing to the address on the paper. 
Roz said, “I’ve got to get breakfast ready, my dear.  Will you be joining the other guests this morning?”  Seemingly avoiding Rachel’s question and not waiting for her answer, Roz went scurrying off to the kitchen. 
Rachel left the dining room with her coffee and went out to the wide front porch. The sun was up by then and there was a slight breeze.  She sat in one of the red slatted rockers and tapped in Evie’s phone number. 
After a brief conversation, Evie promised to call Rachel back in 15 minutes. 
While she waited for Evie,  she contemplated the path she had been on and what led her back to Charington.
And as she had done every day since the day she finished knitting “ Elizabeth Zimmerman’s Baby Surprise Jacket” in persimmon red, she felt a deep longing and unbearable sadness.