Sins and Needles (3 page)

“Oh, I don't know,” said Katie. “My dad has tried all his life to get one started, and it's not easy.”

“Maybe he's lucky he hasn't succeeded,” said Betsy. She pointed to a needlepoint model on the wall behind her. “‘The only thing more overrated than natural childbirth is owning your own business,'” she said, reading it aloud.

“Maybe,” said Katie.

Phil said, “My parents owned a grocery store right here in Excelsior, and they worked all kinds of hours. So did I
and
my two brothers and three sisters, as soon as we got old enough to pick up a can and put it on a shelf.”

“Three boys and three girls?” said Lucille. “I'd say they didn't work
all
the time. Not in the store, anyhow.”

“Unless…” said Godwin slyly, then added all in a rush, waving his burgeoning sock as if it were an eraser, clearing the air of that word before it could become offensive, “No, no, never mind; that was back in the fifties, and such things
never
would've gone on in Excelsior shops in the
fifties
…” He leaned forward and added in a low, confidential tone, nodding as he did so, “Even in the back rooms.”

“Oh, Goddy, you are the
limit
!” said Jan, amid the general laughter.

Everyone knit for a while. Then Lucille said, “You mentioned children, Jan. How many, how old?”

“I have two. Reese is a pre-law senior at Carleton—he got a full scholarship. Ronnie just turned fifteen; he wants to design the first really workable artificial heart.” Jan's head lifted in pride at her two children. “How about you?”

“I also have two. Wanda is about finished with her veterinary internship at Woodhull Animal Hospital. Glen is an airplane mechanic at Dallas/Fort Worth International. Mine are six years apart. Yours are at least that much, sounds like.”

“They're seven years apart.” Jan's smile was bittersweet. “Mama always said I should space my children, but…”

“I lost a couple in between, too,” Lucille said quietly.

“Oh, that's so sad,” said Doris. “I'm sorry to hear that. I couldn't have children, but losing one is even worse than not having one at all, I think.”

“How…interesting that you know you couldn't have children,” said Lucille. “I mean, since you said earlier that you never married.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake!” said Godwin, hoping to lighten the mood that was rapidly darkening his class. “Hasn't anyone told this poor woman the facts of life?”

Phil choked back a laugh, and Lucille said, in a high, innocent voice, dripping with Texas honey, “Why no, my mama never sat me down for that li'l ol' ‘talk' I hear other girls whispering about. Maybe you could give it to me some time?”

Godwin widened his blue eyes at her. “My dear, if you think
I
could be a mother to you, no amount of talking will do you the slightest good.”

Phil burst out laughing. “Godwin, you
are
the limit!”

“Why, Phil, you say the nicest things!” said Godwin. “But I'm sorry to say, you just dropped a stitch.”

“I did? Well, dammit to hell. Now what do I do?”

Godwin showed Phil one use of a number 5 crochet hook in picking up the dropped stitch and restoring his knitting.

The class went on until Godwin called a halt, promptly at eight. His “homework” for his students was to lengthen the sock to the point of “turning the heel,” which he would show them next week.

Katie signaled to Jan, and they both lingered after the others left. “Who is that Lucille person?” Katie demanded of Godwin.

“Why, just what she said, a visitor from out of town.”

“What's your problem, Katie?” Jan asked. “She seems nice enough.”

“She was very nosy about you. Didn't you notice?”

“Of course I noticed! But she wasn't nosy, she was curious. I was curious, too, once I realized everyone seriously thought we looked a whole lot alike. Actually, this isn't the first time this has happened. I guess I'm a ‘type.' Why, only last winter I was at a medical convention and some people were asking me if I had a twin. I didn't get to meet her, so I don't know how close the resemblance was. So why make such a big deal out of this?”

“Money, is why. M-O-N-E-Y. She wants to be a long-lost relation so she can get in on the money Great-aunt Edyth is going to leave you. I should think you'd be—”

“Now how on earth could she know about Aunt Edyth?”

That stopped Katie in her tracks. “Well, I guess I don't know.”

“She could have Googled you,” said Godwin.

“What?” said Jan.

“Googled you. Put your name in the search engine Google to see what pops up. Edyth Hanraty has been in a couple of newspapers and magazines because of her beautiful house. Maybe Lucille found out about her that way.”

“Putting her name in a search engine won't link Aunt Edyth to me,” said Jan. “Nor will putting my name in one.”

“Oh,” said Godwin.

“So that's that,” said Jan. “Well, we'd better get going. This has been fun—you're a good teacher, Goddy. See you next week.”

Jan smiled at Betsy, frowned at Kate, and went out.

But Kate followed her. “Wait a second, wait a second,” she said. Her aunt stopped with a sigh and turned to let her catch up.

“Now she's here, she can find out about Aunt Edyth,” said Katie.

“And so what if she does? In fact, so what if it turns out she is a relative? If it was about the money, she'd have to be related through the female line, and we'd know about that if she was. Mom's the only descendant through the female line, and I'm the only girl child she had.”

“But Uncle Stewart—” started Kate.

“Is your father, and a man, as I'm sure you've noticed. If he went off sowing wild oats and Miss Lucille is the result, so what? Great-aunt Edyth's will leaves her money only to the descendants of her sister Alice. through the female line.”

“What if she doesn't know that?” asked Kate.

“Then someone will tell her, if it even gets that far. I don't see what you're so upset about. Since you aren't in line to inherit, it's no money taken from you; your connection to Grandmother Alice is through your father.” She grimaced. “I don't mean to sound as if I approve. Great-aunt Edyth is a strong and wonderful person, but she's coldhearted about some things. I've tried to talk to her and failed. She likes you, so keep going to visit her—I wish you luck with her.”

Katie raised one finger, a prophetess making a prediction. “If that Lucille Jones finds out about her, you can bet she'll try even harder.”

B
ETSY
was online checking her newsgroups, answering e-mail, noting that an order for some of Kreinik's new metallics had been shipped, when her phone rang. The ID display on the phone said it was Jan Henderson.

“Good morning, Jan,” she answered.

“Good morning. Hope it's all right to call you this early.”

“Certainly. I've been up for hours. What can I do for you?”

“Could you tell me where Lucille Jones is staying? I want to talk to her.”

“Just a second—let me think…yes, she's staying at the Minnetonka Cabin Resort—you know, that little row of cabins with the different-colored doors.”

“The Nickelsons' place.”

“Yes. Hold on, I've got the number here somewhere. Why do you want to talk to her?”

“Just nosy,” Jan said.

 

T
HEY
met for lunch at The Waterfront Café. Jan recommended the BLT on whole wheat toast, and they each ordered it. “It's like before the cholesterol scare in here,” Jan said, inhaling happily. “Their BLTs have real bacon and lots of mayo.”

“I suppose it's better that we know about such things,” Lucille replied. “But sometimes I wonder. It's taken all the fun out of eating.”

Jan nodded in sincere agreement and took a drink of her water.

Lucille cocked her head sideways and looked all over Jan's face. “I thought it would be like looking in a mirror, but it isn't.”

“I know. Everyone at that sock lesson was amazed at how much we look alike, but while I can see a resemblance, I don't think it's quite that pronounced.”

“Me, neither. Still, there must be something to it, if everyone around us can see it.”

“I guess so. When were you born?” Jan asked.

“August twelfth, 1959. You?”

“June twenty-first, 1964,” replied Jan. “That makes us five years apart. You have two kids, I have two kids—but that's not unusual. And mine are both sons, you have—”

“A son and a daughter, yes. I married an RN, you married a doctor. My oldest is going to be a veterinarian, your oldest is going to be a lawyer. My youngest is an aircraft mechanic, your youngest is going to build a mechanical heart.”

Jan thought that was stretching it a bit, but she nodded. “We both like needlework. I enjoy knitting, counted cross-stitch, and needlepoint.”

“I'd like needlepoint if I could afford it—those canvases are kind of pricey!”

“I agree. I don't do a lot of them. I probably have three in my stash.”

“Where do you keep your stash?”

“I used to keep it in an old chest of drawers my mother gave me.”

Lucille's jaw dropped. “Well, isn't that strange. That's where I kept mine, until it overflowed into my closet and then into the garage. When Glen moved out for good, I converted his bedroom into a sewing room. When Wanda moves out, Bobby Lee can have her room for a den.”

“I've converted Reese's. When Ronnie goes, Hugs—that's what I call my husband, Harvey—gets his den.”

“I tell you, we've been living parallel lives.”

“Oh, I don't know. Every stitcher does that as soon as a kid moves out,” Jan said.

“Okay, what do you like to do besides needlework?”

“Well, we used to go camping. But one night the four of us got washed out of our tent and had to spend the night in the car, sitting on plastic bags so we wouldn't ruin the upholstery. The next day we found that a bear had gotten into our food, and what he didn't eat, he scattered. I decided that was enough, and I refused to go again.”

“I loved desert camping for years. You would not believe the stars at night out there. Bobby Lee and I used to make the kids get up in the morning and start the fire—it gets cold out on the desert once the sun goes down. One year both kids were in school, so it was just the two of us, and we'd zipped our sleeping bags together to help us keep warm. The second morning, I woke up and thought Ronnie was feeling frisky, tickling my tummy, then I saw he was sound asleep with his back to me. I wasn't sure what was sharing my side of the bag, but I slid out of that sleeping bag in one motion, and—I don't know how—without unzipping it. That woke Bobby Lee, and I whispered at him to lay real still. I unzipped my side as slow as I could—” Lucille demonstrated, reaching as far out as she could with one hand, fingers extended, head half turned away. Jan giggled with excitement. Lucille continued, “I turned the top back verrrrrry carefully—and there, big as my arm, was a big ol' rattlesnake!”

“No!” said Jan, horrified. “What did you do? What did Bobby Lee do?”

“Nothing. We just froze, like statues. And after a while, its wee little brain realized the cold morning air was chilling its scales and it slithered off, and that was the last time I went camping.”

“Whew, I don't blame you! That's worse than our bear! Ronnie still goes off to the Boundary Waters for a week every summer with his friends, but none of the rest of us has been back, not even Hugs.”

“Where did your husband get that nickname?”

“He was a very affectionate little boy, so that's what his grandmother called him, and when he found out that Harvey was the name of an invisible rabbit in a Jimmy Stewart movie, he decided Hugs, bad as it was, was better than his real name. One reason it stuck was that he was a wrestler in high school and college and famous for his grip.” Jan smiled. “Plus, he's still very affectionate.”

Lucille laughed. “That is
adorable
! So what do you do instead of camp?”

“Well, boating runs in the family. We have a boat, and so does my brother. Mother sold her powerboat when Dad died, but she kept a canoe and recently bought a kayak. This is Minnesota, after all. When they said ‘Ten Thousand Lakes,' they underestimated. We fish and water-ski and just putt around Lake Minnetonka all summer.”

“You water-ski? Why, so do we! We have friends, Mickey and Jacki Morris, who have a boat with this huge motor, and they take us out six or eight times a year. We have a little boat of our own, but it's way more fun on Mickey and Jacki's boat. Can you ski on one ski? I can.”

“No, but Hugs can. He can even ski barefoot.”

“Bobby Lee tried that and took four bad spills before he gave it up. Maybe your husband can tell him how it's done.”

“Maybe he can—but personally, I think the secret is in the feet. Hugs's shoe size is twelve, extra wide.”

“Bobby Lee's is only nine—but my son Glen's is fourteen. I'm telling you, I was about to study how the Chinese did that foot-binding thing when Glen was in high school. He was going through shoes like I go through embroidery floss.”

“I'm glad I didn't think of it. I might've tried it with Reese. His feet are even bigger than his father's.”

Their sandwiches came at last, and after a few bites and exclamations of pleasure, Jan took her courage by both hands. “Lucille,” she asked, “did you Google me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Did you use the Google search engine to see if you could find out about me?”

“No. Why, should I have? What would Google have told me about you?”

“I don't know. I've never Googled myself.”

“Do you have a Web site?”

“No.”

“Me, neither. I wonder what Google would say about me?”

Jan asked thoughtfully, “What would you like it to say?”

Lucille took a bite of her sandwich and thought that over while she chewed. After a few moments, she said, “That I hope no one thinks I love my mama and daddy less because I'm trying to find my biological family.”

 

J
AN
came into Crewel World the next day, Saturday, to buy some tatting thread. “I'm going to knit a bedspread,” she said.

Betsy held up the single ball of thin white thread Jan was buying. “With number three thread? That should take you a few years. And I don't think this single ball would be enough to knit even an edge on a bedspread.”

Jan laughed. “No, it's for a dollhouse bedspread. A friend at the clinic bought a dollhouse for her daughter, but now she's caught the bug herself and won't let Chloe anywhere near it. This will be a birthday present for her.”

“Do you need a set of needles, too?” People in business for themselves quickly learn to never pass up an opportunity to make a sale.

“No, I've already got four pairs of double-zero steels.” As Betsy opened her cash register, Jan asked, “Has Lucille been in today?”

“No, I haven't seen her. Are you still thinking you're twins separated at birth?”

Jan smiled. “You know, I almost could. It's weird how alike we are. Like, we both
used
to love camping, but wouldn't go now for a million dollars. We both love swimming, water-skiing, and fishing—though where on earth you can find a lake big enough or a river deep enough to ski on in all of Texas, I don't know—and we both love it when we can mix a conference or seminar with pleasure travel to make it tax deductible.”

“Now that last one really is a peculiar coincidence!” Betsy said.

Jan's smile turned a little odd. “I know. You know what's even odder? She tells great stories, just like my uncle Stewart. And she knows it. Her eyes twinkle just like his when she tells one. Betsy, what do you think? Could Lucille and I be related?”

Betsy didn't know what Jan wanted to hear, so she fell back on the truth. “I don't know. Is there a mystery in your genealogy? An uncle who was suspected of having an affair? An aunt who disappeared for, oh, say, nine months?”

“Not that I know of. Well, except the man part. I mean, how long does it take to father a child? Part of an evening? Shoot, a coffee break will do for some of them.”

Betsy grimaced. “But that would mean…”

“I know. And there's never been a hint of anything like that.”

“Yet, you two look so much alike that it's hard not to think there's a genetic link in there somewhere. I'm sure you've heard about those cases of identical twins separated at birth who turn out to have a lot of traits in common. But we're not talking about identical twins here, are we?”

“No, of course not. For one thing, she's nearly five years older than I am.” Jan cocked her head sideways. “And that would mean Uncle Stewart, if he is her father, became a father at the age of twelve.” She snorted. “Not very likely.”

Betsy hesitated, then said, “Could your father…?”

Jan immediately shook her head, then the movement slowed as she thought about it. “I don't think so,” she said. “It would have happened when they were dating, before they got married.” She counted on her fingers, eyes rolled upwards. “Of course, he would have been seventeen, which
is
old enough. And unwed mothers back then put their babies up for adoption, didn't they?”

Betsy nodded. “That could account for it.”

“Still, it's hard to think of my father doing something like that and never mentioning it.”

“Why would he tell his children about it?” asked Betsy. “If he told anyone, it would be his wife.”

“Well, Mother never said a word about it.” Jan grimaced. “But why would she?” She put her change into her wallet. “I'm having lunch with Mother today,” she said. “I'm going to ask her.”

 

J
AN
met her mother for lunch an hour later at Antiquity Rose, a combination tearoom and antique shop. “Mother, I want to ask you something,” she said over the house salad.

“Certainly.”

“There's a woman visiting here from Texas. She came into Crewel World, and Betsy mistook her for me. Mother, she looks enough like me to be my sister. Now, I know both Jason and I look more like Dad than you. Is it possible that he…you know?”

“No, it is not possible!” She looked indignant at the very idea.

“Well, is there something you haven't told me about the rest of our family?”

Her mother stared nonplussed at her for as long as it took to take a breath. Then she said, “Certainly not! Anyway, no one in our family ever went to Texas.”

“She wasn't born in Texas. She discovered she was adopted after her parents died and has been trying to find out something about her biological roots. She says she came from a Minnesota adoption agency, but she can't find any records of her birth parents.” Jan smiled. “I wasn't one of a pair of identical twins, was I?”

Recovered, her mother smiled back. “No, I think I would have noticed if you were. So this person is your age?”

“She says she's a few years older, though she doesn't look it. But it's the oddest thing: we not only look alike, we
are
alike, in a lot of ways. We have so many things in common! If she's not yours, or Dad's, I wonder where she came from?”