Back on Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

a swearing match?” I asked.

      “Not me,” Susannah said as she finished her first real stitch. The tension was so tight, it amazed me that she could actually transfer the yarn from one needle to the other. She heaved a sigh and turned to me for approval, as though she’d achieved something heroic.

      “Good,” I said as I leaned over to examine her work.

      “I need some help,” Colette moaned, the yarn a tangled mess on the table.

      I couldn’t tell exactly what she’d managed to do, but there was nothing I hadn’t seen in the last three years. I soon corrected her mistake and again showed her the basic stitch, standing behind her to make sure she understood. If I did the knitting for her, that would accomplish nothing. She had to do this on her own.

      “I agree with Susannah,” she said after a few minutes. “This has got to be the most nerve-racking activity I’ve ever tried. When does the relaxing part begin?”

      “It just happens,” Alix told them both. “All at once you’ll be knitting and you won’t even need to count the stitches. The first thing I made was a baby blanket, and after every single row I had to stop and make sure I hadn’t accidentally increased or dropped a stitch. By comparison, the prayer shawl you’re doing is easy.”

      I had to admit Alix was right. The baby blanket had been an ambitious project. I’d chosen it because it required about ten classes. If I’d started with anything smaller, like a cotton washcloth, I would’ve needed only one, possibly two, sessions. The blanket justified the number of classes I’d scheduled.

      “Who are you knitting your prayer shawl for?” I asked Susannah.

      “My mother,” she answered without hesitation. “She’s doing really well, better than I expected after we … after I moved her into an assisted-living complex in Colville.”

      “My own mother’s in assisted living, as well,” I said. “But it must be a worry living so far from her.” Margaret and I shared the responsibility of checking up on Mom and spending time with her.

      We hadn’t told Mom what had happened to Julia. It would only have distressed her. I was afraid she might’ve guessed something was wrong because Margaret hadn’t been by in several days. Mom, however, hadn’t seemed to notice.

      “It’s not so bad,” Susannah said, responding to my comment. “We talk every day, Mom and I.” She paused, biting down on her tongue as she carefully wrapped the yarn around the needle. “I have a good friend who stops by periodically and lets me know how Mom’s doing.”

      “What would we do without friends,” I said, and saw how Alix instantly looked up. She seemed calmer now.

      “What about you, Alix? Have you decided who you’ll give the prayer shawl to?”

      She nodded. “At first I thought I’d keep it for myself. I’m going to need plenty of prayers to get through this wedding, that’s for sure.” She grinned, shaking her head, and continued knitting. “But I’m going to give it to Jordan’s grandmother. I think she’ll really like the fact that I knit it for her.”

      “I’m sure she will,” I said. “What about you, Colette?”

      She didn’t raise her head. “I might just keep it. Does that sound selfish?”

      “Not at all,” I assured her. I realized that the act of knitting had already worked its magic on all of us. Alix had come in stressed and ill-tempered, on edge about the wedding. Colette, too, had been nervous and unhappy, for reasons I didn’t know. I was certainly upset, because of what had happened to my niece and to Margaret. Susannah had her own struggles, launching a new business. We were relaxed now, talking together, laughing, knitting.

      Knitting had linked us all.

      CHAPTER

      7

       Alix Townsend

      Finished for the day, Alix poured herself a cup of coffee, then sat down at the staff table in the bakery’s back room and put her feet up on the chair across from her. The French Café did a thriving business and she liked to think she’d played a role in that success. Her muffins, coffee cakes, cookies, sweet rolls and cakes, baked fresh every morning, had attracted a following of regular customers.

      Molly, one of the baristas, stuck her head into the kitchen. “Jordan’s here,” she announced in a tone that said Alix was lucky to have met a man like him. But Alix already knew that.

      “Jordan? Here? Now?” she asked. They weren’t supposed to meet for another hour.

      “He looks like Jordan, talks like Jordan, walks like Jordan. My guess is, it is Jordan.”

      “Cute,” Alix said, saluting Molly’s wit with her coffee mug.

      “Want me to send him back here?”

      Alix nodded, even though she was a mess. If he’d waited an hour as they’d originally planned, she’d have showered and changed clothes. Seeing that he hadn’t, he’d have to take her as she was, which at the moment was tired.

      Jordan appeared, and she lowered her feet and motioned toward the vacant chair. He pulled it up to the table with one hand, holding a disposable container of coffee in the other. Leaning back in the chair, he smiled.

      “Did I get the time wrong?” she asked, although she was sure she hadn’t.

      “No. I’m early.”

      “Any particular reason?”

      He didn’t meet her eyes. “Have you had a chance to look through the books yet?” he mumbled.

      “Which books?” But she knew exactly what he meant. His mother had hand-delivered huge binders filled with sample wedding invitations; she was supposed to study them and make her selection. She’d tried to choose but every invitation she liked had been vetoed by Jacqueline or Susan. It had frustrated her so much she hadn’t bothered to look again.

      “Mom said we need to decide on the invitations right away so they can be ordered.”

      Alix did her best not to groan aloud. “Did you look at them?”

      “No, I’m busy at the church and—”

      “You think I’m any less busy?” she demanded, her anger firing to life.

      Jordan met her eyes. “Alix, listen, I didn’t come here to argue. We’re both busy, that’s a given, but we need to get serious about this wedding.”

      “I am serious.” If she wasn’t so tired, she would’ve had more control of her temper.

      “I am, too,” Jordan said. “Everyone’s on my case about choosing the invitations.”

      “By everyone, you mean your mother.”

      “And Jacqueline,” he added.

      “Then let them choose,” she cried, clenching her fists in frustration. Still, Jordan was right about Jacqueline. She was so consumed with wedding details that Alix had taken to avoiding her. Every conversation with her friend and mentor revolved around some aspect of the wedding or the reception. Jacqueline had actually hired a ten-piece orchestra! Then this morning, she’d said she was talking to someone about releasing doves at some meaningful point in the ceremony. Doves? As far as Alix was concerned, the idea of white birds flapping their wings, leaving droppings in their wake, was simply ridiculous. There’d even been talk of a horse-drawn buggy to transport “the bridal couple” from the church to the country club. The last she’d heard, it was still under consideration. A buggy! She could hardly bear to think about the flowers and the cake.

      Alix didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings but this was her wedding and it seemed she should have at least a little say about the kind of event it was. Against her better judgment, she’d given in on this country