The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love

  Praise for

  The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love

  “You’ll fall in love with the ladies of Sweetgum! Beth Pattillo knits an engaging novel where so many lives are woven together seamlessly.”

  —LEANNA ELLIS, award-winning author of Ruby’s Slippers

  “I love the ladies of the Sweetgum Knit Lit Society! Beth Pattillo has created characters so real I want to join their group and a setting so charming I want to visit on my next vacation. Thankfully I can get away and do that without leaving my cozy reading corner just by opening the pages of The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love. Warm and sweetly southern, Pattillo delivers everything you want in a story and then some.”

  —ANNIE JONES, award-winning southern author

  Praise for

  The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society

  “Jan Karon meets Jodi Piccoult. The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society is an intriguing look into the minds and hearts of a diverse group of women. This is a compelling and heartwarming story full of love and grace you don’t want to miss!”

  —JULIE L. CANNON, author of The Romance Readers Book Club

  “Like Debbie Macomber, Beth Pattillo spins warm, compelling stories out of the lives of everyday people. Five women and a girl gather regularly at the Sweetgum Christian Church to knit, read, and talk, and in the process they confront their own secrets, dreams, and challenges. I hope this is the first of a series so I can revisit the Knit Lit Society again and again!”

  —MARY JO PUTNEY, author of A Distant Magic

  “Thank you, Beth Pattillo, for casting on characters who so vividly reveal our human failing to render and receive love, which, as you so artfully depict, we too often withhold, delay, rush, misdirect, or hide from. But thank you most of all for showing us how the smallest of tentative steps we take toward each other can help us to find our true selves, and therefore lead us closer to God’s perfect love.”

  —CHARLENE ANN BAUMBICH, speaker, humorist, author of the Welcome to Partonville series

  “I could almost hear the clack of knitting needles as I read through the pages of The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society. Beth Pattillo’s motley group of true-to-life characters deal with life’s struggles and share a camaraderie that few take the time to discover in this heartwarming yarn of true friendship. A must read!”

  —DIANN HUNT, author of For Better or For Worse

  For the ladies of Pursuit—

  You know who you are, and I know how fabulous you are.

  Thank you for the love and support, but most of all,

  thank you for the bling.

  Every Tuesday at eleven o’clock in the morning, Eugenie Carson descended the steps of the Sweetgum Public Library and made her way to Tallulah’s Café on the town square. In the past, she would have eaten the diet plate—cottage cheese and a peach half—in solitary splendor. Then she would have returned to her job running the library, just as she’d done for the last forty years.

  On this humid September morning, though, Eugenie was meeting someone for lunch—her new husband, Rev. Paul Carson, pastor of the Sweetgum Christian Church. Eugenie smiled at the thought of Paul waiting for her at the café. They might both be gray haired and near retirement, but happiness was happiness, no matter what age you found it.

  Eugenie entered the square from the southeast corner. The antebellum courthouse anchored the middle, while Kendall’s Department Store occupied the east side to her right. She walked along the south side of the square, past Callahan’s Hardware, the drugstore, and the movie theater, and crossed the street to the café. The good citizens of Sweetgum were already arriving at Tallulah’s for lunch. But Eugenie passed the café, heading up the western side of the square. She had a brief errand to do before she met her husband. Two doors down, she could see the sign for Munden’s Five-and-Dime. Her business there shouldn’t take long.

  Before she reached Munden’s, a familiar figure emerged from one of the shops and blocked the sidewalk.

  Hazel Emerson. President of the women’s auxiliary at the Sweetgum Christian Church and self-appointed judge and jury of her fellow parishioners.

  “Eugenie.” Hazel smiled, but the expression, coupled with her rather prominent eyeteeth, gave her a wolfish look. Hazel was on the heavy side, a bit younger than Eugenie’s own sixty-five years, and her hair was dyed an unbecoming shade of mink. Hazel smiled, but there was no pleasantness in it. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

  Eugenie knew better than to let her distaste for the woman show. “Good morning, Hazel,” she replied. “How are you?”

  “Distressed, Eugenie. Thoroughly distressed.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Eugenie truly was dismayed, but not from worry over Hazel’s discomfort.

  “Yes, well, you have the power to calm the waters,” Hazel said with the same false smile. “In a manner of speaking, at least.”

  Since Eugenie’s marriage to Paul only a few weeks before, she’d learned how demanding Hazel could be. The other woman called the parsonage at all hours and appeared in Paul’s office at least once a day. Although Eugenie had known Hazel casually for years, she’d never had to bother with her much. Eugenie couldn’t remember Hazel ever having entered the library.

  “How can I help you?” Eugenie said in her best librarian’s voice. She had uttered the phrase countless times over the last forty years and had it down to an art form. Interested but not enmeshed. Solicitous but not overly involved.

  “Well, Eugenie, you must know that many people in the church are distressed by your marriage to Paul.”

  “Really?” Eugenie kept the pleasant smile on her face and continued to breathe evenly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Oh, not me, of course,” Hazel said and pressed a hand to her ample chest. “I’m perfectly delighted. But some people… Well, they have concerns.”

  “What concerns would those be?” Eugenie asked with measured calm.

  Hazel glanced to the right and to the left, then leaned forward to whisper in a conspiratorial fashion. “Some of them aren’t sure you’re a Christian,” she said. Then she straightened and resumed her normal tone of voice. “As I said, I’m not one of them, but I thought I should tell you. For your own good, but also for Rev. Carson’s.”

  “I see.” And Eugenie certainly did, far more than Hazel would guess. Eugenie wasn’t new to small-town gossip. Heaven knew she’d heard her share, and even been the target of some, over the last forty years. She’d known that her marriage to Paul would cause some comments, but she hadn’t expected this blatant response.

  “I’m mentioning it because I don’t think it would be difficult to put people’s fears to rest,” Hazel said. Her smug expression needled Eugenie. “I know you’ve been attending worship, and that’s a wonderful start.” Hazel quickly moved from interfering to patronizing. “The women’s auxiliary meets on Tuesday mornings. If you joined us—”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Eugenie answered. She was determined to keep a civil tongue in her head if it killed her. “I have to work.”

  “For something this important, I’m sure you could find someone to cover for you.”

  Eugenie tightened her grip on her handbag. In an emergency, no doubt she could arrange something. But this wasn’t an emergency. It was manipulation.

  “Hazel—”

  “Particularly at this time,” Hazel said, barely stopping for breath. “With all the losses we’ve had in these last few months… Well, our community needs leadership. Our church needs leadership.” She gave Eugenie a meaningful look.

  Eugenie paused to consider her words carefully. “It has been a difficult summer,” she began. “Tom Munden’s death was so unexpected, and then to
lose Frank Jackson like that. And now, with Nancy St. Clair…”

  “So you see why it’s more important than ever that you prove to church members that their pastor hasn’t made a grave mistake.”

  “I hardly think that my attending a meeting of the women’s auxiliary will offer much comfort to the grieving.” Nor would it convince anyone of her status as a believer. Those sorts of people weren’t looking for proof. They were looking for Eugenie to grovel for acceptance.

  Hazel sniffed. “Don’t be difficult, Eugenie. You’re being unrealistic if you expect people to accept you as a Christian after forty years of never darkening the door of any sanctuary in this town.”

  “I’ve always felt that faith is a private matter.” That was the sum of any personal information Eugenie was willing to concede to Hazel. “I prefer to let my actions speak for me.”

  “There are rumblings,” Hazel said darkly. “Budget rumblings.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “People need to have full confidence in their pastor, Eugenie. Otherwise they’re less motivated to support the church financially.”

  Eugenie bit her tongue. She couldn’t believe Hazel Emerson was standing here, in the middle of the town square, practicing her own brand of extortion.

  “Are you threatening me?” Eugenie asked, incredulous.

  Hazel sniffed. “Of course not. Don’t be silly. I’m merely cautioning you. As a Christian and as a friend.”

  Eugenie wanted to reply that Hazel didn’t appear to be filling either role very well, but she refrained.

  “I’ll take your concerns under advisement,” she said to Hazel with forced pleasantness. “I’m sure you mean them in the kindest possible way.”

  “Of course I do. How else would I mean them?”

  “How else, indeed?” Eugenie muttered under her breath.

  “Well, I won’t keep you.” Hazel nodded. “Have a nice day, Eugenie.”

  “You too, Hazel.” The response was automatic and helped Eugenie to cover her true sentiments. She stood in place for a long moment as Hazel moved past her, on her way to stir up trouble in some other quarter, no doubt. Then, with a deep breath, Eugenie forced herself to start moving toward Munden’s Five-and-Dime.

  She had known it would be difficult, stepping into this unfamiliar role as a pastor’s wife. Paul had assured her that he had no expectations, that she should do what she felt was right. But Eugenie wondered if he had any idea of the trouble Hazel Emerson was stirring up right under his nose.

  True, she hadn’t attended church for forty years. After she and Paul had ended their young romance, she’d blamed God for separating them. If Paul hadn’t felt called to the ministry, if he hadn’t refused to take her with him when he went to seminary, if she hadn’t stubbornly insisted on going with him or ending their relationship…

  Last year she and Paul had found each other again, all these decades later, and she’d thought the past behind them. But here it was once more in the person of Hazel Emerson, raising troubling questions. Threatening Paul. Forcing Eugenie to examine issues she’d rather leave unanswered.

  As the head of the Sweetgum Knit Lit Society, Eugenie had taken on responsibility for the well-being of the little group several years before. Since Ruthie Allen, the church secretary, had left for Africa last spring to do volunteer work, the group had experienced a definite void. It was time for an infusion of new blood, and after careful consideration, Eugenie had determined that Maria Munden was just the person the Knit Lit Society needed. What’s more, Maria needed the group too. The recent loss of her father must be quite difficult for her, Eugenie was sure. And so despite having had her feathers ruffled by Hazel Emerson, Eugenie walked into Munden’s Five-and-Dime with a firm purpose.

  “Good morning, Maria,” Eugenie called above the whine of the door. For years she’d been after Tom Munden to use a little WD-40 on the hinges, but he had insisted that the noise bothered him less than the idea of a customer entering without him knowing it.

  “Eugenie! Hello.” Maria straightened from where she stood slumped over the counter. She had red marks on her forehead from resting her head in her hands, and her nondescript shoulder-length brown hair hung on each side of her face in a clump. Eugenie had come at the right time. Maria was in her early thirties, but her fathers death seemed to have aged her ten years.

  Maria came around the counter. “What can I help you with today?”

  “Oh, I’m not here to buy anything,” Eugenie said, and then she was dismayed when disappointment showed in Maria’s eyes. With the superstores of the world creeping closer and closer to Sweetgum, mom-and-pop shops like Munden’s were living on borrowed time. Even if Tom Munden had lived, the inevitable day when the store closed couldn’t have been avoided.

  “What did you need then?” Maria’s tone was polite but strained.

  “I have an invitation for you.”

  “An invitation?”

  Eugenie stood a little straighter. “On behalf of the Sweet-gum Knit Lit Society, I’d like to extend an invitation to you to become a part of the group.”

  Maria’s brown eyes were blank for a moment, and then they darkened. “The Knit Lit Society?”

  “I can’t think of anyone who would be a better fit.” Eugenie paused. “If you don’t know how to knit, one of us can teach you. And I know you enjoy reading.” Maria was one of the most faithful and frequent patrons of the library. “I think you’d appreciate the discussion.”

  Maria said nothing.

  “If you’d like some time to think—”

  “I’ll do it,” Maria said quickly as if she didn’t want to give herself time to reconsider. “I know how to knit. You won’t have to teach me.”

  “Excellent,” Eugenie said, relieved. “Our meeting is this Friday.”

  “Do I have to read something by then?” Lines of doubt wrinkled Maria’s forehead beneath the strands of gray that streaked her hair.

  Eugenie shook her head. “I haven’t passed out the reading list for this year. This first meeting will be to get us organized.”

  Relief eased the tight lines on her face.

  “We meet at the church, of course,” Eugenie continued. “Upstairs, in the Pairs and Spares Sunday school room. If you’d like, I can drop by here Friday evening and we can walk over together.”

  Maria shook her head. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” She paused, as if collecting her thoughts, then spoke. “I’m not sure why you asked me to join, Eugenie, but I appreciate it.”

  “I’m delighted to have you. The others will be as well.” Mission accomplished, Eugenie shifted her pocketbook to the other arm. “I’d better be going. I’m meeting Paul for lunch at the café.”

  Like most of Sweetgum, with the possible exception of Hazel Emerson, Maria smiled at Eugenie’s mention of her new husband. “Tell the preacher I said hello.” Maria moved to open the door for Eugenie. “I’ll see you at the meeting.”

  Eugenie lifted her shoulders and nodded with as much equanimity as she could. After years of being the town spinster, playing the newlywed was a novel experience. She hoped she’d become accustomed to it with time—if she didn’t drive away all of Paul’s parishioners first with her heathen ways.

  “Have a nice afternoon,” Eugenie said and slipped out the door, glad that at least one thing that morning had gone as planned.

  After Eugenie left, Maria Munden halfheartedly swiped her feather duster at the back-to-school display in the front window. Hot sunshine, amplified by the plate glass, made sweat bead on her forehead. What was the point of dusting the same old collection of binders, backpacks, and two-pocket folders? She’d barely seen a customer all day. She turned from the window and looked around at the neat rows of shelving. The five symmetrical aisles had stood in the same place as long as she could remember.

  Aisle one, to the far left, held greeting cards, gift-wrap, stationery, office and school supplies. Aisle two, housewares and paper goods. Aisle three, decorative item
s. Aisle four, cleaning supplies and detergent. Aisle five had always been her favorite, with its games, puzzles, and coloring books. Across the back wall stretched the sewing notions, yarn, and craft supplies. Everything to outfit a household and its members in one small space. The only problem was, no one wanted small anymore. They wanted variety, bulk, and large economy size with a McDonalds and a credit union. Not quaint and limited, like the old five-and-dime.

  From the counter a few feet away, Maria’s cell phone buzzed, and she sighed. She knew without looking at the display who it would be.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Maria, you have to do something about this.” Her mother never acknowledged the greeting but plunged into a voluble litany of complaints that covered everything from the state of the weather to her older sister Daphne’s management of the farm.

  “Mom?” Maria tried to interrupt her mothers diatribe. “Mom? Look, I’m the only one in the store right now. I’ll have to call you back later.”

  “Where’s Stephanie? She was supposed to be there at nine.”

  “I don’t know where she is.” Maria’s younger sister, the baby at twenty-five, was AWOL more often than not.

  Maria heard the shop door open with a whine of its hinges, not too different from her mother’s tone of voice. She looked up, expecting to see her younger sister. Instead, a tall, dark-haired man entered the store. He took two steps inside, then stopped. His eyes traveled around the rows of shelves, and his lips twisted in an expression of disapproval. The hairs on Maria’s neck stood on end. The stranger saw her, nodded, and then disappeared down the far aisle, but he was so tall that Maria could track his progress as he moved. He came to a stop in front of the office supplies. Someone from out of town, obviously. Probably a traveling salesman who needed paper clips or legal pads. Maybe a couple of blank CDs or a flash drive. Maria had dealt with his type before.