Carol Crane paused her needlework to assess her progress, and to give her fingers and eyes a rest. She released a heavy sigh as she looked over her latest cross-stitch. Was the Aida evenly stretched? It was. Were her stitches uniform, neat, and free of knots? They were—for the most part. Something was not right. Perhaps it wasn’t the right pattern. Carol wished she hadn’t chosen this one. After all, she was considering entering this cross-stitch in next year’s competition at the spring craft fair. She had chosen this pattern at Crafty Business, the craft store where she worked part-time, and Irene let her have it at a discount. The pattern displayed fresh-looking flowers in a vase. It would be a perfect gift for anyone, but if it happened to win in the competition, even third place, why then Carol would surely keep it and hang it on the wall with the third-place ribbon attached. Previously she had never won an award, but her hopes were high.

    Carol regarded her work. Was it the thread, she thought? The colors appeared duller than shown on the package. She wished she had been able to buy a high-end thread, but she did not have unlimited funds. She was already working two jobs, albeit they were both minimum-wage jobs. Maybe Carol could request more hours. More hours. More hours for jobs she did not even like.

    Then Carol saw it. She had made a mistake and would have to take out some stitches. Carol hated the tediousness of having to remove stitches. She considered leaving it, but you don’t enter a noticeably flawed cross-stitch in a competition. She began to remove the stitches.

    Carol knew she had bigger problems than taking out some stitches.

    Gary said that because of the divorce, there would be a good number of changes in both their lives. One of those changes would be that they would have to sell the house. Gary told her she could not afford to keep it on her income. The house would be sold, and Carol would have to find somewhere else to live.

    She could barely believe how quickly time had passed since they agreed to a divorce. Gary was already seeing someone else—Monica.  Monica was… no, she did not know what type of person Monica was since they had never met. Carol was surprised that she was replaced so quickly. Gary seemed to be moving on in life without so much as a hiccup. Her mind went back to her pregnancy. They were both so very happy when they learned they were having a baby. Then the miscarriage. The depression. The tension between them. Carol did not feel appreciated. Is that all she was to him, a baby-maker? To be honest, she felt like a failure. So many failures in her life. She never finished college, never had a career, and then she failed at baby-making. So many women could do it. Why couldn’t she? Now a failed marriage. No husband and no prospects. She was not ready for another relationship anyway. They seemed like a lot of work and lately, Carol just felt tired.  

    Gary said he would stop by next week, and that it was past time they started to settle things.

    Carol was so certain about it when she asked for a divorce, now she wasn’t so sure.

    Her eyes went back to her cross-stitch. It was good, but it wasn’t great, it wasn’t flawless—like Tina’s. Tina’s cross-stitches were always flawless, much like Tina herself. Perfect cross-stitch, perfect makeup, perfect marriage. Tina always reminded Carol of how much her own life, through lack of effort, lacked excellence.

    Carol regarded her work again. Should she scrap it and start on something else? No, it was… good. The scene depicted a floral arrangement in a vase.  In the bouquet were

red  spray  roses, fuchsia carnations, yellow Asiatic lilies, pale

peach roses, red hypericum, orange gerberas, and bronze daisy poms. The arrangement was accented with goldenrods scattered amongst the bouquet. A stout, cream-colored ceramic vase with Japanese letters held the bouquet. There were a lot of curves in the pattern, so it required a lot of fractional stitches, which she found a bit tiresome.

    Carol had loved it the first time she saw the pattern—and yet… it lacked something. Her stitching appeared uneven—she was not consistent with her stitching. Some appeared too tight while others were too loose. In a few cases, her count was off. The cloth looked dull and dirty. Carol knew it would have to be washed and ironed before it was framed. She hoped all the stains would come out.   

    Carol blew out in frustration causing her lips to sputter. Her phone rang. She answered it. On the line was an overly positive familiar voice. 

    “Hello, Carol, it’s Amanda. How are you?”

    Carol rolled her eyes from pure reflex. “I’m good, Amanda. How are you?”

    “I am terrific, thanks for asking. I am super excited about our get-together tomorrow. I’m hosting, you know.”

    “Yes, I know.”

    “And I just thought I would call to remind you. You know you did miss that one meeting, and I did not want you to miss this one.”

    “Yes, I missed one meeting,” Carol emphasized one.

    “I didn’t want you to miss tomorrow. One o’clock. I’m hosting, you know.”

    “I know. Are you sending reminder calls to everyone?”

    There was a pause. 

    “No. Do you think I should? I mean you are the only one who ever missed.  Tina will never forget, but Margaret is older. Do you think Margaret might forget? Harriet is older than Margaret. Does Harriet sometimes strike you as being absentminded? Should I call Harriet and remind her?

    “Sure, Amanda, why don’t you call her right now,” Carol said, hoping Amanda would hang up and call Harriet.

    “Maybe I will,” Amanda said with a hint of urgency. “Did I tell you what I’m serving? I’m preparing a cheese tray with five different types of cheese and three kinds of crackers. I’ll be able to use that new cheese platter—you know, the one I bought at Target. I’m putting out a fruit tray with two kinds of dip; with cream cheese and one with yogurt.”

    “Will there be booze… um, I mean drinks?” Carol asked bluntly. 

    Amanda was somewhat taken aback. “Well, yes. I’m serving wine, both red and white, which I am certain will go excellent with the food. The white is a subtle Pinot Grigio, and the red is—”

    “It doesn’t matter,” Carol said. “I’ll drink whatever you serve. See you tomorrow.” She ended the call with Amanda calling out, “One o’clock!” 

    The next day Carol packed up her cross-stitch and supplies in her craft case and drove to Amanda’s house. Amanda lived in a house much like Carol’s in a neighborhood much like Carol’s—a three-bedroom ranch with small rooms and a small yard. As she pulled up in front of the house Carol looked at her watch which read 1:15. Not too bad. Amanda and Tim Simons lived in a nice house with flowers out front, a low hedge, and trimmed shrubs. The house looked like dozens of others in the area with little to distinguish it from any other. 1:15—Amanda was probably getting ready to call Carol’s number for another reminder. 

    Carol grabbed her purse and craft case and walked up the drive and onto the short walk that led to the front door. Amanda appeared with her typical happy and open expression, almost as if she were surprised to see Carol on her porch. She ushered Carol in and embraced her like a long-lost friend. Carol wrapped her arms around Amanda the best she could, her hands laden as they were. 

    “So glad you could come!” Amanda said. “Come in. Everyone is already here.”

    Of course, they are, Carol thought to herself. Only she would dare be fifteen minutes late to a meeting. 

    Amanda led Carol to the living room. Amanda stopped and announced in her usual upbeat tone, “I feel the itch—the itch to stitch!”

    This was how Amanda liked to start every meeting when the women got together to cross-stitch and talk the afternoon away. It was a bit of an outdated reference, but Amanda was a huge Tom Cruise fan, and besides, everyone was used to it, and would not have it any other way. Amanda thought it was very funny, and she laughed every time she said it.      

    Three women had been sitting in conversation but turned and stood up as Carol and Amamda entered. Carol put down her things and embraced each one going from the oldest to the youngest in turn.

    Harriet was the senior of the group. She was in her late sixties but still spry enough. And though she had been cross-stitching for many years, her fingers were still nimble and her eyes clear. She could keep up with the younger women and her cross-stitching was very nice. Harriet acted as the mother to the younger women of the group, having three grown children of her own, all of whom had married and moved away. Harriet seldom spoke of her husband, Cliff, who passed away almost fifteen years ago.

    “Carol, dear, so good to see you,” Harriet said, as they embraced, and Carol lightly kissed the woman’s cheek. Harriet always used Gloria Vanderbilt Eau De Toilette Spray. 

    Next was Margaret, who did not appear openly friendly but was reliable and could be friendly if the mood suited her. Margaret was about fifty. She had no children and never married. She was reticent in talking about herself including her past. None of the others, including Carol, had the nerve to ask her openly for any personal details about herself. Sometimes Carol, Amanda, and Tina speculated that Margaret was a lesbian. It did not matter much to them, of course, but they liked to talk about it. Margaret never used scent.

    Next came Tina. Carol had a secret resentment for Tina.   The woman had an ego that made Carol cringe. Tina was the only one to ever wear a dress or a skirt to these cross-stitch meetings. Her hair and makeup were perfect. Who gets made up to come to one of these, Carol wondered. Tina did smell good, though.   

     Tina smiled and leaned into Carol giving her an air kiss so as not to disturb her makeup.

    The women took their seats. “Where is the wine?” Carol asked.

    Amanda frowned. “Oh, I won’t put it out until later.”

    “Great,” Carol said, managing to sound excited and disappointed at the same time. 

    Carol unpacked some of her supplies. She unzipped her case and took out the frame holding her cross-stitch.  

    “And how is your stitch coming along, my dear?” Harriet asked Carol. 

    Carol rose and carried her work over to Harriet. The older woman adjusted her glasses and gave Carol’s work a quick assessment. 

    “It seems to be coming along fine. Yes, very fine.”

    “Thanks.”

    “Let us have a look,” Margaret said. “Oh, yes. Very nice.”

    Wow! It was somewhat special getting even a mild compliment from Margaret who seldom commented on anyone’s work.

    Amanda and Tina came over to put in their two cents. 

    “I like it,” Amanda said with just enough enthusiasm.  

    “Why, Amanda, sweetie,” Tina said. “Don’t you recognize that pattern? I did the same one a few years ago. I showed it to you.”

    Carol’s heart sank.

    “Oh, yes, I remember it now,” Amanda said. Her enthusiasm slowly escaped her like a balloon deflating. 

    “Didn’t I ever show you my Flowers in a Vase?” Tina asked Carol,  who detected  something condescending in her

tone.

    “No. I don’t believe so.”

    “Next time you are over to my house, remind me and I will show you. Come over and see what I am working on,” Tina said, tapping Carol’s arm as if to say, Leave that, and come

and see some good cross-stitch.

    Carol rested her plastic clip frame on her chair and followed Tina to her work. It was stretched in a wooden scroll frame. Tina held it up as if it were already a prize winner.  

    Carol fought against the urge to gasp. It was Madonna and Child reminiscent of paintings done in the Renaissance period. It was not complete, of course, but Carol could see the incredible beauty of it. Mary’s eyes alone were almost hypnotic, and the expression captured on her face fought for the joy of motherhood and the incredible sadness she would experience during Christ’s passion. The baby Jesus perfectly embodied the innocence of childhood and the overwhelming knowledge of what was to come.

    “What is that—Evenweave?” Carol asked. 

    “Jobelan—32 count,” Tina said haughtily. “I just love the look and feel of it. It gives the work a richness. I wouldn’t use anything else.”

    “Lovely,” Carol said.

    When it appeared as if Carol could not absorb any more of its beauty, Tina gave the frame a quick flip to reveal the back. The backs of some cross-stitches, Carol concluded, were not very neat, with loose threads and looking a bit of a mess. But Tina’s was as neat, orderly, and clean on the back as the front. There was no other reason to show Carol the back of the work other than to say, The back of my work looks better than the front of yours.

    “Just beautiful,” was all Carol could say.

    The afternoon went by as it always did. In between stitches was the latest gossip, stories retold, and plans for future meetings. 

    Carol was starting to feel a bit edgy.

    “Is it time for the wine?” she asked.

    Amanda looked at the clock on the wall and checked it against her watch.

    “I was going to put out the wine with the cheese and crackers,” Amanda said.

    “Then put out the cheese and crackers and serve it with wine,” Carol said.

    “It’s too early, isn’t it?” Amanda said making a face like it

was an unforgivable faux pas. “Isn’t it too early to put out the food? What do you think, Tina? Should I put the food out?”

    Tina shrugged. “Sure, put it out.”

    “I’ll put it out,” Amanda said happily. 

    The food and drink break allowed Carol to see everyone’s progress. Amanda was working on a small cross-stitch in a hoop frame of a cat. There must have been about thirty colors. It was nice, and Amanda said it was the kind of cat she would have if she weren’t allergic. 

    Margaret was working on the interior of an old-fashioned kitchen. It was a good size project, about a foot square. A woman was taking pies out of an oven. There was an open window where a pie sat on the sill cooling. Other pies sat on a table. Above the scene were the words, Happiness is a Freshly Baked Pie. 

    Harriet’s cross-stitch was a very lovely piece. A winged angel close-up and in profile. There was beautiful detail in the wings and robe. Harriet was using silver thread to accent the wings. She planned on adding a few small pearl-like studs as well. Atop the piece were the words, God Bless. 

    The wine ran out before the food, but that was mainly due to Carol who had more than her share. 

    “Carol, have you heard from Gary?” Tina asked. It was a bit of an indelicate question, and the others went silent. “What is the name of his new girlfriend?”

    Leave it to Tina, Carol thought and wished there had been one glass of wine left. She tried to look as if the question did not bother her.

    “Her name is Monica.  Gary and I plan to meet very  soon

to begin to settle matters. We may have to sell the house.”   For some reason, Carol refrained from saying the house had to be sold. She was trying to hang on to the house as long as possible.

    “Oh, Carol dear, that is a shame,” Harriet said.

    “What kind of settlement are you getting from Gary?”

Tina asked. 

    Tina could be tactless when she wished to be, and Carol fought  against the  urge to  tell  Tina that it  was none of her

business.

    “It is too early to know about that,” Carol said. “Nothing has been settled.”

    “What does your lawyer say?” Tina asked.

    Harriet decided to step in.

    “Carol, if this is too sensitive, you don’t have to talk about it,” she said sympathetically. “We all understand how difficult this must be for you.”

    “Thank you, Harriet,” Carol said. “You’re right, it is difficult to talk about, but I consider every woman here my friend, and if you can’t turn to your friends during times of trouble, who can you turn to?”

    This touched everyone in the room, and they all respected Carol more for it.

    “To be honest, I did not want this,” Carol said. “It wasn’t part of a plan, and I did not see this coming. Things just seemed to fall apart faster than we could put them back together. I don’t blame Gary for what happened. I don’t blame myself. I wish we had tried harder, but sometimes you just get so tired of trying, and before you know it, your life is in pieces.” 

    Her eyes began to water, and everyone could see the sheer honesty that Carol was displaying. Though her statement was not entirely true it certainly was touching and one that garnered sympathy. 

    Harriet went over to Carol with her arms out. Carol stood and the two women embraced. This, of course, led to the other women following suit.     

    By 4:30 Amanda announced it was probably a good idea for everyone to start packing up.      

    “Tim will be home soon, and he doesn’t like it when you all are here,” Amanda said, trying to be lighthearted about it. “If we can all get our things together, that would be great.”

She paused raising a loose fist to her mouth. It looked as if

she was on the verge of tears. 

    Harriet stepped forward and gently took Amanda by the

shoulders. “Amanda, honey, what is it? What is the matter?”

    Amanda choked back sobs. “Things are not too good between Tim and me. I think he is having an affair.”

    There sounded a collective sigh from the group, and everyone moved in closer. There came forth words and sounds of comfort and sympathy. The words came from everyone but Carol. She carefully watched Amanda who seemed to soak it all in, privately reveling in the attention. Carol knew Amanda could be a bit of a drama queen, an attention seeker, a crisis junkie. Amanda saw how Carol was the center of attention at this meeting and felt jealous. Carol suspected Amanda of actually making up the story, or at least exaggerating the story just for attention. 

    They all sat back down again in the living room and continued to comfort Amanda, who did not give clear details of the situation. At one point she said it was only a suspicion. Margaret and Carol cleaned up. They put the glasses and the plates in the sink and submerged them in hot soapy water. They put away what food remained in the refrigerator and got rid of the empty wine bottles.

    When Tim drove up, Amanda asked everyone not to say a word, which helped confirm Carol’s suspicion that some if not all of Amanda’s story was concocted.

    The four women hugged and said goodbye to Amanda, and all glared at Tim as they walked out. Before getting in their cars, Tina reminded everyone that the next get-together would be at her house. 

    On the drive home, Carol did not think of Amanda’s sad situation,  for  she  had  already  made  up  her mind that the

story was not entirely true. No, Carol thought about the next meeting at Tina’s house and how she would have to endure Tina’s perfect cross-stitch, her perfect house, her perfect husband, and her perfect life. And of course, Tina had the best cross-stitch materials. She had hundreds and hundreds of thread colors and different types of thread: Perle, cotton, Marlitt, and even Metallic. When it came to fabrics, no one in the group knew more about linen, Hardanger, and fancy weaves. Tina had all the equipment any stitcher would ever need: compass cutter, craft knife, easy turn, hole punch, bodkins, and even vanishing ink pens.

    Carol gripped the steering wheel harder when she recalled how Tina had not only refrained from giving Carol’s cross-stitch any praise, but she got in a subtle jibe. Oh, she did that cross-stitch years ago! When you come to my house, I will show you. I’d like to show her, Carol thought.

    That was Carol’s secret ambition—to show up Tina. To prove she was good at something, and not a failure. 

    When she arrived home, she started to search through her forgotten stash of patterns she had bought with the honest intention of completing them one day but ended up tucked away in a cupboard. She referred to this stash as her SINS—Stuff I’ll Never Stitch. Carol pulled out bags of patterns, some she remembered exactly where and when she purchased them, some she did not remember buying at all. After going through them all, she did not find any that would seem to do the trick. None of them were prize-winners. I guess these will remain my SINS, she thought.

    Next, she went through her cross-stitch magazines. She had dozens of them. When she exhausted her collection of magazines, she went online looking and looking and looking.

    She did not know why, but none of the patterns she saw caught her eye. 

    Carol was tired. She needed to go to bed. She had to go to work tomorrow. After work, she would hit all the craft stores she knew. She was determined to find a pattern that would impress Tina and prove she was a good cross-stitcher.

 

The Enchanted Cross-Stitch by Christine Holly is available on Amazon! click here