Knitted Together

Margie Lewis's heart sped up as the front door of Heart Strings banged open. Maybe some of Aunt M's customers have come back.

The next moment a herd of sheep stampeded into the shop. 

Sheep? Visions of a down-home Texas sheep shearing flashed through her mind, bringing with it the tickle of laughter. Aunt M hadn't taught classes on creating your own yarn from scratch, had she?

Setting a hank of bright pink yarn back on its pile, she stepped into the hallway and followed the noise. When she heard giggles mingled with the stampede, she cut through what had at one time been the living room and circled back to the kitchen where she found five children. The smallest was a boy who looked almost too small to walk and the biggest was a tall, thin girl, maybe eleven or twelve years old. And they were all digging in a large wooden dish filled with candy.

Kids in a knitting shop? Margie's pounding heart slowed as she sagged against the door frame. What were kids doing in a knitting shop?

Was this normal for Texas?

She straightened away from the door frame. The kids' mothers would probably be along soon. Until then, maybe she could do something about making a few future customers. So what if she'd hadn't been around kids in years? She'd been one—a long time ago. All she had to do was remember what it was like. She cleared her throat. "Hi, guys!"

As one, all five heads swiveled toward her. "They caught us!" the tallest girl shouted and with squeals of laughter, the group swarmed back out the front door with Margie following behind.

The big girl led the way, leaping over all five steps in one bound, her fist in the air. "Yeah!"

 The next smaller child, another girl, did the same thing. Next came a pair—a girl and a boy who were within inches of each other in size—went down a couple of steps before hopping to the sidewalk.

The only one left was the tiny boy. When he got to the edge of the steps, he turned around and crawled down. Backwards. When he made it to the sidewalk, he turned, threw his fist in the air, then tripped and fell. Pushing to his knees, he plopped to his bottom. After a moment he glanced at his arm where he saw blood oozing from a scrape, and he started screaming.

Margie rushed to the tyke and scooped him off the ground. With a quick glance, she saw the rest of the crew running down the sidewalk. One of the girls turned back, but when she saw Margie, she smacked the tall girl on the back and shrieked, "Watch out!"

Obviously a game they'd played before, the four kids took off around the corner as if someone had fired a starting gun.

Weighing heavy in Margie's arms, the baby's face was grimy with chocolate and tears, his eyelashes spiky as he blinked up at her. What should she do? What if he'd done more than just scrape his arm? What if he'd really hurt it?      

Relief filled Margie as Carrie Sue came out, her step slowed by arthritis. She handed Margie a tissue, then patted the boy's leg. "Yes, I know it hurts, Bryan. It'll be okay."

The boy cried louder.                            

"Do you know this baby?" Margie had to raise her voice to speak over his howls. When she tried to touch his arm, he jerked it away.

"That's Bryan, Dr. Halstead's youngest."

"Then maybe you should take him—"

With a quick shake of her head, Carrie Sue cut off Margie's words. "You'll have to take him. I can't lift Bryan anymore. Orders from Dr. Pete. He works out of his house. It's the white one, around the corner, with the flagstone sidewalk."

Margie hesitated. What if this doctor thought she'd been the cause of the kid's injury? "Will you go with me?"

"I'd better stay here. We could have a customer any time."

Her first customers and she wouldn't be there. Great first impression. But the baby was obviously in pain. Maybe if she hurried, she could give him to his dad and be back before any knitters.

She jiggled the child as she hurried along the sidewalk. At least his loud crying had changed to snubbing gasps of breaths. Snot ran from his nose, mixing with the tears. Afraid he'd drown in the muddy mess, or get it on her, she swiped at his face with the tissue, but he twisted in her arms with a whine.

After a few moments, her arm muscles started burning. Hoping he'd walk, she stopped to set him down, but his tears started up again. Bending his knees, he practically collapsed to the sidewalk.

  She couldn't help but smile at his antics as she pulled him back into her arms, set him on her hip, and strode down the sidewalk. And tried to think about something—anything—but her tiring arms.

She drew a deep breath, focusing on the heady aroma of spring lilacs. Was the fragrance sweeter in this part of Texas than it had been in Houston? Or were there more people who grew them?   

As she turned the corner, she glanced at the old sidewalk. On the square of cement that made the turn was a stamp. WPA. The sidewalk must have been a government project from the '30s. 

She followed the concrete path until she reached the flagstone sidewalk, which she followed to the doctor's house—an old two-story with green shutters on the windows. Bikes, tricycles and plastic riding toys were scattered all over the lawn.

Stepping onto his porch, she started to knock, but a sign, written in a childish hand, hung from it. "Office Hours. No Nocking Nesesary."

She opened the door and stepped inside. Although the room was dark after the bright sunlight, she quickly noticed the biggest girl, who'd been in Aunt M's—her—kitchen. The child was at the desk, talking to a receptionist, but when she saw Margie holding Bryan, the laughter in her face fled. "Where's Carrie S—what'd you do to Booger?"

"Trish," the receptionist gently said the girl's name, drawing her attention.

Trish turned back to the woman. "His arm's bleeding. She hurt him."

Bryan chose that moment to renew the howling.

The receptionist's eyes widened. Shoving from her chair, she lumbered to Margie, her brows drawn together in a hard frown. "What happened?"    

When the large woman had relieved Margie of her burden, she focused on the name plate sitting on the desk. "Miss Rains, I didn't do anything to Boog, uh, Bryan. I—"

"She was at Mitten's house. She chased us and caught Booger." Trish interrupted, her voice high and loud.

Surprised at the girl's words, Margie took a quick breath. "I didn't chase—"

"Don't lie."

"I didn't—"

"Yes, you did!" Trish's voice grew sharper as she turned back to the receptionist. "We were excited Mitten's place was open again. We just wanted to say hi and play rescue the treasure. Honest! But she was busy, so we—"

Margie decided to make herself heard. "Five children came into my shop, emptied the candy bowl, then ran away. When they did, they left this guy—"

"What is going on out here?" The words were low, full of force and very male.

Trish's eyes widened, but she stopped speaking as she lowered her head and shrugged.

"Well, I can tell you what's going on." Margie did an about-face to see the deep voiced magician who'd silenced the girl. But having shouted to be heard, then turning so quickly, the room started to teeter. As she reached out to steady herself, the walls whirled, sweeping away the chair she tried to touch. Then the room went black.