Leta's entire week dragged slowly. The cold weather and snow
trapped her in the house, and she spent many afternoons sitting in the living
room, listening to the radio and attempting to crochet. While she had always
been a seamstress, making and repairing clothes, and as a girl, decorated hats,
she had never tried knitting, needlepoint or crocheting. Her daughter-in-law
Kathryn liked to crochet, so on a couple of occasions, Leta and her daughter
Vivian took lessons.
However, she mostly found herself distracted from the task at
hand. She would start a row and then lose her concentration. When she looked
down at her handiwork, she learned that everything she had done would have to
be undone. The stitching was off. Sometimes she would tear out the bad
stitches, and sometimes she would simply put her work down in frustration and
pace from room to room.
By Saturday, she was fit to be tied and looking forward to
getting out of the house, no matter how cold or how much snow awaited her. She
had arranged to go shopping with Vivian, rose and dressed early, made her bed,
had her coffee and toast, and was again biding her time, when the telephone
rang. Leta rushed from her place on the couch to the small stand to answer
immediately.
It was Vivian. She had to cancel their plans for the day,
because her 12-year-old son Don had contracted a virus, and she needed to stay
with him. They would have to postpone their excursion.
“But have you heard anything from the doctor?” Leta inquired.
Vivian sighed. She, too, was anxious.
“No,” she answered. “I thought I might get the call yesterday,
but I didn’t.”
“All right,” Leta said compassionately. “Let me know when you
hear or if you need anything. I think I’m going to make some pies today.”
“I will, Ma,” Vivian answered. “Pie sounds good.”
After she finished the telephone call, Leta collapsed again on
the couch and did not stir for more than two hours. While she had never been
much of a brooder, this time she let the darkness of her mood overtake her. She
desperately wanted good news for Vivian, but she feared that once again, the
news would be negative. Even though Vivian was a strong woman who had plenty of
heartache before, this time she seemed more vulnerable.
Leta was roused by a knock on the door. It was the postman. He
was so bundled in his winter clothes that she barely recognized him. He had a
small package for her from her sister Mabel. In December, Mabel had sent her a
Christmas card, informing her that the package would be coming in January, but
she had forgotten. She asked the postman if he wanted a cup of coffee to warm
himself, but he declined, explaining that he had many other deliveries to make.
She thanked him and sent him on his way before she opened the package. It was a
pillow decorated with parakeets and roses. Mabel enjoyed needlepoint and had
made it herself. The bright colors made Leta smile. She returned to the sofa
and held the pillow in her lap for a long while.
There was comfort in that gesture. It wasn’t quite like Mabel
was with her, but Leta felt a peaceful sense that all would work out.
She still needed to do some shopping, so after lunch, she
bundled herself up and walked out the door and down the street to the market.
She was gone less than two hours and returned with all the fixings for a large
pot of bean soup. When she arrived home, she was chilled and brewed herself a
cup of tea. She had learned from her own mother that when one was particularly cold,
a cup of hot tea was a better warm up than coffee. While she waited for the
water to boil, she put away her groceries and filled another pot with water to soak
the beans.
When the telephone rang, she was warming her hands near the
flame.
“Hello, Ma,” Vivian said when she answered. For a moment, Leta
feared her grandson may have become sicker, but Vivian’s tone indicated
otherwise. “I received a call from the doctor.”
No comments:
Post a Comment