A Dropped Stitches Christmas by Janet Tronstad Read Free Book Online

philosophy, Becca had been just as scared as the rest of us when we had our cancers. Becca and I were the ones who didn’t like to show our emotions, though, especially not when we thought we might die. Marilee was the one who taught us both how to cry when we needed the tears.
    No one can see it, but I’m crying now. All for a girl named Joy. I haven’t met her, but I feel like I know her. Both Becca and I know how cancer changes a person’s face. It is in the skin color and the eyes and, if there’s any left, in the hair.
    I hope Joy does come into The Pews. As awful as it is to have cancer, it must be one hundred times worse to have cancer when you’re homeless.
    Marilee has her arm around Becca now and I can see Becca relax.
    I pick up my knitting, but I don’t have any heart for pushing a needle into yarn. I look through the glass in the French doors and see that people are starting to come in for lunch. I know they are short a waitress out front, so I decide to go out and help.
    All of us in the Sisterhood know our way around The Pews and have filled in when Uncle Lou has needed extra help. The one waitress out front will probably be able to handle the customers, but I’d like to be busy for a while. Whenever I think about dying of cancer, I like to get up and move my body just to remind myself that I can.
    I tell Marilee and Becca what I’m doing and stand up to walk through the doors.
    I hope Joy comes in. That will make Becca feel better.
    When I’m on the other side of the French doors, I turn around and see Marilee and Becca with their heads bowed. They must be praying for Joy. It’s the first time I’ve been on this side of the French doors, looking back, and I feel left out. We never used to pray in the Sisterhood, at least not together. It had never occurred to me when Marilee said she was a Christian that it might be something that could come between us in the Sisterhood. Are we going to have those who pray and those who can only look on in bewilderment? It might not just be my secrets that could pull us apart.
    I’m still thinking about that when I wrap a dish towel around my waist and get ready to take orders. Uncle Lou has these giant white dish towels that everyone uses for aprons. They’re cotton so they wash up nice.
    I wonder if Marilee will want to pray about my problems some day. If she asks me, I don’t know if I’ll say go ahead or not. I don’t think I’ve ever been prayed over before. I’m not sure how it would feel.

Chapter Four

    “To sit in the shade on a fine day and look upon verdure is the most perfect refreshment.”
    —Jane Austen

    W e were starting to recover from our chemo treatments when Lizabett brought this quote to the Sisterhood meeting. It reminded us of an exercise Rose had us do where we closed our eyes and pictured our perfect scene. We were all supposed to know our perfect scene well enough that we could put it into our minds when we felt sick.
    Lizabett said her scene was a Jane Austen moment that she’d seen at Huntington Botanical Gardens one day. She had to explain to us that verdure meant lush green landscape and that she’d seen some ladies sitting on the lawn by the duck pond in old-fashioned hats. Someone was painting them and it all looked very English garden. That was Lizabett’s scene.
    Becca pictured the ocean down at Crystal Cove; she used to go there and walk along the beach for hours. I’ve been there, too. Old cottages line that beach and remind you of the families who lived there years ago.
    For her scene, Marilee saw her mother sitting beside the fireplace in their house in Pasadena. She said her mother was always reading a book and everything felt safe.
    I, Carly, saw the night sky, looking straight up in the cloudless dark with the stars sprinkled around .

     
    Tonight, I see my night sky. It’s not always easy to see the stars in Pasadena, but sometimes in San Marino you can because there are fewer streetlights here. There’s a