5

The shake of elderly voices carried through the church hallway on Tuesday night. Brooklyn had come because the knitting club, Closely Knit, announced on Sunday that they wanted to share their skills with the younger generation. If these voices were any indication, she’d be the only woman under eighty, but her mind would keep spinning if she didn’t find something to occupy it.

The conversation came into focus as she neared. “All respect to that pastor, but do you think he did right in his sermon on Sunday?”

Three women sat around the table in the middle of the room, a pile of yarn, hooks, and projects scattered over the workspace. What were these women’s names again?

“Well, what do you know?” The one with tight, white curls beamed at the others. “All’s not lost, gals.”

Another woman stood. “Brooklyn Merrill. Welcome. You know everyone here, right?” She pointed out the others at the table. “Nora Schilling, Roberta Connors, and of course, Elizabeth Stein.” She indicated herself.

Brooklyn silently recited the names again. “No one else wanted to learn to knit?”

Nora shrugged. “Knitting’s not accurate, anyway. Betsy was the only knitter. She started the group, so she named it. The rest of us crochet. Never got around to renaming ourselves after she died. Roberta knows some knitting, though, if that’s what you’ve come for.”

Brooklyn didn’t know enough about either to have a preference. “Crochet’s fine.”

Elizabeth selected a ball of yarn, a crochet hook, and a booklet of patterns. “What have you come to make, dear?”

She wanted to make clothes for the baby. What would these women think if they knew she was pregnant out of wedlock? “I have a friend with an afghan. I thought it would be neat to learn.”

The blanket belonged to Jake. His grandmother gave it to him for his high school graduation. She’d never met her own grandparents, and the symbol of family and care drew her every time she entered his apartment. To think he’d let the blanket sit in a box until she found it. Now that he kept it out, the yarn smelled of the same rich coffee and vanilla that permeated the apartment from the shop below. No other scent made him feel so close. She’d tried dozens of candles in her own home, and all failed to give her the illusion of his embrace.

Elizabeth flipped open the booklet. “You’ve come to the right place, but let’s start a smidge smaller than an afghan. How about a hat? Once you get the basics down, you’ll be able to take on anything.”

Something less likely to make her think of Jake would be best. She applied herself to following Elizabeth’s instructions. Once she had gotten far enough in the spiraling pattern to satisfy the older woman, Elizabeth returned to her own project.

“Out with it, Nora,” Roberta said. “What’s the problem with the guest pastor’s sermon?”

Brooklyn lost count of her stitches at the question. Did she have to start over? Maybe she could guess her way through.

Nora raised her eyebrows without taking her focus off the little sweater she was making. “He said people who are in the midst of trials usually have brought the trial on themselves.”

“And they have,” Roberta said. “The sooner they admit their sin and ask for forgiveness, the sooner they’ll get out of their trials.”

Nora’s voice lost some of its meekness. “Innocents suffer, too. That could’ve been stressed more. Look at Job. And Jesus. They followed God’s will, and they suffered. And don’t forget the man born blind. It wasn’t because he or his parents sinned, remember?”

Elizabeth chuckled in agreement. “Not everybody’s Jonah.”

Brooklyn pulled out a few stitches. The pattern seemed hopeless, but she needed to hear this conversation more than she needed to ask for help.

“Trials are like jails,” Roberta said. “Everybody in them says they’re innocent, and very few are.”

Brooklyn abandoned the pattern and did one simple stitch after another.

“The Holy Spirit doesn’t let a true believer get away with sin.” Nora grabbed for a different color of yarn. “But you go telling them they’ve done something wrong, and some of them carry a burden they were never meant to carry.”

Brooklyn tugged out the simple stitches. Perhaps her trial wasn’t a punishment. She’d done nothing wrong. She could tell Jake without fear. How welcome his help would be. Their relationship could still survive the fifty percent statistic. The stitches began to pour from her hook, but then her hands froze. What if God allowed the pregnancy in order to break up her friendship with Jake?

Even before New Wilshire, she’d been damaged goods. After watching her mother fail at marriage so many times, she’d learned to fail at love, too. Her few adventures in dating had confirmed as much. Jake, on the other hand, had grown up under the wings of his parents’ solid marriage. If anyone could commit for a lifetime, he was that man.

If this trial broke them apart, he could focus on his work at Hillside and with the youth. He would grow to be a leader in the church and in the community. A wonderful Christian woman would come into his life, and they’d get married and have kids, all of them his.

“We can’t often tell what purpose our trials serve,” Nora said. “But we can be faithful to what we do know.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Faithful to Jesus.”

Brooklyn had tried to be faithful to Jesus. She’d drowned hours in prayer and study, but now she was pregnant. Did God really want to separate her from Jake? If the pregnancy was a redirection, not a punishment, and if she wasn’t guilty, it’d be nice for Jake to know that. She hadn’t been this desperate for anything since her last night in New Wilshire. Lord, could You at least explain to him what happened? Somehow?

Her sniffle drew glances from Roberta and Elizabeth. The yarn in her hands looked nothing like the picture. She removed her hook and reached to pull out her work.

Elizabeth touched her hand. “You have to give the pattern time to develop. Sometimes, you can’t see it’s working all right until you’re a few rows into it. Let me see.” The older woman prodded at the stitches, leaving the work intact. “You’re doing all right here. Don’t try to be perfect. Just try to be faithful to the directions and keep going. It’ll fall into place.”

Brooklyn blinked and a tear fell to her cheek. “It looks like a mess.”

“Always does at first. Have a little faith.” Elizabeth passed back the start of the hat.

Nora rose from her seat and set a box of tissues next to Brooklyn’s yarn. “My Henry used to get a cold every time the seasons changed. The runny noses have started. Spring is coming.”

Elizabeth smiled at her project, and Roberta diverted her eyes.

“Thank you.” Brooklyn used a tissue and then did her best with the pattern.

Elizabeth lowered her work. “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death.”

“So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed,” Nora said.

Elizabeth worked her hook in and out of the yarn with deft strokes.

Roberta nodded once. “Amen.”