Rows 17, 19, 21, 23. Purl.
Row 18. Knit.
Row 20. Knit 5—bead 1, to last 3 stitches, knit 3.
Row 22. Knit.
REPEAT ROWS 16–23, until piece measures 4 inches from eyelet.
Knit 1—bead 1, to last stitch. Knit 1. Purl next row.
Knit 2—bead 1, to last 2 stitches. Knit 2. Purl next row.
Knit 1—bead 1, to last stitch. Knit 1. Purl next row.
BASE:
Row 1. Right side facing; Purl. Row 2. Knit.
Row 3. Knit 7—Knit 2 tog, continue to end of row.
Rows 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, 14, 16: Knit.
Row 5. Knit 6—Knit 2 tog, continue to end of row.
Row 7. Knit 5—Knit 2 tog, continue to end of row.
Row 9. Knit 4—Knit 2 tog, continue to end of row.
Row 11. Knit 3—Knit 2 tog, continue to end of row.
Row 13. Knit 2—Knit 2 tog, continue to end of row.
Row 15. Knit 1—Knit 2 tog, continue to end of row.
Row 17. Knit 2 tog 6 times.
Cut yarn and pull through last 6 stitches.
FINISHING:
Sew up base and side seams.
Knit 2 lengths of I-cord approximately 13 inches long.
Weave I-cord through eyelet. Double pull.
Trim ends of I-cord with 7 of the #06 beads, 1 accent crystal, 1 crystal heart.
Optional: Line bag.
Copyright Sandy Payne 2010. All rights reserved. No portion of this pattern may be photocopied without written permission.
One
April 22
Today I sign the papers on our new house! I’m excited and exhausted and feel completely out of my element. I have so much still to do. I should’ve been finishing up the packing or cleaning the apartment before the movers arrived. But no. Instead, I sat down and began to knit. What was I thinking? Actually, knitting was exactly what I needed to do. Knitting always calms me, and at this point my nerves are frayed. I haven’t moved in years and I’d forgotten how stressful it can be. Usually, I’m organized and in control, but today I’m not (even if I look as though I am). On the inside—and I don’t mind admitting this—I’m a mess.
Mostly, I’m worried about Ellen. My ten-year-old has already had so much upheaval in her life. She feels secure in our tiny apartment. And it is tiny. It was just right for one small dog and me, but I never intended to stay here so long. When I moved into this space above the bookstore it was with the hope—the expectation—that Robert and I would reconcile. But the unthinkable happened and I lost my husband to a heart attack. After his funeral I remained here because making it from one day to the next was all I could deal with.
Then Ellen came into my life and it was obvious that two people and a dog, no matter how small, couldn’t live comfortably in this minuscule space, although we managed for more than a year. I did make an earlier offer on a house but that didn’t work out.
After bouncing from foster home to foster home, Ellen had ended up with her grandmother, who died when she was eight. So Ellen needed stability. She’d endured enough without having a move forced upon her so soon after the adoption.
In retrospect, I’m grateful that first house deal fell through, since it would’ve happened too fast for Ellen—although I was disappointed at the time. Even now, Ellen feels uneasy about leaving Blossom Street, although I’ve reassured her that we aren’t really leaving. Blossom Street Books is still here and so is the apartment. The only thing that’ll be different is that at the end of the workday, instead of walking up the stairs, we’ll drive home.
Sitting in the office of the Seattle title company, Anne Marie Roche signed her name at the bottom of the last document. She leaned back and felt the tension ease from between her shoulder blades. As of this moment she was the proud owner of her own home. Today was the culmination of several months of effort. She smiled at the two sellers who sat across the table from her; they looked equally happy.
“Is the house ours now?” Ellen whispered as she tugged at the sleeve of Anne Marie’s jacket.
“It is,” she whispered back.
A few years ago Anne Marie had merely been going through the motions. Robert, her husband, had died, and she’d found herself a widow at the age of forty. She had no one in her life who loved her, no one she could love. All right, she had friends and family and she had her dog, Baxter, a Yorkie—admittedly a special dog—but Anne Marie needed more, wanted more. She’d craved the intense, focused, mutual love of a spouse, or a child of her own. Then she’d met Ellen through a volunteer program and they’d grown close. When Ellen’s grandmother, Dolores, who’d been raising the girl, became seriously ill, Anne Marie had stepped in—at Dolores’s urging. She’d taken over as the girl’s foster mother and, after Dolores’s death, adopted her. Dolores must have known she was reaching the end of her life, and when she saw how attached Ellen and Anne Marie were, she’d been able to die in peace, confident in the knowledge that her granddaughter would be safe and, above all, loved.
“You can cross finding a house off your list of twenty wishes,” Ellen said, referring to the list Anne Marie had compiled with a group of widowed friends the year she’d met Ellen.
The child’s straight brown hair brushed her shoulders, with a tiny red bow clipped at each temple. Her eyes were wide with expectation—and a little fear. Anne Marie hoped Ellen would quickly adjust to her new home and neighborhood, although Ellen kept insisting she liked her old one just fine.
“We want you to be as happy in this home as we’ve been,” Mr. Johnson, the previous owner, said. With a great deal of ceremony he and his wife handed the house key to Anne Marie. The Johnsons, an older couple who’d lived there for more than twenty years, planned to move to Arizona to spend their retirement near friends.
“I’m sure we will,” Anne Marie said. She’d looked at a number of places and this was the first one that felt right, with its large backyard and spacious rooms. Ellen would be able to go to the school she currently attended, which Anne Marie considered a bonus.
She would do whatever she could to ensure that the transition would be a smooth one for her daughter. Ellen had made friends on Blossom Street, people she visited almost every day, and she could continue doing that. Her favorite stop was A Good Yarn, Lydia Goetz’s store. Both Anne Marie and Ellen had learned to knit, thanks to Lydia.
“You promise I’ll like the new house as much as Blossom Street?” Ellen asked with a skeptical frown.
“You’re going to love having a big bedroom.”
“I like my old bedroom,” she said, lowering her head.
“Yes, but you’ll like this one just as much.” This was a conversation they’d had a number of times already. “And Baxter’s going to enjoy racing around that big backyard, chasing butterflies.”
The hint of a smile touched Ellen’s face, and Anne Marie put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Everything’s going to be fine,” she said. “You’ll see.”
Ellen nodded uncertainly.
Now that the paperwork had been completed, Anne Marie thanked the title agent, who’d been so helpful. With the house keys safely inside her purse, she stood and reached for Ellen’s hand. “Mel’s taking