Chapter Seven: Moving from the family farm in Manitoba to the city of Vancouver, BC, tore Gwen's family apart. It turned her against her mother and drove her father to an early grave.
photo by ldyck
Chapter Eight
Beside a freshly dug grave, I clung to my Auntie Ollie. She and her husband my uncle Steini were the only ones to come from the farm—probably against Afi's wishes, although they never said. In a black dress, Mother stood a distance away from us. She dabbed her dry eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief as the coffin was lowered. What an actress, what a show. And I wondered, had she ever loved him?
My auntie comforted me the best she could. “Do you still knit, Elskan?”
“I was knitting this for Dad,” I said of the sweater I was wearing. The wool was from the farm. I thought it would help my dad, but I hadn't knit fast enough. I bite down hard on my tongue, attempting to control my flood of tears. When I could I added, “I was finished the sleeves and starting the back when he...” I pushed on. “So I did some frogging and cast on fewer stitches and made it for myself.”
“It's lovely. Where did you get the pattern?”
“I didn't use one. It's all just Stockinette stitch.”
“You're making your own patterns.” Her expression was like the sun after two days of rain.
“Can I go back home?” And to be clear, I added, “to the farm.”
All she said was, “Anna will need you, Elskan. You'll need each other.”
Maybe if I told her what Mother had done she would have welcomed me back to the farm, but I never told her. How could I?
The best of 2023 on this blog...
By my count, in 2023, on this blog, I published 11 stories and reviewed 8 books.
