“If I had to hurt my hand, I guess this was a good time,” said Peggy. “Quilting doesn’t really work for chicken sweaters. So I’ll just cheer the rest of you on.”
Annie turned the sweater over in her hands, noting the stitch types used. “We should be able to knock these out pretty fast. Kate’s design looks simple yet effective. I’ll get started right away. I’m not making anything that can’t be set aside for a little while.” She passed the sweater over to Gwen.
“My needles are yours, Mary Beth, for as long as it takes,” said Gwen, setting her needles and scarf in her lap and examining the sweater. “I’m thankful the authorities put a stop to it. The people of Stony Point will not put up with animal abuse in our community!”
Stella nodded as her hands continued to churn out stitches. “I have a few friends who are knitters and crocheters, but who aren’t able to attend our meetings. Do you have extra copies of the patterns, Mary Beth? I’d be glad to recruit more help.”
“I knew I could count on all of you,” said Mary Beth. “There are plenty of copies to share.”
“What can I do?” Emily asked. “I can’t knit or crochet yet.”
The earnest look on the young girl’s face tugged at the shop owner’s heart. “Emily, as you probably saw when you and your mother came in, business is hopping. I could really use help in collecting and keeping count of the completed sweaters. Would you be willing to take that important job off my hands?”
Emily bounced in her seat. “I can do it, Miss Mary Beth!”
“Wonderful, Emily. I’ve got something for you.” Mary Beth walked over to the storage room and disappeared for a moment, returning with a large red fabric bag emblazoned with A Stitch in Time. “When this is filled with sweaters, return it to me along with the number of sweaters inside it, and I will take them to Miss Calloway.”
Emily took the bag and hugged it to her chest. “You can count on me.”
“Hmmm.” Alice’s eyes narrowed in mock concentration. “Emily’s in charge of sweater inventory; Peggy’s the project cheerleader. What is this cross-stitcher going to do?” She paused, a mischievous smile began in her eyes and spread. “Besides helping Annie with her new mystery, that is.”
Everyone sat up a little straighter and heads swiveled in unison like a parade band commanded to “dress center”—the center being Annie.
“Now, don’t just sit there,” Peggy said, waving her bandaged hand. “Spill it! And please tell us you brought something besides yarn in your bag?”
Annie chuckled as everyone leaned toward her and nodded their agreement with Peggy. Even Stella appeared interested, although the speedy clicking of her needles never slowed. “Good thing for me my discovery doesn’t weigh a hundred pounds,” Annie said. She reached into her project bag and drew out the sporran. “I thought mice had invaded my attic again … but it turned out to be a sporran instead.”
“What’s a sporran?” asked Emily.
“A sporran is a pouch that serves like a pocket for a kilt,” Stella answered her young friend.
Alice anticipated Emily’s next question. “And a kilt is a traditional Scottish garment for men and boys. It looks like a knee-length pleated skirt.”
“I don’t think my daddy would want to be Scottish and wear a skirt.” Emily shook her head slowly.
“Annie, some of your family was from Scotland, if I remember correctly,” said Gwen. “How is the sporran a mystery?”
Annie smiled at her friend whose knowledge of Stony Point’s family lines was quite extensive. “Yes, you’re right, Gwen. Gram’s family was from Scotland. But you know what storytellers my grandparents were. They were always telling me one yarn or another about our ancestors and showing me family heirlooms. Not once during my childhood did they show me this or any other sporran. I find that odd enough to be intrigued.”
“Show them what’s inside,” Alice prompted.
Annie opened the clasp and took out the ferrules. “These ferrules are from bagpipes. Does anyone remember ever seeing my grandparents with a bagpipe?” She walked around the circle with the ferrules on the palm of her right hand, offering everyone a closer look. Aware that Stella had known Annie’s grandparents since her teens, Annie was particularly interested in her reaction.
The group was quiet for a moment as each person besides Annie and Alice examined the engravings on the ferrules. Then Emily whispered, “This is soooo cool!”
Stella handed a ferrule back to Annie. “Obviously, the engraver is a master silversmith. This is truly elegant work. I must say, I do not remember Charles or Betsy ever displaying or playing a bagpipe. Of course, I did live in New York for all those years.”