The Graceful Knitter

approximately 1700 words

The Graceful Knitter
by
Max Griffin

         Maggie fidgeted in her metal folding chair and tugged at her yarn.  The Women's Knitting Circle toiled around a battered banquet table in the basement of the Full Gospel Church, the only church in Graceful, Nevada. When Maggie first arrived in Graceful, she wondered if there was a "Partial Gospel Church" down the road, but those thoughts long ago puffed to nothingness, like the powdery motes of dust floating above the streets of the town.

         Christmas hovered just a week away and tawdry holiday decorations clung to the basement walls.  A gray scarf coiled from Maggie's knitting needles, matching the gray hair knotted behind her head.  Her son Bobby huddled at her feet, gripping knitting needles in his pudgy fists.  His tongue protruded from one corner of pursed lips and furrows crumpled his young brow.  Bobby's needles clacked and twisted in vain with the purple and yellow yarn he chose for his project.

         "Pastor Dan says that the midnight Christmas Eve service this year will just the best ever!" Susan Knightly, whose husband owned the Bank of Graceful, shook out the crimson mohair hanging from her knitting needles.  Her voice always paraded into a room like a marching band, full of sound and fury.  She tugged at the brilliant skein of yarn in her knitting bag and her needles flashed.  "Yes, indeed, the best ever!"  She beamed at no one in particular. 

         "I'm so looking forward to it.  Pastor Dan says we're going to have a candlelit service this year."  Maggie always had to strain to hear Mrs. Willy's breathless voice. It was as if she feared someone would notice her, which was strange, really, since you couldn't miss Mrs. Willy, what with her ample girth oozing over the sides of her chair.  When she was absent Susan called her 'heavyset' and tsked over her weight. 

         "Mommy."  Bobby tugged at her skirt. 

         Maggie patted his hand. "What is it, sweetheart?" 

         "Mommy, I gotta go!"  Bobby whispered, but everyone heard him anyway.

         Maggie smiled.  "That's all right, honey.  You know where it is.  We'll be right here when you get back."

         Bobby trotted off amidst the silence of tight lips and flashing needles.  When the door to the church's sole restroom banged shut, Susan put down her knitting and glared over her reading glasses at Maggie.  "I swear, Miss Jones."  She always called Maggie 'Miss Jones,' with an extra little flourish on the 'Miss.'  "I swear there's something wrong with that boy of yours.  A teenage boy shouldn't be like that."  Her head bobbed up and down.  On anyone else their hair would have bounced in rhythm, but hairspray held Susan's peroxided tresses in rigid alignment.

         "Now, Susan.  That's not very charitable, you know."  Karen Cook, as Pastor Dan's spouse, took her church duties quite to heart.  "Maggie can't help how her son is, and neither can he."

         Maggie felt the heat rising from deep within her and boiling out her face.  "Bobby's just fine.  He's loving and gentle and kind.  There ain't nuthin' wrong with him.  He's a good boy."

         Karen smiled and patted her knee.  "I know dear. You must be so proud."

         The sound of the toilet flushing flooded the basement and Bobby padded back to his place by Maggie.  He picked up his bedraggled knitting.  "Thee, Mommy?"  He spoke with an unfortunate lisp that Maggie found endearing and the rest of the Knitting Circle found ominous.  "I'm knittin' a blankie for the Baby Jethuth."  The crooked tangle of purple and yellow yarn bore a slight resemblance to a blanket, if you used your imagination.

         "That's wonderful, Bobby.  It's beautiful!"

         Karen nodded. "Yes, indeed, Bobby!  It's too beautiful to really use!  We'll just have to save it in a special place."  The other members of the Women's Knitting Circle nodded. 

         Maggie's eyes threw daggers at Karen.

         "But Mommy!  I'm knittin' it jutht for the Baby Jethuth, tho he won't be cold on Chrithmath eve in the manger."  Bobby's wide eyes pleaded with her. 

         Before she could answer, Pastor Dan's sunny smile and booming voice filled the room.  "Well, well, Ladies!  How goes the knitting?"  On his arrival, the women put their needles down. Pastor Dan always commanded full attention and left no room for anything else.

         He fingered the intricate weave of the baby blanket that hung from Susan's needles.  "I say, I do believe that's the most beautiful blanket I've ever seen."

         Susan glowed under his blessings.  "Lookee here, Pastor.  There's booties to go with it!"

         "Aren't they just the most precious little things?"  Karen's voice gushed into the drab little basement like a sparkling spring stream.

         "They are indeed just that."  Pastor Dan picked up the booties.  "You know, we should put these and your blanket on the Baby Jesus in our Nativity Scene.  Do you think you can have them ready by Christmas Eve?"

         "Oh yes, certainly Pastor Dan!"  There it was again, that marching band voice parading into the little basement.

         Bobby tugged at Pastor Dan's sleeve.  "Pathtor Dan, Pathtor Dan.  Look at the blankie I'm knittin' for the Baby Jethuth."  He held up his sad little tangle of yarn.

         Karen arose and hooked her arm through her husband's.  "Pastor Dan, we were just saying, that's such a special blanket that it's too pretty to use.  Don't you agree?"

         Pastor Dan fingered Bobby's knitting and looked grave. "Yes, indeed I do. That is one very special blanket, Bobby.  When you finish it, you give it to me and I'll put it in a very, very special place."  He winked at the ladies.  Maggie said nothing.

         Pastor Dan beamed again.  "Say, ladies, I got great news to report.  Forrest Cheever called from Henderson and said he'd drive down for our midnight Christmas Eve service.  He's gonna sing 'O, Holy Night.' Isn't that grand?"

         "Praise the Lord!  That's my favorite Christmas hymn!"  Susan's hands fluttered to her breasts while her voice strutted through the basement. 

         Pastor Dan boomed his goodbyes to the Women's Knitting Circle amidst a glad chorus of  "Hallelujahs" and "Praise the Lords."

         Maggie held her peace and Bobby's hand.  She knew what she must do.

         The next week passed in a flurry of yarn and knitting.  On the afternoon before Christmas Eve, Maggie and Bobby strode through the dusty streets of Graceful to the Full Gospel Church.  Pastor Dan supervised a busy crowd of women making ready for the services that night.

         "Well, well, look who's here!"  He beamed at Maggie and Bobby.  "If it isn't Miss Jones and Bobby!"  He brushed his hair out of his eyes.  "What can I do for you this fine Christmas Eve?"

         "I finithed the Baby Jethuth'th blankie, Pathtor Dan."  Bobby gazed up at him and held out his scrabbled, pathetic little square of knitting.  Yellow and purple strands oozed out of it and the edges were ragged.

         Maggie wouldn't have believed Pastor Dan's smile could get broader and brighter, but it did.  "Well, now isn't that just the most beautiful blanket you've ever seen?" He held it up for everyone to see, but only Maggie and Bobby bothered to look.  "Yes sir, that is really special, Bobby.  I'll put it in a special place, just like I promised."  He folded it up, as best the rumpled fabric permitted, and placed it in a pew.

         "But Pathter Dan, the Baby Jethuth will get cold tonight.  That'th why I made the blankie for Him."

         "I know you did, son. Don't you worry, we'll take care of the Baby Jesus."  He looked at Maggie, who glared back.  "Is there anything else, Miss Jones?"

         "No, that's quite enough, thank you."

         The service that night fulfilled all the hopes and prayers of the good people of Graceful, Nevada.  Even Maggie had to admit that the church was beautiful. The town folk filed through the doors of the sanctuary and ushers handed everyone individual candles to light at midnight.  The scent of pine needles blended with the coffee brewing in the basement.  Poinsettias and holly adorned the the nave, while a life-sized nativity scene glowed in front of the altar, the figures a gift from the Bank of Graceful.  In case anyone didn't remember the benefactor, a little note in the bulletin reminded them.

         The congregation sang glad hymns of holiday tidings.  They sang "Away in a Manger" to remind them of the Savior's humility. They sang "The Little Drummer Boy" to remind them that the Savior came for all.  They sang "Silent Night" to remind them of the Savior's promise of peace.  Then, finally, the climax of Graceful's holiday season arrived.  The lights dimmed and a single candle burned. That single candle, passed in slow progression from one person to the next, ignited the individual candles that everyone held ready.

         At last, when all the candles glimmered in divine peace, a solitary spotlight beamed on Forrest Cheever's corpulent face. All eyes riveted upon him as his a capella tenor filled the church with glory and filled their hearts with joy.

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Savior's birth.

         That was when Pastor Dan saw it, there in the manger, covering the Baby Jesus.  A twisted, ugly web of yellow and purple replaced the luxurious mohair blanket crafted by Susan Knightly.  Bobby's awful excuse for knitting swaddled the Baby Jesus.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.

         Pastor Dan flushed. He longed to tear Bobby's dreadful rag from the manger, but instead he scanned the congregation with a hawk's eye, looking for that woman, that Maggie Jones.  She huddled there, with her son, hiding among the righteous. She must have slipped that terrible blanket into the nativity scene when no one was looking.  There she sat, unrepentant, even proud.  He looked back in disgust at the Baby Jesus.

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

         That was when She stirred.  No one else saw it: not the town folk, not Maggie, not Bobby, just Pastor Dan.  Mary, the Mother Of God, came to life at that moment. With gentle hands, She caressed the fleecy coverlet that Bobby had crafted in love and devotion.  Her fingers left a golden trail where they stroked the blanket that cradled Her Child, the Son of God.  Her eyes glowed in thanksgiving as her gaze sought out Maggie and Bobby.  Then she fell still once more.

Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

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© 2007 Max Griffin.  All rights reserved.