Read Online The Drowning Spool (A Needlecraft Mystery) by Monica Ferris - Free Book Online
Authors: Monica Ferris
Ads: Link
top.”
She unfolded the bundle, which proved to be slightly malodorous as well as dirty and torn. Betsy took a step back. It was a bedsheet, a very old one to judge by its thinness and by several long tears, which were parallel splits. But the top edge showed a broad line of Hardanger stitching, complex and beautiful. Betsy stepped forward again, her eyes sparkling with interest.
“I hoped you’d be interested,” the woman said, reading accurately the expression on Betsy’s face. “This is that same kind of thing you wrote about on your web site, right? Hard anger. Or is it har danger?”
“Hardanger,” said Betsy, pronouncing it HAR-dahng-er. “It’s Norwegian embroidery. This is beautiful work.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” said the woman. “What I want to know is, can it be cut off this raggedy old sheet, cleaned up, and put on something else?”
“Certainly,” said Betsy. “In fact, I hope you will do that exact thing. You say you found it in your garbage bin?”
“Yes,” said the woman, nodding. “I don’t know how it came to be in there, it wasn’t one of my neighbors mistaking my can for their own, I asked them.” She stroked the embroidery with a work-thickened forefinger. “I never seen anything like this Har-dahng-er before.” She pronounced it carefully. “My grandmother used to do all kinds of embroidery, but nothing like this. This’s got little bitty holes cut in it.” She hesitated, then asked a little too casually, “Is it valuable?”
“Yes, but not many people collect it. It’s generally of more value to the family that inherits it. I’m surprised it ended up in the trash. This is certainly heirloom quality, and has probably been in someone’s family for a long time.”
“How long? Is it really old? Like an antique?”
Betsy leaned in for a closer look. She didn’t do Hardanger—she found its serious demand that every stitch be done perfectly intimidating. She thought it hard to believe the assessment by advanced stitchers that the craft was relaxing. But she’d seen a lot of it, and had sold a lot of copies of Janice Love’s book on advanced Hardanger,
Fundamentals Made Fancy
, so she knew complex work like this when she saw it. She recognized the pattern of one repeating segment as Spider in a Lacy Web, and another as the wonderfully complex and delicate Edelweiss. Geometric shapes made of satin stitch were set among the open work and were strong contrasts to the nubbly Dove’s Eyes. There were a lot of variants of Dove’s Eyes, and the edging was an incredibly complex broad strip of open work called Spider Web Flowers, in which the tiny cut-out squares were linked in rows and filled with tightly wrapped threads and Greek crosses. The whole thing made an intelligent repeating pattern that was simply ravishing.
“It’s impossible to tell just from the embroidery itself,” Betsy said. “On the other hand, the sheet is badly worn, so it’s likely old. Perhaps more than fifty years. I don’t see a single bit of damage to the Hardanger, but work of this sort is often amazingly sturdy. It’s sad that the last owner of this didn’t realize that it could be moved to trim a new bedsheet.”
“I was going to put it on a table runner.”
“That would also be a good use for it. Then visitors to your home could admire it.”
Betsy and the customer discussed how best to clean the Hardanger and safely cut away the ruined bedsheet. Then Betsy took one of her biggest plastic bags and began folding the sheet into it.
Meanwhile, the customer looked around at the displays in the shop. She said, “I used to knit my sister a sweater every Christmas, but I haven’t knit anything for such a long time.” She paused. Then, “So long as I’m here,” she murmured, and the wistful look in her eyes turned to yearning. She walked over to touch the skeins of spring pastel yarns heaped in baskets. She hesitated a long while over the ones on sale, then picked out
She unfolded the bundle, which proved to be slightly malodorous as well as dirty and torn. Betsy took a step back. It was a bedsheet, a very old one to judge by its thinness and by several long tears, which were parallel splits. But the top edge showed a broad line of Hardanger stitching, complex and beautiful. Betsy stepped forward again, her eyes sparkling with interest.
“I hoped you’d be interested,” the woman said, reading accurately the expression on Betsy’s face. “This is that same kind of thing you wrote about on your web site, right? Hard anger. Or is it har danger?”
“Hardanger,” said Betsy, pronouncing it HAR-dahng-er. “It’s Norwegian embroidery. This is beautiful work.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” said the woman. “What I want to know is, can it be cut off this raggedy old sheet, cleaned up, and put on something else?”
“Certainly,” said Betsy. “In fact, I hope you will do that exact thing. You say you found it in your garbage bin?”
“Yes,” said the woman, nodding. “I don’t know how it came to be in there, it wasn’t one of my neighbors mistaking my can for their own, I asked them.” She stroked the embroidery with a work-thickened forefinger. “I never seen anything like this Har-dahng-er before.” She pronounced it carefully. “My grandmother used to do all kinds of embroidery, but nothing like this. This’s got little bitty holes cut in it.” She hesitated, then asked a little too casually, “Is it valuable?”
“Yes, but not many people collect it. It’s generally of more value to the family that inherits it. I’m surprised it ended up in the trash. This is certainly heirloom quality, and has probably been in someone’s family for a long time.”
“How long? Is it really old? Like an antique?”
Betsy leaned in for a closer look. She didn’t do Hardanger—she found its serious demand that every stitch be done perfectly intimidating. She thought it hard to believe the assessment by advanced stitchers that the craft was relaxing. But she’d seen a lot of it, and had sold a lot of copies of Janice Love’s book on advanced Hardanger,
Fundamentals Made Fancy
, so she knew complex work like this when she saw it. She recognized the pattern of one repeating segment as Spider in a Lacy Web, and another as the wonderfully complex and delicate Edelweiss. Geometric shapes made of satin stitch were set among the open work and were strong contrasts to the nubbly Dove’s Eyes. There were a lot of variants of Dove’s Eyes, and the edging was an incredibly complex broad strip of open work called Spider Web Flowers, in which the tiny cut-out squares were linked in rows and filled with tightly wrapped threads and Greek crosses. The whole thing made an intelligent repeating pattern that was simply ravishing.
“It’s impossible to tell just from the embroidery itself,” Betsy said. “On the other hand, the sheet is badly worn, so it’s likely old. Perhaps more than fifty years. I don’t see a single bit of damage to the Hardanger, but work of this sort is often amazingly sturdy. It’s sad that the last owner of this didn’t realize that it could be moved to trim a new bedsheet.”
“I was going to put it on a table runner.”
“That would also be a good use for it. Then visitors to your home could admire it.”
Betsy and the customer discussed how best to clean the Hardanger and safely cut away the ruined bedsheet. Then Betsy took one of her biggest plastic bags and began folding the sheet into it.
Meanwhile, the customer looked around at the displays in the shop. She said, “I used to knit my sister a sweater every Christmas, but I haven’t knit anything for such a long time.” She paused. Then, “So long as I’m here,” she murmured, and the wistful look in her eyes turned to yearning. She walked over to touch the skeins of spring pastel yarns heaped in baskets. She hesitated a long while over the ones on sale, then picked out
Similar Books
