Read Online Wishes and Stitches by Rachael Herron - Free Book Online

here for the last time.”
    Naomi remembered how bright Eliza’s eyes had been, snapping with life and verve. That hand-spun wool, not a piece of knitting as the world would have predicted, was Eliza Carpenter’s last finished object. But it hadn’t been Eliza’s last gift to her.
    On Naomi’s final visit to her while she was still conscious, Eliza took her hands and said in a whisper, “Your eyes don’t belong here. You’re not a city girl. The ocean is in your blood. Go to Cypress Hollow. Go, live there. Love there. For me.” The way Eliza’s hands had gripped her own had felt like a benediction, and Naomi had felt a rush of connection unlike any she’d ever known from a patient. This was why doctors had to keep a professional distance. This was why her colleagues couldn’t remember their patients’ names without stealing a glance at their charts.
    Eliza had died an hour later. Naomi informed Eliza’s inconsolable friend Abigail, who was waiting just outside the door. Abigail had then turned to the other grieving knitters in the cold hallway who’d been whispering prayers into the stitches of their sweaters and socks, and Naomi had taken herself home to mourn. She hadn’t yet moved the yarn from the bobbins into skeins to set the twist. She was a terrible spinner, but she knew how to do this much. Tears in her eyes, she wound the skeins from her thumb to her elbow.
    But at the end of one bobbin, taped to the actual wood itself, was a piece of paper. She hadn’t noticed anything different about Eliza’s spinning that day, but then again, she’d been knitting. Eliza had wound fiber all around this so it was completely invisible until now.
    Hands trembling, Naomi used her yarn scissors to snip the tape and pull off the paper. She unfolded it carefully.
    A ring fell into her lap.
    A small gold ring, with a tiny diamond, the sides of which were held in place by what looked like platinum leaves. It was delicate. Perfect.
    Eliza’s dark script read, This was my sister Honey’s wedding ring. I have many people I love, but very few with the kind of eyes you have. You remind me very much of her, and I’m giving this to you (I knew you’d never have accepted it any other way—forgive my treasure hunt method). Knit the shawl in honor of her (not in memory of me, because we’ll be thinking of each other no matter what). Thank you for being kind to me when I wasn’t at my best. We are kin, my dear, with knitting in our blood. Wear the ring in joy.
    Naomi had slipped it onto her right hand. It fit perfectly, as if it had always been there. Eliza was right, she would never have accepted a ring from a patient. Ever.
    But she’d accept it from a friend. If she was honest with herself, she could admit that she’d felt more connection with Eliza Carpenter than she felt with most people, her own family included. Eliza was blunt almost to a fault when she wanted to make a point, but could talk to anyone, anywhere, with a focus that made the other person feel as if whatever it was they were saying was the most important, the very best thing that had ever been said.
    When Eliza had told her to knit, she had. And when the idea of moving had come up, remembering what Eliza had said about Cypress Hollow had made it the top town on her list.
    And now, Naomi sat in Eliza’s hometown, twisting the ring on her finger, looking out the window to the dunes across the street. She was building a practice, yes. But was she building a life?
    Her intercom buzzed and Bruno’s voice said, “Sugar Watson just canceled—you have twenty minutes until your next appointment.”
    Thank God for Bruno. He put the right paperwork in her hand, he restocked supplies, he filled cancelation slots, all while checking people in, getting their vitals. Even with his scowl, the patients seemed to love him. And though he rarely spoke, she knew he was