“She’d been working on it all week, each night after she got home from camp. Her grandmother had told her it was a relaxing pastime. That had sounded good after watching Jason ride the bull at camp. Alyson poked the needle through again and this time it got hung up, the way it had been doing all evening, tangling thread at the back of what was supposed to be a picture of a cottage. “You’re supposed to relax when you’re doing this.” Etta laughed, but she didn’t stop the movement of the spinning w...heel. She’d bought wool and she was busy turning it into yarn. That was something else Alyson couldn’t do. She couldn’t spin. She’d tried and the ensuing tangle of wool had made her grandmother grumble just a little. “I’m relaxed.” She jabbed the needle through the cloth again. “Ouch.” She kissed her finger and put the needlepoint down on the table next to her. She loved this attic room with the tall eaves, the stained-glass window and the window seat. It was a fairy tale room.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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