Sherry's Stories Archives - Sharon J Mondragon

The Top-Secret Life of Penelope Perlmutter Part 8

Sharon Mondragon — Fri, 05 Feb 2021 17:21:20 +0000

Shortly after Bill left for work the next morning, fortified by a hot breakfast and a warm kiss, Penelope did the dishes and got ready to go to the police station. She tucked the sock she was working on into her purse, in case she had to wait a while.
She was, however, ushered straight into an interview room. An officer arrived a few moments later, carrying the yarn Penelope had used to tie the escapee’s ankles. It was a tangled mess, but to Penelope’s delight, it was intact. She set to work untangling it as she told Officer Marks all about the excitement of the previous night.
“Do you think you’d recognize the man who tried to snatch your purse if you saw him again?” the officer asked when Penelope finished.
Penelope thought, casting her mind back to the struggle over her purse. She felt again the pull on her arms as she hung on to the strap and her own strength pulling back. There had been a fleeting flash of awareness before she could think of nothing but keeping hold of her purse.
“His face was pale in the darkness. And I think he was about my size, only skinnier. But that’s all.” She shook her head. “I was focused on not letting him have my purse.”
“if it should ever happen again, I would advise you to let a mugger have your purse,” Officer Marks said. “You could have been badly hurt.”
“As I said in my statement,” Penelope said through gritted teeth, “it’s not just any purse. And I didn’t get hurt. And I captured a criminal who was trying to escape.”
Officer Marks looked down at the statement. Penelope saw a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth.
“You did indeed, ma’am,” he replied. Penelope thought she caught a flash of amusement in his eyes when he looked up.
“Thank you for retrieving my yarn all in one piece,” Penelope replied stiffly.
“It was no small feat, the guards told me. The guy kept yelling, ‘Get it off me!’ and he flinched and jerked every time he saw the knitting needles. Serves him right, trying to steal from an old–”
Penelope cleared her throat.
“Uh, nice lady like you,” he finished.
Now that Penelope had her knitting project back, she had one more concern.
“Will my name have to appear in the police blotter in the paper?”
“No, ma’am,” the officer replied. “We don’t publish the names of victims.”
Penelope felt decidedly annoyed at being called a victim. She distinctly remembered being in control of the situation and leaving the escapee somewhat worse for wear when all was said and done. She did not, however, want Bill to know of the previous night’s escapade, so she simply nodded.
“Thank you.”
Agent Donovan arrived while she was signing her statement. Officer Marks relinquished his seat and left, statement in hand. The FBI agent fixed her with a piercing stare and shook his head.
“All I asked you to do was take pictures.”
“And that’s what I did.” She couldn’t see how she could possibly be in trouble, but the look on the agent’s face gave Penelope the uneasy feeling that she was.
“I told you to get a profile, How did you get a full-face shot?”
Penelope eagerly described the disturbance she’d created with the knitting needles.
Agent Donovan sucked in a deep breath and then let it out in a disgruntled sigh.
“I suppose I admire your initiative, but you also called attention to yourself and your picture-taking. You do realize your mugger was part of the gang, don’t you?”
Penelope gaped at him.
“He was willing to settle for your phone, remember? He wanted to get the pictures before you sent them to me.”
“Oh.” Penelope felt a little light-headed as she realized what had been at stake the night before. What might have happened if the escaped inmate hadn’t stepped out of the shadows, telling them to be quiet?
“Your little stunt with the knitting needles tipped them off that we were onto them. We caught them at a roadblock on their way out of town with all their counterfeiting equipment. Your picture will help convict the gang of passing the notes, but it was a close thing. Next time, just do as you’re told. Nothing more.”
Penelope caught her breath and barely even heard “just do as you’re told.” It was the “next time,” sang in her head and made her heart beat faster.

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The Top-Secret Life of Penelope Perlmutter Part 7

Sharon Mondragon — Fri, 29 Jan 2021 18:23:18 +0000

Penelope dove for her purse and fumbled around in its depths for her phone.
“Gimme that!” The inmate made a grab for the phone and almost fell over again as Penelope yanked it out of reach.
“No!” Penelope realized that it would be impossible to call 911 while playing keep-away with a desperate man. She resorted to the technique women in need of help have used for millenia. She screamed her head off.
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” the man hissed as he tried to free himself from the yarn around his ankles.
Penelope kept screaming.
The sound of pounding footsteps rushed toward them from the jail. The escapee gave up on the yarn and took off, hopping and hobbling, Robbie’s half-finished sweater bouncing along behind him.
“Whoa, whoa, settle down, ma’am.” Penelope looked up to see a uniformed officer looming over her. “What seems to be the problem?”
“He’s getting away!” Penelope pointed at the figure in orange hopping down the shadowy sidewalk.
Moments later, the inmate, handcuffed and yelling bloody murder (and a few other words Penelope would not repeat in polite company), shuffled back into the jail in the firm grip of a pair of correctional officers. A female police officer arrived to take Penelope’s statement.
Penelope glanced at her watch. Had this whole ordeal only taken ten minutes? Nevertheless, if she didn’t head home right now, Bill might be worried enough to send out the cavalry. And she did not want him to know that the cavalry was already involved. She explained as much to Officer Connolly, promising to arrive bright and early the next morning to give her statement and, more importantly, retrieve Robbie’s sweater.
“Please don’t cut the yarn if you can help it.”
Officer Connolly spoke into the radio on her shoulder, then listened intently to the static-filled response.
“They said they’ll do their best, Mrs. Perlmutter. My mother is a knitter, so I understand. She tried to teach me, but I’m a lot better with weapons than knitting needles.”
Another officer strode over to them, the size thirteen knitting needles in his hand.
“Are these yours. ma’am?”
Penelope was in too much of a hurry to get home to take the time to explain their role in the current situation.
“Thank you, officer. They must have fallen out of my bag in the struggle.” She smiled and tucked her crimefighting tools back into her knitting bag.
Officer Connolly walked Penelope to her car and gave her one last piece of advice.
“Always park under a streetlight, ma’am. Always.” He shut her door and thumped his hand on the roof of the car to send her on her way.
“Well, I would have, if I’d had time to look for one,” Penelope muttered as she settled herself behind the wheel. She took a moment to send her photos of the counterfeiter to Agent Donovan, then headed for home, where Bill had no doubt started to anxiously eye the clock.
“I’m home!” Penelope sang out as she sailed through the front door. The relief on Bill’s face when he looked up from his newspaper melted her heart. She walked over and kissed the bald spot on the top of his head before she put her knitting bag away. No need to tell this dear man what she’d been up to that night. He worried enough as it was.

Stay tuned for the final installment of THE TOP-SECRET LIFE OF PENELOPE PERLMUTTER, coming next week!

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The Top-Secret Life of Penelope Perlmutter Part 6

Sharon Mondragon — Wed, 13 Jan 2021 17:36:17 +0000

“Let’s take a picture for the website!” Penelope grabbed up her phone in the nick of time. She heard an indignant huff and felt angry breath on the back of her neck. Penelope’s hands shook a bit as she tried to hold the camera steady to take pictures of the sweater and Maddie’s proud, smiling face. She heard footsteps behind her, moving away. She let out a trembling sigh of relief as the bells over the shop door jangled.
“Are you okay?” Cheryl asked. “You’re white as a sheet!”
Penelope forced a rueful smile. “Just startled. Sorry about the noise.”
“Those sure are big needles,” Danielle commented. “What will you make with them?”
“Something big,” Maddie quipped.
“A big difference, I hope,” Penelope said under her breath as her students chuckled at Maddie’s banter.
At the end of class Penelope took pictures of each of her students holding up her project. Then she tucked her phone into her purse and looked forward to reading about the capture of the counterfeiters in the local newspaper soon. It would be fun to listen to Bill harrumphing over the article, never dreaming his wife had helped to catch the criminals.
“Don’t forget to send me those pictures for the website,” Gwen reminded Penelope as they parted ways on the sidewalk.
“Will do!” Penelope promised, feeling the warm glow of a job well done, both as a teacher and a crimefighter.
A chilly breeze swept fallen leaves across the sidewalk as Penelope entered the shadow of the jail. She walked a little faster through the gloom. She was almost to her car when she heard the sound of running feet behind her and felt a jerk on her purse strap that nearly knocked her over. She managed, however, to keep her balance and a firm hold on her purse strap.
“Lady, let go,” the purse snatcher growled.
Penelope knew she ought to be scared, but at that moment, she was seeing-red mad.
“I will not let go! My daughter gave me this purse for Mother’s Day!”
The mugger yanked harder, grunting with the effort of the tug-o-war. Penelope yanked back, harder still.
“You can have your purse,” the man grunted. “Just gimme your phone, lady!”
“No!” Penelope yelled. Enough was enough. “You are not getting all my pictures of Baby Robbie!”
“Will you people shut up? You want the cops to come swarming out of that jail?” a voice hissed from the shadows.
Penelope turned her head to see a man in an orange jumpsuit flattened against the side of the building.
The mugger saw him, too and let go of the purse.
“Good luck, dude. I hope you make it,” he said as he backed away. “I’m outta here.” He turned and took off at a run.
Penelope sighed with relief, but then she felt another jerk on her purse strap.
“I don’t want your purse or your phone,” the escapee said. “Just gimme all your money.”
By now Penelope was completely out patience. Middle-aged knitting teachers ought to be able to walk to their cars after class without getting mugged, even if the shop was across the street from the jail . If she gave in now, criminals everywhere would think nice knitting lades were easy pickings. No knitter would be safe. And she didn’t even want to think what Bill would have to say about it. In one swift and smooth move, Penelope let go of her purse strap, grabbed the size thirteen knitting needles out of her knitting bag, and jabbed them into the man’s mid-section.
“Hey!’ the man exclaimed as he lost his balance, letting go of the purse as he tried to break his fall.
Penelope pressed her advantage and pushed. He landed face down on the sidewalk. She sat on him, pinning him to the ground with the weight she’d put on over the past few years. With one hand, she held the knitting needles close to his face and rummaged in her knitting bag with her other hand. She shook her head over the yarn she pulled out of her bag.
“I suppose I have to, but I hate to sacrifice it,” Penelope muttered as she put down the knitting needles and gave her full attention to securing the man’s ankles with the yarn. “This is one hundred percent merino from happy sheep,” she told the man severely. “And now I probably won’t have enough left to finish Robbie’s sweater.”
Penelope, however, had underestimated the power of the size thirteen knitting needles. As they rolled harmlessly down the sidewalk, no longer pointing menacingly in his face, the escapee heaved Penelope off his back, rolled over, and managed to get to his tied-together feet.

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The Top-Secret Life of Penelope Perlmutter Part 5

Sharon Mondragon — Sat, 05 Dec 2020 16:11:45 +0000

The Ladies’ Night shoppers were out in full force that evening, taking up all the parking spaces in front of the block of stores that housed Llama and Lamb, Better Days Antiques and Gifts, and Glad Rags Boutique. Penelope had to park around the corner and two blocks down, in the shadow of the east side of the jail. Bill reminded her often to park under a streetlight if she couldn’t find a space in front of the shop, but a glance at her watch told Penelope that she didn’t have time to wander around in search of one. She grabbed her purse and her knitting bag, locked the car, and hurried to the yarn shop for her first class. She quickly laid out the project samples and positioned the size thirteen needles near the edge of the table.
Gigi arrived first, as usual. She pulled her project, a cotton wash cloth worked in stripes, out of her bag with a flourish.
“Look! I finished it!”
“Well done! This looks great!” Penelope told her. Gigi had come a long way since her first project. The first half of her garter stitch wash cloth had been a poster child for knitting mistakes. With practice, however, Gigi’s work had improved. This most recent wash cloth, A Study in Stripes, was close to flawless.
“Can you believe it?” Gigi said with a grin. “I can hardly wait to start the next one!”
Ellie came in next and took her seat at the table. With a smile and a nod, she took out her work. Her slow and careful knitting produced even stitches and an atmosphere of calm around her.
Anita was last to arrive, frazzled and out of breath.
“I thought I’d never find a parking space! I forgot it was Ladies’ Night!”
“The important thing is that you’re here,” Penelope told her. “Ladies, before we get too involved in our knitting, I have a favor to ask. Gwen wants to get the word out about the classes here. Do you mind if I take pictures during class for Gwen to post in the Llama and Lamb website?”
“Just get my good side,” Gigi quipped as the knitters nodded their assent.
“You won’t need to pose or anything,” Penelope said. “I’ll snap casual shots of the class in progress. Relax and enjoy your knitting.”
“Easy for you to say,” Anita said. She pulled out her somewhat bedraggled garter stitch wash cloth. “I messed up again, and then when I tried to fix it, I made it worse.”
Penelope soon had Anita back on track. Then she picked up her phone and took a picture of the group, Ellie knitting placidly, Anita’s forehead creased in concentration. She checked the photo, pleased to see a good view of the counter where Gwen stood chatting with a customer.
Before she knew it, Penelope was saying “See you next week!” to Gigi, Anita, and Ellie, but she still hadn’t heard Gwen say, “More merino?” the signal they’d arranged for the appearance of the counterfeiter. She cleared away the project samples for the beginner class and mentally prepared herself for the next class. Each of the advanced beginners were working on projects of their own choosing. Cheryl was making a seamless hat on circular needles, while Danielle was determined to make mittens on double-pointed needles, the way she had seen her mother make them when she was a child. Maddie had made a cardigan for her grandson and was ready to sew the pieces together. Between helping her students and chatting with curious Ladies’ Night customers, Penelope hoped she wouldn’t miss the counterfeiter.
Penelope had just finished talking Danielle through picking up the thumb stitches on her first mitten when she heard the signal.
“Show me your hat, Cheryl!” Penelope clicked away, capturing both the happy hat knitter and the counterfeiter behind her. Her heart beat faster as she set the large metal knitting needles in motion with a brush of her elbow. As they clattered and clanged on the floor, every head in the shop turned her way, including the ordinary-looking woman at the counter. Penelope managed to take another picture before ducking under the table to retrieve the noisy needles.
“Sorry!” But Penelope was not sorry. She was triumphant. She could hardly wait to send both pictures to Agent Donovan. Wouldn’t he be impressed? She shoved the errant needles into her knitting bag and laid her phone on the table to help Maddie with her tiny cardigan.
“That is so cute!” said a voice behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope saw a hand snaking toward her phone.

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The Top-Secret Life of Penelope Perlmutter Part 4

Sharon Mondragon — Thu, 15 Oct 2020 16:03:07 +0000

Penelope spent the next week in a state of suppressed excitement. She went about her household chores on autopilot, all the while planning how she would capture the counterfeit knitter on camera. Every morning, after Bill left for work, Penelope set up a card table in the garage to represent the teaching table at Llama and Lamb. She dubbed the water heater in the corner “Counterfeiter,” and practiced chatting away with students, snapping pictures that also included the water heater.
As Penelope plotted, practiced, and schemed, her excitement hardened into determination. She’d watched Gwen grow her business from a corner booth in a consignment shop into a store of her very own. A vibrant knitting community had grown right along with the business. On Knit Night, laughter and camaraderie filled the shop, turning it into an oasis of creativity and encouragement. The idea that anyone would steal from her beloved Llama and Lamb, whose profit margin was still on the thin side, made Penelope’s blood boil.

Agent Donovan had asked Penelope to get a profile shot of the yarn thief, but Penelope got to thinking how much better it would be if she could get a full-face photo as well. She pondered how to get the woman to turn and look over at the knitting table. Gwen could try to get her to sign up for knitting classes, directing her attention to the class in progress. Penelope quickly saw the flaw in that idea. Suggesting she take classes might alert Ms. Fake Knitter to the fact that they knew she didn’t know circular needles from a circular saw.
What if somebody dropped something–something noisy? Metal knitting needles, perhaps? The bigger the better, Penelope decided as she dug through her knitting bag for a pair of Size 13 straight needles. She practiced using her elbow to give the needles a little push while she clicked a photo of the water heater. They made a satisfying and distracting din on the cement. She adjourned to the front hall, where she dropped the needles on the hardwood floor, similar to the floor at the shop. Not as loud, but loud enough, she decided. She stowed the Size 13s in her knitting bag.

Penelope’s phone pinged, announcing the arrival of more pictures of her grandson, six-month-old Robbie. She pored over the photos, admiring the way her daughter, Rachel, had zoomed in on the baby’s face. Oh, those bright eyes! The one-toothed smile! The absolutely devastating dimples! Once she’d recovered from the almost unbearable cuteness, Penelope found herself thinking how useful it would be to be able to zoom in for a close-up for what she had come to think of as her mission. Every time she tried to get a close-up of Robbie, his chubby little hands grabbed for the phone. She’d deleted a good number of blurry pictures of the ceiling and the floor as a result.
She tapped a reply to Rachel: He gets cuter by the minute! How do you get such great close-ups?
“Zoom feature” came Rachel’s swift reply.
Well, for goodness’ sake, Penelope thought, these smart phones can do everything but cook supper! She eventually figured out how to get the camera on her phone to zoom in and practiced in the garage until it was time to cook supper herself.

By the following Tuesday afternoon, she was ready. The Size 13 metal needles protruded from the top of her knitting bag. Her phone was fully charged. Bill’s favorite supper was in the fridge, all set for him to heat up when he felt like eating.
“Be careful,” Bill told her at the door, caressing her cheek and looking into her eyes.
“I will,” Penelope replied as usual. “Remember, I have knitting needles and I know how to use them!”
They chuckled together at the joke that helped them walk the fine line of tension that stretched between them. Penelope wrapped his desire to keep her safe around her like a warm shawl as she sallied forth into the late autumn dusk to teach knitting and catch a counterfeiter.

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The Top-Secret Life of Penelope Perlmutter Part 3

Sharon Mondragon — Fri, 04 Sep 2020 03:03:43 +0000

Penelope sat on the edge of Gwen’s desk chair, her knitting bag in her lap. She clutched the handles tightly.
Agent Donovan settled on the edge of Gwen’s desk and fixed Penelope with a serious, penetrating gaze.
“Mrs. Perlmutter, do you love your country?”
“Why, of course, I do,” she replied. She blinked a few times as he continued to scrutinize her face.
“Your state, your county, your town?”
“Yes, of course. Gwen, what’s this all about?” Penelope asked, alarmed.
“Hear him out,” Gwen urged.
“It has come to our attention, Mrs. Perlmutter, that a major counterfeiting ring is passing fake bills in this state, this county, in this very town that you love so much.”
“Counterfeiters?” Penelope repeated.
“Yes, and this shop has proved to be a good place to pass counterfeit bills.”
Penelope glanced at Gwen, who was blushing a deep red.
“I feel so stupid, Penelope. When someone buys a hundred and fifty-one dollars-worth of yarn with cash, I tend not to ask questions, even if they pay in crisp fifty dollar bills. It’s a nice purchase and I won’t have to pay credit card fees. I thought it was a big win for me, but it turns out the counterfeiters are the only winners. I didn’t find out that those bills were fake until I made the bank deposit.”

“The bank called us in on it,” Agent Donovan added.
“I should have known there was something fishy going on,” Gwen wrung her hands. “She was really vague when I asked her what she was making.”
“This is terrible! But what does this have to do with me?” Penelope pulled a half-finished sock, bristling with double-pointed needles, out of her knitting bag. It looked like she was going to be here for a while. She hoped Bill wouldn’t send out the cavalry despite her warning she would be home late.
“It seems the counterfeiters don’t know we’re onto them yet,” Agent Donovan said. “The woman came in and made another cash purchase last week.”
“And to add insult to injury,” Gwen said, “She bought three skeins of my newest hand-dyed merino and I saw it on eBay the other day for more than what she ‘paid.'”
“Then why don’t you arrest her, Agent Donovan?” Penelope jabbed her needle into the next stitch. “That woman is stealing from a hard-working small business owner who can’t afford to simply give her fabulous yarn away!”
“Er, well,” the agent said, eyeing Penelope’s swift movements and pointy needles warily. “She’s only the tip of the iceberg. Other members of the gang have passed bills at other shops here in town. If we arrest one of them now, the other counterfeiters will melt away and start up again in another town, preying on small business owners. We’d like to make a clean sweep of the entire outfit, which is where you come in.”

“Me? I don’t know anything about catching criminals. “That’s what you do.”
Gwen leaned forward eagerly. “It’s so simple, Penelope! All you have to do is take pictures of your classes next week. I’ve been meaning to ask you anyway, to advertise the classes on the website.”
“Take pictures? That’s it? I don’t understand.” Penelope’s fingers stilled as she tried to puzzle it out.
Agent Donovan shifted on the edge of the desk and beamed down at her.
“That’s it. The counterfeiters target businesses that don’t have security cameras–”
“Can’t afford them yet,” Gwen muttered, red-faced again.
“So, it would be a big help if we could get pictures of them,” Agent Donovan finished.
“I can’t exactly snap one while she’s ‘paying,'” Gwen made a face and sketched air quotes with her fingers. “But you could, under the guise of taking pictures for the website.”
Penelope considered this as she took up her knitting again. She pictured the teaching table in the middle of the shop. She envisioned the angle at which she could snap the pictures. She was getting good at composing photos now that she was a besotted grandmother. Yes, she decided, if she sat in the chair closest to the alpaca display, she would be able to capture the profile of anyone making a purchase at the counter.

Apparently, Agent Donovan mistook her thoughtful assessment of the possibilities as hesitation. He leaned forward reassuringly.
“It’s all perfectly safe, Mrs. Perlmutter. The counterfeiter will never suspect a thing.”
Penelope looked up sharply.
“I am not afraid, Agent Donovan.” Penelope waved a needle dismissively, narrowly missing the end of the agent’s nose. “I was merely determining where I should sit to get the best view of the criminal. When is this going down?”
“Next Tuesday,” Gwen said. “The shops will be open late and crowded with Ladies’ Night Out shoppers.”
“She’s likely to take advantage of the shop being busy,” the agent added.
“Of course, I’ll do it, Gwen. We knitters have to stick together.”
“You’re knit together, so to speak,” Agent Donovan quipped.
Gwen and Penelope stared at him.
“Er, right.” The agent cleared his throat as his joke fell flat. “Well, then, thank you , Mrs. Perlmutter. I’m sure you understand that you must keep this top-secret. We wouldn’t want the counterfeiters to suspect that we’re onto them. You must tell no-one. Not your mother, not your best friend, not even your husband.”

Especially not my husband, Penelope thought to herself as she bundled her knitting into her bag and headed home, hoping Bill had not let the casserole burn–again.

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The Top-Secret Life of Penelope Perlmutter Part 2

Sharon Mondragon — Sat, 29 Aug 2020 16:44:53 +0000

Penelope was beyond thrilled when Gwen Talbot, the proprietor of Llama and Lamb approached her about teaching beginning knitting at the shop.
“People have been asking if we have classes,” Gwen told her, “I think you’d make a good teacher–I’ve watched you help people at Knit Night.”
Penelope was so stunned she couldn’t speak for a moment. She found her voice, however, when Gwen outlined the financial side of things, which included a twenty percent discount on yarn and supplies at the shop.
“I’d love to,” she finally managed to say. Within a few weeks, she was teaching her first class and discovered that she loved teaching people to knit.

“Can you stay late tonight after your last class?” Gwen asked one evening a few months later. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Sure,” Penelope replied, and sent a quick text to Bill, ever nervous about her being out after dark. She almost reminded him about the casserole, but refrained. Bill tended to bluster at her gentle reminders.

Gwen locked the shop door behind the last departing student while Penelope tidied the teaching table and packed her knitting bag.
“Come on back to my office, Penelope.” Gwen led the way to the rear of the store. As she swept back the curtain that partitioned the office area from the rest of the shop, a man stood to greet them. A tall, broad-shouldered man with steely gray eyes and a dark brown brush cut.
“Penelope, this is Agent Donovan, of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Agent Donovan, meet Penelope Perlmutter.”
Agent Donovan reached down and gave Penelope a firm handshake.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Perlmutter.”
“Likewise…?” Penelope’s voice trailed off as she cast a questioning glance in Gwen’s direction.
“Please have a seat, ma’am.” Agent Donovan said. He turned to Gwen. “I see what you mean, Mrs. Talbot. She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

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The Top-Secret Life of Penelope Perlmutter Part 1

Sharon Mondragon — Fri, 21 Aug 2020 18:08:47 +0000

Favorite knitting bag in hand, Penelope Perlmutter headed out the door. Her husband, Bill stopped her on the way for a lingering, hurry-home kind of a kiss.
“Remember, I have two classes tonight,” she reminded him. “Beginners at 5:30 and Advanced Beginners at 7:30.”
“I know, I know,” Bill said. “You won’t be home until after 9:00 and supper’s in the oven. I’m supposed to take it out at 6:30.” He leaned in and stole another kiss. “Be careful, Pen.”
He admonished her to be careful every week, with that same crease between his eyebrows. The yarn shop was, after all, right across the street from the county jail.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, as she did every week. “I have knitting needles and I know how to use them!”

They both laughed at her joke as she left, a gray-haired, fairly dumpy knitting teacher with a hand-knitted 100% merino shawl draped artfully around her neck. There was far more truth to their banter than Bill realized. Penelope hoped he would never realize exactly how much. He might try to put his foot down again, as he had when she broached the idea of teaching knitting at Llama and Lamb. They didn’t need the money, he’d pointed out, and what about his supper?

She’d first allayed his fears about supper, promising to cook before she left each Tuesday evening. Penelope had found it a bit harder to convince Bill that she needed to teach knitting at the shop because now that the kids were grown, cooking, cleaning, and keeping him in clean socks was not all she wanted to do with her life. And she did need the money. Bill regularly complained about how much she spent on yarn at the shop, when there were aisles chock full of much cheaper yarn at the craft store at the mall.

Penelope had prevailed in the end, but in light of his misgivings, it would never do for Bill to find out everything she did at the shop, nor everything she knew how to do with knitting needles.

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THE SEVENTEENTH CHRISTMAS TREE Part 7

Sharon Mondragon — Wed, 18 Dec 2019 11:32:52 +0000

Letter from Noelle Sinclair to her sister, Marcia Roberts

Dear Marcia,
You’ll never guess what happened! I’ve been laid up! It’s just too, too bad since it’s so close to Christmas and there’s still so much to do.
And yes, sister dear, I got my flu shot this year. So did Nick. It wasn’t easy, but I made sure of it. That man is such a coward about needles. Poor Baby makes him sneeze, but will he get allergy shots? No, because he’s deathly afraid of needles. A grown man!
So, I’m not sick, but I am in bed recovering. The whole thing has taken so much out of me!
Here’s what happened. You know my annual Christmas party? You really must fly out for it one of these years. You’ve never seen the house all done up for Christmas. It turned out even better this year. The tree I added to the group in the front hall came out so well. It was just what that space needed. Now, where was I? The party, right.
Everything was going perfectly. I was giving the tour and posing in front of each tree for pictures the way I always do. I found the most gorgeous dress at Nordstrom–emerald green with lots of sequins. It looked stunning with my emerald Christmas tree necklace. Anyway, everyone oohed and ahhed over the decorations and told me I’d really outdone myself this time and asked how did I ever get it all done, it must be so much work. Well, it is a lot of work, but it’s worth it because it’s so beautiful when it’s done.
Well, there I was, posing front of the tree that stands on the top step of the sunken living room. As usual, it’s covered in balls and garland, I tucked sparkly turquoise poinsettias amongst the branches this year, too. And I finally found the perfect star for the top, bigger and shinier than the old one, lead crystal, actually. As I was saying, I was standing there in the living room in front of that tree when Baby came racing across the front hall and climbed up the inside of the tree as if half the dogs in the neighborhood were after him. I told Nick to shut him in the laundry room. You’d think he’d remember, the way he complains about my sweet little kitty–Baby gets under his feet, Baby makes him sneeze, there’s cat hair on his suit. Nick insists that he did put “that cat” in the laundry room with caviar to keep him happy. He says Baby opened the door himself. I suppose that could be what happened. Baby is a very clever kitty.
Anyway, ornaments were flying in every direction and before I knew it, Baby’s head popped out at the top of the tree, right by the star. The tree swayed and started to fall right on top of me! It all happened so fast I couldn’t get out of the way and none of my guests could put their phones away in time to catch the tree. Then, at the very last second, Baby saved me! He jumped out of the tree and landed on my head, knocking me sideways. And just in time, too. One of the points of the star barely missed my eye!
The shock of it has sent me to bed. Plus, I’m injured. Poor Baby was so scared, he dug his claws into my scalp and I have a nasty scrape on my cheek from the star. As if that weren’t enough, I tripped over some decorative Christmas packages on my way down and twisted my ankle.
So, I’m laid up in bed four days before Christmas. Does Nick care, though? Of course not. You know how I always make cookies to take to the neighbors? Nick ordered them from the bakery and had them delivered! Where is his Christmas spirit? And he refuses to wrap the last two closetsful of gifts. Yesterday, he brought me a huge stack of unwrapped presents, along with wrapping paper, scissors, tape, tags, and ribbon and told me to wrap them myself. He won’t even put his finger on the ribbon while I tie the bows. The only helpful thing he’s done about the gift wrapping is to shut Baby in the laundry room. He’s contrived something that involves a bungee cord to keep Baby from getting out and making a mess of the paper and ribbons.
I really hate to do that to Baby. He saved my life. He really did. It took three of the tallest husbands to right the tree after it fell–it’s that heavy. Bob Noyes, who’s in insurance, said it was a hazard and I should be glad it fell on me and not one of my guests. He tried to sell Nick an umbrella policy then and there. Of all the nerve.
And Nick won’t buy more ornaments to replace the ones that got broken. He says I have to be content with the ones I already have, since there are eight storage bins in the Christmas shed crammed full of ornaments I can use. You would think he’d do whatever he could to make me feel better. Maybe I can get Sue down the street to go to the store for me.
So, Marcia, this will not be the merriest of Christmases, but the house looks wonderful!
Love to all,
Noelle

The post THE SEVENTEENTH CHRISTMAS TREE Part 7 appeared first on Sharon J Mondragon.

THE SEVENTEENTH CHRISTMAS TREE Part 6

Sharon Mondragon — Wed, 11 Dec 2019 11:42:06 +0000

The crowd of friends behind Noelle reached out, steadied her, and supported her up to the landing, where she stood laughing shakily and thanking everyone for keeping her from taking a tumble down the stairs.
“I sure wouldn’t want to spend Christmas in a cast,” Noelle said.
“Or a coffin,” Bob Noyes said. “Do you know how many accidents happen on stairs, some of them fatal?”
“No,” one of the women said. “And we don’t want to. We want to see the upstairs decorations. Let’s see, Noelle.”
Soon the fright on the staircase was a distant memory. Noelle sparkled right along with her dress as she showed off the tree on the upstairs landing, the one with bubble lights, vintage 1950’s ornaments, and a train that ran around the outer edge of the tree skirt. She posed in front of it, a smile of pure joy on her face. Nick found himself pulling his phone out of the breast pocket of his tux to capture the moment along with everyone else.
The tour of the upstairs included the teddy bear tree in the boy-themed bedroom, the Nutcracker tree in the girl-themed bedroom, and the Jack-and-Jill bathroom in between that featured a table top tree full of Santa ornaments, sleighs, and reindeer, plus one on the back of the commode bedecked with miniature toys.
The piece de resistance was, of course, the master suite, inspired by Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Noelle had actually likened Nick to Scrooge when he’d protested that he couldn’t sleep with the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future staring down at him from the tops of their respective trees.
“Nonsense,” she’d said. “Just look at that merry Ghost of Christmas Present. You’ll go to sleep with a smile on your face.”
The lower half of the Christmas Future tree celebrated Scrooge as a changed man–Tiny Tim without his crutch, fat geese with labels attached to them, gleaming gold coins that caught the light, and figures of Scrooge dancing in his nightshirt, “merry as a schoolboy.” It was, however, the grim and ghastly Ghost of Christmas Future pointing his bony, accusing finger at him from across the room that Nick saw every night right before he closed his eyes.
Shut up, he’d mentally address the specter. It’s self-defense. I’m drowning in your confounded Christmas.
Nick remained in the doorway as their guests crowded in, exclaiming as they recognized elements of the story in the clever ornaments.
“Look, look! there’s Ali Baba!” one of the neighbors cried as he examined the Christmas Past tree, with the same delight of Scrooge himself at remembering a story he’d loved as a boy.
“And here’s the fiddler from the party at Fezziwig’s,” called another.
At last, the tree thoroughly examined and the pictures duly taken, the party arrived at the upstairs landing again. As Nick looked down the sweeping expanse of the staircase, he felt a sudden chill. He reached out and touched Noelle’s arm.
“Take off those shoes.”
“What? Why? They’re beautiful, Nicky. I don’t want to take them off.”
Nick stood up straight and loomed over his wife.
“Because it’s a long way down. If you trip in those shoes again and land on that marble floor in the foyer–“
“He’s right,” Bob Noyes chimed in. “If you fell, Nick could be collecting your life insurance for Christmas. And it’s considerable, too. Ow!” Bob rubbed his ankle where his wife had just kicked him. “What’d ya do that for, Marge? It is.”
“Honestly!” His wife shook her head. “Nick is right, Noelle. I’m taking mine off, too. I don’t want Bob collecting my considerable life insurance for Christmas, either,” Marge finished with a laugh.
“What if I give you a little kick, like the one you gave me?” Bob teased as Marge bent to slip out of her shoes.
“Not funny, Bob,” she said through gritted teeth, looking as if she was tempted to kick him again.
Moments later, all the female guests had made their way safely down the stairs, high heels in hand. And by the time Nick himself reached the bottom of the staircase, he that he would not be collecting Noelle’s considerable life insurance for Christmas, as surely as he knew that December 25th was Christmas Day. He knew just as surely that he would not be the only one putting up the decorations next year. He would loom and get his own way for once.
He patted the pocket with catnip mouse and heard the faint rustle of the plastic bag. Sometime over the next few days, he’d return it to the cupboard. Or maybe he’d even put it in the stocking that always hung next to his on the mantle piece. He felt he could be magnanimous at this point.
Funny thing was that as the admiring group wended its way to the sunken living room, he really did have to use the bathroom. After he dried his hands, he adjusted the bright Christmas hand towel just so, the way Noelle liked it. When he stepped out of the powder room, he heard a thump from the direction of the laundry room. The handle rattled. There was another thump and then the handle turned. The catch snicked free and luminous green eyes peered around the edge of the door.
“No,” Nick whispered, taking a step toward the cat. “Go back in your nice laundry room, Baby. I’ll bring you some more caviar.”
Baby shouldered his way into the hall. He stared at Nick and blinked. Then in one fluid movement, he launched himself, thundering past Nick at a speed that belied his considerable bulk. Nick made a dive for the tubby tomcat, only to faceplant on the tile, empty-handed. Baby never looked back. He headed straight for the living room.
Nick scrambled to his feet and gave chase. When he skidded around the corner into the hall Nick saw two things: Noelle posing happily in the living room, the heavily-laden tree towering above her– and Baby’s tail disappearing with a saucy flick into the bottom branches. Before Nick could even take another panting breath, Baby’s head poked out at the top. The tree began to rattle and sway. As it toppled forward, Nick saw the terror in Noelle’s eyes, the same terror that must have been in his own the first time Baby had scaled Number Seventeen. Guests dropped their phones and surged forward to grab the tree, to break its fall, to save Noelle from being crushed under the weight of her holiday exuberance. From where Nick stood, he could see that it was all happening too fast for anyone, least of all himself, to rescue Noelle.
Tune in next week for the final installment of THE SEVENTEENTH CHRISTMAS TREE.

The post THE SEVENTEENTH CHRISTMAS TREE Part 6 appeared first on Sharon J Mondragon.