“Yeah, well I started it on forty-count aida, but only got the face done before my eyes crossed and threatened to stay that way if I didn’t quit. This twenty-four count is much more comfortable, even if it is linen.”

Betsy tried to imagine cross-stitching on fabric woven forty threads to the inch and her own eyes crossed in sympathy.

But soon the talk drifted to Margot.

About how scrupulous she was in sharing out part-time hours.

About how she paid only base wages, but allowed plenty of chat and personal project work—as long as it was needlework—in the shop while waiting for customers.

About how she insisted customers were the most important part of the place and that her employees must always go the extra mile to ensure customer satisfaction, whether it was special orders or returns or private lessons “just to get them started.”

About the loyalty felt in return by her customers. “We have several customers who now spend their winters in Arizona or Mexico, but who will buy a winter’s worth of projects before they leave rather than buy them from someone else,” Godwin said, to LeAnn’s emphatic nod.

“And we have some real talented needleworkers in the area,” said LeAnn. “For example, Irene Potter—have you seen her work?” she asked Betsy.

“No, but I’ve heard it’s wonderful.”

“She’s a difficult person, but her work belongs in the Smithsonian, I kid you not.”

“Whereas Hud Earlie is a really easy person,” said Shelly, exchanging a significant look with Godwin.

“What does that mean?” demanded Betsy.

“He fancies himself a bit, that’s all,” said Godwin airily. “I mean, where does he get that hair dyed? And a matching brass cane, for heaven’s sake, and a smile that says he’s God’s gift to the world.” Godwin tossed back a lock of his own unnaturally blond hair and Betsy smirked into her knitting—may be Godwin was miffed that Hud wasn’t gay.

“Margot had his number, that’s for sure,” said the younger of the volunteers. “He never got away with anything when she was around.”

“Margot had all our numbers,” Shelly put in gently.

The talk went on, and soon there were sniffles. “It was such a beautiful funeral.” Godwin sighed. “Didn’t you just love that reading about the woman who dresses her servants in scarlet and is always busy with business?” He said to Betsy, “Her Christmas gift to her employees every year is something knitted; year before last it was red mittens, that same shade of red you’re working with.”

Shelly said, “And that part about the sashes. Wasn’t that amazing?”

“But everyone laughed during that!” Betsy protested. “I thought it was a joke!”