Sally was sitting in church when she noticed a short dangling string on the sleeve of her sweater. The preacher’s voice dimmed in her head as Sally took a longer look at the string. Sally’d had the sweater for a long time, and it was showing its age.
The once vibrant blue was now faded, and two of the front buttons were missing. She should’ve given the sweater to Good Will, but she loved this sweater for a variety of reasons.
Her 5-year-old daughter noticed Sally trying to push the string back into the weave of the sweater. An impulsive child, Claire tried to pluck the string out of Sally’s fingers. Sally knew what her daughter would do as she’d seen her destroy almost all of her toys, so she gently pushed her daughter’s hand away and shook her head no.
Claire tried again.
“The Lord sayeth He is near to all who call out to Him in truth,” the preacher’s voice boomed from the pulpit.
“The Lord better be near me before Claire ruins my sweater,” thought Sally.
She pushed the little girl’s fingers away, but her daughter only nudged closer. Sally crossed her arms so her daughter couldn’t get to the string. That move caused Claire to cross her own arms and pout.
“She’ll get over it,” Sally thought. “I’m not about to let her ruin my sweater.”
Material things usually didn’t matter that much to Sally. Her house was a perfect example of that philosophy. Their couch was a throwback to the 70’s – orange, brown and rust plaid material with threadbare and thin seat cushions. Why spend money on fancy furniture with two young children.
She and the kids survived on a shoestring, which was familiar territory to Sally. Growing up, her family lived on the squirrel and deer her father brought home and what they fished from the bayou.
Claire reached for the string again, apparently over her hissy fit, but Sally was fast. She put her fingers to her lips to shush her daughter and the little girl decided to torment her older brother on her right.
That maneuver lasted less than a minute – it’s amazing what an older brother’s pinch to the upper arm could accomplish.
“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,” Brother Simon’s voice boomed out.
“Oh yeah,” Sally thought. “I’m heavy laden, especially in my backside. That, Lord, is what eating fried catfish and macaroni and cheese three times a week will do to you.”
Sally looked at the string again and passed her hand over the sleeve of the sweater. It had been a gift from her grandfather when she was a young mother. Even though Sally and Josh lived in the deep South, winters could get brutally cold. The small family could barely make ends meet, much less splurge on fancy sweaters and jackets for themselves.
Her grandfather brought the sweater over one cold afternoon. Sally was taking care of baby Claire while Nathan ran around the tiny log house, pretending to be Superman. She’d heard her grandfather’s truck come up the dirt road, and she was thrilled when the older man knocked on the door.
“Hey girl, I got somethin’ for you,” he said. He handed her a package. The brown paper on the outside was a bag from the Piggly Wiggly, and she could tell he’d wrapped it the best he could.
When she opened the package and saw the beautiful blue sweater with pink embroidered flowers and white pearl buttons, her eyes filled with tears. She reached over and hugged her grandfather as tightly as she could.
“Thank you, thank you,” she whispered. He hugged her back whispered in her ear.
“I didn’t think you had anything nice like this,” he said softly. “I wanted to be sure my only granddaughter was warm and, well, it’s a bonus if the sweater looks pretty.”
They visited for a while longer until her grandfather said it was time to go.
“You take care of that sweater, you hear me girl?” he’d said gently to her. “That’s not made out of some old strings, you know. The lady at J.C. Penney said it was 100 percent cotton, so be careful when you wash it.”
Sally did as her grandfather cautioned. Whenever she washed the sweater, she did so in cold water and laid it flat on a couple of towels to dry. For years, she’d wear the sweater when it was cold. When the weather warmed up, she’d hand wash the blue sweater – now faded blue, she’d noticed – and smooth it to dry.
Her mother had died when Sally was in the first grade, and her father provided for the family as he’d always done – fishing and hunting. Learning came from the school in town or from the library books Sally loved reading. She also had quite a few relatives, but her favorite was her Aunt Toddy. A short, stout woman, Toddy taught Sally how to make a dark, brown roux, stirring constantly to avoid burning the flour and oil in the bottom of the cast-iron pot. She showed Sally how to add the file powder at the very end to thicken up the sauce and add a bit of extra flavor.
“Mais oui, when you livin’ on a shoestring, you gotta learn how to stretch that string,” she’d told Sally as she helped her can okra from the garden.
She was abruptly brought back to the present when everyone stood up for a song. “Faithful God” was a favorite of the small congregation, and Sally joined in singing, although her heart wasn’t in it.
It was that string that bothered her. She couldn’t risk anything happening to this sweater. Luckily, the preacher cut his sermon short that morning. She gathered up Nathan, Claire and their belongings and headed to the back doors. Sally wanted to get out of there as fast as possible to avoid any unpleasant questions.
Too late. Old Lady Barber was tapping her on the shoulder. Cynthia Barber was the nosiest person in the church. Always wanted to know what was going on just to know and spread gossip.
“How are things going dear,” she said in a voice that dripped with insincere care.
“I know it’s got to be tough since your husband, well, since your husband had to leave so suddenly,” she said. “So where did he go and when will he be back? I’m only asking so I can plan to bring meals over if you’re going to be a single mother.”
Sally wanted to slap this old biddy, even though she’d just left church. It was nobody’s business what happened to Josh, only hers. A few months ago, his moods had grown darker and she noticed more beer cans in the yard than there had been.
One morning, Josh was standing in the doorway of their bedroom, his cowboy hat on his head and a duffle bag in his hand.
“I’m tired of livin’ like this, Sarah,” he said, weariness in his voice. “I’m leaving. Your granddaddy and relatives are here, and I’ll send some money until I can come back with enough to get us going like we should be. Living on a shoestring ain’t for me anymore.”
And with that, Josh was out the door. She heard his truck rev and the engine catch. Before she could regain her senses, Josh was gone.
That was six months ago. He’d sent money a couple of times a month, but there was no return address. Just a postmark from Abilene.
“Well dear, if you get tired of him stringing you along, just let the church elders know,” Old Lady Barber continued. “I’m sure there’s some sort of welfare we can get for you and the poor children.”
Sally nodded and hustled Nathan and Sarah out the door as fast as she could. She got the kids buckled up in the old Toyota and sped out of the parking lot.
Driving home, she thought about her life. Just like the sweater she’d taken care of for so many years, her life was unraveling. Day by day, string by string, everything would fall apart until she had nothing left but a pile of yarn and empty pockets.
She turned into the driveway and saw her grandfather waiting for her. He stood up as she parked the car, and the children ran to meet him.
“Paw Paw, Paw Paw,” they screamed and jumped into his arms. He twirled them around until they were dizzy.
“There’s some peppermints on the table inside,” he said to the children. “Go on in yonder and help yourself.”
They ran up the stairs and disappeared inside. He looked at Sally and gently touched the sleeve of her sweater.
“I remember when I brought this to you,” he said gently. “It’s been of good use and you’ve taken good care of it.”
He noticed the string on the sleeve and started to pull on it. Sally stopped him.
“Don’t do that Paw Paw,” she said. “If you do, the whole sweater will fall apart, just like my life.”
Then she started to cry.
He surprised her.
“You’re stronger than that, girl,” he said in a stern voice. “Now’s not the time for cryin. Now’s the time for acting. I got a lead on a job at that accounting office in New Iberia. I remembered you were pretty good with numbers, and they need somebody to help with the books.”
Sally started to protest.
“What about the kids and the house and…”
He stopped her.
“Your grandmother and I will help out with them young’uns,” he said softly. “You bring them to the house on Monday morning and then go into the office there on Main Street. They’re expecting you.”
Sally wasn’t sure what to say. Instead, she shook her head in agreement.
Her grandfather looked at the string on her sleeve and, before she could stop him, pulled hard on it. To Sally’s surprise, the string came loose from the sweater and didn’t leave a hole or damage the sweater. It must’ve been a random string the factory forgot to trim, she thought. Maybe it’s time I pull on my own life and see what happens, she thought.
“I’ll be there,” she told her grandfather, her voice stronger than she thought she was capable of.
“Good,” he said. “I brought over some shrimp and crab gumbo your Aunt Toddy made last night. Let’s get that warmed up and feed those kiddos. That preacher can talk forever, and I’ll bet you’re hungry.”
For the first time in weeks, Sally was hungry. It was time to stop being afraid of life, of being afraid, of taking a chance. It was time to stop being afraid of pulling on a string on her sweater. She hooked her arm in her grandfather’s and they went up the stairs, the smell of gumbo surrounding them.
“Starving,” she said with a genuine laugh.