Henrietta's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Henrietta spread the white linen across her lap and threaded the needle. Her hands shook as she positioned the tip against the fabric. She gripped tighter, trying to steady herself, and the tremor worsened. The needle slipped. She started again. This time she managed three small stitches before her mind began its usual work — the list of mending she'd forgotten, the measurements she might have written down wrong, the way she'd held the needle too hard and made it worse. She set down her work and reached for the flower border, the one piece that proved she could do this. Four days it had taken her. Four days when the loop had quieted. She needed more of that silence, but practice meant failing first, and failing meant the list would grow. She carried the wooden cabinet outside and set it against the oak tree where the light was good. The shelves held sixteen small frames, each one showing a different stitch pattern — flowers, mostly, in reds and blues and yellows. She'd found the cabinet three days ago in the storage shed, dust-covered and forgotten. Someone else had made these samples, someone who knew what they were doing. She positioned her stool five feet away and picked up her needle again. This time she looked at the simple red tulip in the bottom corner frame. Five petals, stem, two leaves. She copied the first petal onto her linen. The stitch was crooked, but it was there. She looked back at the frame and started the second petal. Her hands still shook, but now she had something to follow instead of just the fear of getting it wrong.