Knitted Together

"You took a bit of time."

The familiar, low voice made Phyllis Baxter smile slightly as she turned her head towards the left of the doors of the church. The censorious tones of Rev. Travis, as he admonished a much absent parishioner in the vestibule, fell behind as she continued through. As she glanced at him, Joseph Molesley pulled his hat down over his forehead, obscuring the grey cross that was a mirror of the one on her own forehead.

"I don't often get to take time," she replied, holding out her arm at his gesture and allowing him to take her coat from her.

"I didn't see anyone else from the Abbey," he remarked as he guided the coat onto her arm and over her shoulder.

"I believe several of the day maids came to the service," she replied, hastily buttoning her coat against the chill. "As fast as they come and go, you might not know any of them."

"It hasn't been that long since I've helped out, has it?"

"It's been quite a while," she responded, almost accusingly.

The pleasant moment was suddenly uncomfortable. Phyllis lowered her eyes to her fingers pushing the buttons through the fabric of her coat.

"Maybe it has been a while," he admitted after a moment. "Perhaps that's what I should have been repenting for this afternoon."

Phyllis flashed a brief smile at that.

"If that's all you have to repent of, Mr. Molesley, you're doing better than the rest of us."

Joseph made a dismissive noise.

"What have you got to repent of that you haven't already repented of a hundred times over?" He was suddenly afraid that he might have gone too far when she snapped her eyes up to his. "I mean… you're the best person I know," he hastened to add.

He was disappointed when Phyllis dropped her eyes to the ground and an uneasy silence surrounded them. He swallowed audibly.

"Maybe if you just accepted the forgiveness that comes with repentance, you wouldn't doubt me when I say that," he said gently, wishing she would look at him again.

"You're a theologian as well as a teacher now, Mr. Molesley?" she replied with a snort. "Mr. Travis seems to think you can't repent enough."

"Mr. Travis doesn't know you," he argued.

At that, she did look up at him for a moment. A shrill blast of wind blew around the corner of the church and the doors were shut firmly behind Mr. Travis, who had run out of parishioners to scold. Joseph watched her face fall.

"I'm don't think it matters if he knows me or not when it comes to his judgment," she replied bleakly. "Or anyone's judgment, for that matter."

"Not mine."

"No," she acknowledged. "Not yours." Her eyes met his and darted away again as she began patting her coat pockets for her scarf.

"Here. You can use mine," he offered as she huffed a frustrated sigh when her search came up empty. Quickly unwinding the scarf from his neck, he draped it around hers.

"I couldn't—"

"Of course you can. You've got a much farther walk than I do." It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to walk with her back to the Abbey, but she seemed flustered and fiddled with the fringe of his scarf.

"I better get on," she murmured. "Thank you, Mr. Molesley."

"Could I walk you back?"

"No…no… I need to hurry, actually. I've been gone longer than I ought to have. But it's been very nice to…talk with you."

"It's no trouble—"

"Thank you again, Mr. Molelsey," she said as she began to walk hurriedly away from the church.

Joseph watched her wind the scarf around her face as she walked into the wind and for a very brief moment, considered chasing after her to offer her his coat as well.

Phyllis' thoughts were in a boil as she arrived back at the Abbey and gratefully rushed into the warmth of the Servant's Hall. Pushing her turmoil aside, she hastily divested herself of her wraps and answered Her Ladyship's bell, which had begun going off not five minutes after she had arrived back.

"You're in the nick of time," Mr. Barrow informed her as she rushed towards the stairs. "How long can it take to get a bleeding cross on your forehead?"

Phyllis looked at him with exasperation and scrubbed at her forehead with the heel of her hand. Not sparing a moment to reply, she continued up the stairs, hoping that preoccupation with the tasks that lay ahead might serve to clear her mind from the uneasy conversation she'd had with Joseph Molesley - a conversation that had ended far too soon in her opinion - and help banish the scent of him from his scarf that still lingered in her nose.

For all her efforts, though, she was unsuccessful. Her Ladyship was attended to with the smallest part of her attention. Instead, she thought about how much she had missed just having a conversation with him, winced at how petulant she had sounded to her own ears remarking on his absence, and wondered why the esteem he held her in seemed as strong as it ever had been.

And she felt terribly guilty for rushing off so rudely. And for taking his scarf, as well. As she finally found a moment at the end of the day to sit, she took a second look at the scarf he had lent her. It was clearly hand knit. The weave was somewhat loose and and dark colors faded. The ends were frayed and here and there were spots of dirt or grease. It was an old piece of knitting, and she wondered why he hadn't replaced it with something a bit newer.

It was comfortable, soft and well worn. Phyllis stroked it absently as she looked it over, relishing the gentle tug of it on her fingertips. As the rest of the house was settling in for the night, she began digging through her work bag, looking for her needles.

The least she could do was repair it.

The quiet conversation of the Bates as they bundled themselves and their son up to face the walk back to their cottage distracted her. She looked over and smiled at the little family.

"You're up late," Anna commented in a friendly tone, watching her lay out what yarn she was able to find. "And I don't think I've ever seen you knit before."

"I haven't knit in a long time," Phyllis replied, watching Mr. Bates make faces at his son while trying to wrap yet another blanket around the squirming infant, who began to squawk.

"You'll appreciate this when we get outside, my boy." The baby squawked louder.

Phyllis didn't try to hide her laughter. "Does your lad need more socks, Mr. Bates?" she asked, holding up her needles in offer.

"He's got more socks now than he'll ever have feet to wear them," he replied, "but thanks all the same."

Anna rolled her eyes and smiled conspiratorially at Phyllis. "Mr. Bates could use more socks," she whispered loudly, "but I can't make him take the time to go buy any."

"I've got more important things to do than shop for socks," he said firmly, passing the thoroughly wrapped baby to Anna so he could get his own coat on. She laughed at him and expertly bounced her son until he stopped fussing.

Phyllis gazed thoughtfully at the scarf, and then at the small skein of yarn she'd unearthed from the bottom of her workbag. She couldn't honestly remember the last time she'd done any knitting, but she didn't have much to work with. And she didn't think she was going to be able to do much to repair Joseph's scarf. It was fast approaching the point of no return.

"Are you making a scarf, Miss Baxter?" Anna asked, leaning over to see.

"I thought I'd try to repair this one," she replied, a hint of color rising in her cheeks.

"Oh?"

"Mr. Molesley lent it to me after church services today," she replied, striving for a matter-of-fact tone, but not missing the flicker of Anna's eyes to her face. "I couldn't find mine anywhere; must have dropped it in the church. It was very kind of him, so I thought I'd try to…" she gestured with the scarf she still held in her hand "…fix it." She looked up at a pensive Anna. "It must be fairly old, though. I don't think there's much I can do."

"Hmmm," Anna murmured in agreement. "I wonder if his mother made it for him…"

"Anna," Mr. Bates called. "We should be getting home, or we'll meet ourselves coming back."

"I'll be right there," she called back. "Good night, Miss Baxter."

"Good night."

Phyllis watched Mr. Bates escort his wife and child out of the Servant's Hall, then stared back at the scarf with a disconcerted expression. Joseph didn't talk too much about his mother - only that he felt he'd disappointed her by entering a life of service. Phyllis was certain that a great deal of the joy he was taking in his new profession was down to feeling like he'd finally made his mother proud.

"Well," she said to herself, stroking the scarf lightly again, "I can't take the risk of ruining it…"

Her eyes wandered back to the small, rather dull skein of yarn from her bag and she smiled. Her half day was in two days. Perhaps she'd pay a visit to the haberdashery in Ripon.

Joseph Molesley had absently knocked over his cold cup of tea when he reached across his small table for a different book, but as this was a regular occurrence, he simply lifted all of his work up into the air with an exasperated grumble and watched the tea run off the edge of the table to puddle on the floor. Stacking his books and papers out of the wet with perhaps more vigor than necessary, he looked around for a towel and found the one he'd used two days ago, the last time he'd done this.

It had been a busy few weeks. The students were writing and preparing pieces to speak for the Easter program at the school, and he'd somehow found himself responsible for organizing it. So, in addition to teaching his lessons, he was chivying young authors into finishing their pieces and practicing their delivery, even staying after with a few of the more tentative ones to encourage them and give them practice.

In spite of his intentions, he'd not managed to pay a visit to the Abbey, and there had been no requests for him to assist. It would seem that his path was starting to diverge from that of his friends and former co-workers. He'd even run into Anna and the baby in the village the other day and had been amazed at how big the little chap was getting. Of course, they do grow fast at the beginning, but still…

He was losing touch with them. And while there a few he didn't miss as much, he found himself undeniably lonely and at loose ends in the evenings especially with no Miss Baxter to talk to. There was no chatter around the little table in his cottage. In fact, the silence of his home made him anxious at times. He'd never had a place of his own and he wasn't used to the solitude.

Perhaps that was why it hadn't been difficult to be convinced to take on the Easter program… It wasn't like he had anything else to do. No one to laugh with or listen to…

With a deep sigh, he began sopping up the spilled tea, shaking his head at his little bout of self pity. The sudden rapping at his door made him start up, smacking his head on the bottom of his table. The rapping continued as he stared stupidly at the door, rubbing his head and not noticing the tea dripping off the towel onto his trousers.

"Just a moment!" he finally shouted. The rapping had taken on a more hesitant tempo, and clearly the visitor was about to give up. Rushing over to the door, he threw it open to reveal a startled Phyllis Baxter. She was turning to leave, assuming he wasn't home. "Hello!"

"Hello," Phyllis answered, with a shaky little laugh.

Joseph stared at her with a delighted smile. Phyllis found herself smiling back, even as she wondered if they were just going to stand on his doorstep all afternoon and grin at each other. It occurred to her that he might have been busy, or even had another guest.

"I'm sorry to disturb you—"

"You're not! Not at all," he reassured her.

"Perhaps I should have sent a note asking if I might come by…"

"I'm so glad you did," he proclaimed happily. They might have stood on his doorstep even longer if the wind hadn't picked up and nearly yanked the door out of his grasp.

"Oh! Er…would you like to come in, Miss Baxter?" he finally asked, embarrassment coloring his tone.

"Thank you."

He ushered her in and immediately began helping her off with her coat. Phyllis glanced around curiously, smiling as she noticed the clutter in the sitting room, the pile of dishes next to the sink, and books scattered throughout. She had always thought that order and neatness didn't come naturally to him, and now she could see for herself that she was right.

Joseph caught the smile and the surreptitious examination of his cottage. Clearing his throat, he edged over to remove his pile of work from the table, wincing when his elbow landed in the tea that had puddled in the middle. He quickly wiped up the remaining with the towel he still clutched in one hand, and made a clumsy gesture towards the second chair.

"Would you like to sit down? Can I get you something? Cup of tea?" he stammered.

"Will I have to give up my independence?" she asked, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

Joseph gaped at her for a second then laughed loudly. "Not a bit of it. Unless…unless you want to."

She ignored the little flip her stomach made when he teased her and just raised her eyebrows expectantly. Joseph blinked, then muttered "Right…right…tea…" as he directed her to take a seat and scampered over to his stove.

"You were busy when I knocked, weren't you?" she asked, examining the pile of books and papers. "You've been very busy lately." She clutched her purse in her lap and bit her lip. "I haven't seen you or heard from you since Ash Wednesday," she added softly.

"I have been," he acknowledged over the discordant banging of the kettle against the side of the sink as he filled it. "They've only gone and put me in charge of the Easter Program…"

"And who better?" She glanced over at him to catch him grinning shyly at the top of the stove.

"I've got to vet all the speeches and organize the singers," he continued, beyond happy to have someone to share his excitement with. "Some of them need a bit more work than others." With a flourish, he placed the kettle on the hob and bent to light it with a match. "Of course, I never won any prizes for speaking when I was still in school, so I can understand how nervous some of them are."

Phyllis smiled at his excited rambling, and was about to mention that he didn't seem to have any trouble talking now when he suddenly spun away from the stove and made his way over to sit across from her. He seemed content to simply smile at her for a few moments.

"Waters on to boil," he commented needlessly. "We should be ready for tea in a tick." He dropped his eyes to the top of the table. "Can you stay? For a while?"

"I can, if it wouldn't be a bother." His eyes shot up and he opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, she added: "I'd like to…catch up. I…We've missed you. And I have something for you…"

"Oh?"

Phyllis reached into her purse to draw out the scarf he'd lent her weeks ago. When he didn't reach out for it immediately, she pushed it gently across the table to him.

"Ah. Well, thank you. But you didn't need to bring it back so soon."

"I should have brought it back sooner," she contradicted firmly. "You've been without a scarf for too long, and it's been cold."

"It hasn't been that bad. Did you ever find yours?"

"No," she admitted. "I guess it's gone for good."

"Then you keep this one," he said without a moment's hesitation, pushing it back towards her.

"I couldn't," she replied, pushing it back.

He made a scoffing noise and pushed it back towards her again. Before he could comment further, the kettle began to whistle. Giving her a stern look, he pointed at the scarf and then at her as he got up to take it off the hob. Her lips twitched in an effort not to laugh at his expression.

Joseph hummed off key to himself as he put the tea to seep and prepared two cups. He fixed her cup like she preferred as if he'd only done it yesterday. Then he began opening and closing cupboards, frowning into them when he didn't find what he was looking for.

"Can I help?" she asked, having watched him mutter and wrinkle his brow irritably as his search continued.

"Er, no…I, um, can't find my tea tray anywhere," he said sheepishly.

"Isn't that it over on the armchair?" she asked, tipping her head in the direction of a sagging cast off from his dad's cottage that sported a tea tray perched precariously atop a stack of folded sheets and seed packets.

"Right! There it is…how'd it get over there…." he muttered as he fetched it, the back of his neck flushing in embarrassment.

Phyllis just shook her head and smiled. Joseph finished preparing everything, adding a few biscuits, and smoothly transferred the tea tray to the table.

"I see you haven't lost your footman skills," she teased as she lifted her steaming cup to her face and breathed the comforting aroma.

"Well, it's only sensible to have a fall back career…in the event that teaching doesn't work out for me…"

"I don't see why it shouldn't."

"I hope it does. I rather doubt Mr. Barrow would have me back," he said with a nervous little laugh.

"He'd be lucky to get you back." she said a bit tartly. At his grateful look, she sighed and put her cup down. "I didn't stop by to discuss staffing at the Abbey."

"Did you just miss me?" he teased, taking a sip of his own tea.

"Yes. And I needed to bring this back to you." She pushed the scarf back towards him.

"Miss Baxter—"

She grasped his hands in a silencing gesture. "This is an old scarf, Joseph, and you've obviously worn it a great deal. It must be important to you, and I can't accept it."

Joseph's eyes widened in surprise as she used his given name in such a gentle tone. He glanced down at her hands pressing his down on the backs of his and turned them over to grasp hers, releasing them so quickly she thought that she'd imagined it. He picked up the scarf and gazed at it.

"My mother made it for me…last Christmas before she died." Phyllis listened intently as he cleared his throat and went on, a bit gruffly. "I didn't get home that Christmas. There was a butler position I thought I might be in the running for, near where I was serving as a valet. So…I stayed, to make a better impression." He paused. "So my mother made me this scarf and sent it on. She was already sick, but hadn't told Dad or me how bad off she was."

"I'm sure you'd have gone home, if you had known she wasn't well."

"Are you?" he asked with a sad smile. "I'm not sure, myself. I was…determined to advance. That wasn't the first Christmas I hadn't made any effort to get home…"

"Joseph—"

"At any rate," he rattled on, "I didn't get the position, and probably wasn't a serious contender for it in the first place. And I did go home in February, when Dad wrote me about how poorly she was getting." He sighed deeply and looked at her, hesitantly, as if fearing to see disappointment or approbation in her eyes.

She reached out and gave the hand clutching the scarf a tentative squeeze. "So you see why I couldn't keep it. I knew it must mean something special for you to keep using it when it was starting to fall apart."

"It is, isn't it?" he mused, poking his finger through a gap in the knit.

"Stop that," she ordered. "I thought about repairing it…" He looked at her hopefully. "…but there really isn't much I can do. So…." She dug around in her purse again and pulled out another scarf. "I made you a new one."

"What? You made me a new scarf?"

"Yes. I thought you might want to keep your old scarf…for the memories. But you needed something to wear, so I didn't think you'd mind…" She trailed off as she watched him turn the new scarf over in his hands in amazement and held it up to admire it.

"Mind? How could I mind?"

She watched him examine the scarf with a nervous smile, hoping he liked it. The rich, camel brown was broken by narrow stripes of red. She shifted restlessly as he seemed unable to say a word and just stroked the thick, tight wool.

"Is it…is it alright?" she finally asked.

"It's perfect, Phyllis! Absolutely smashing!" He beamed at her, wanting nothing more than to grab her shoulders and pull her to him, wrapping the scarf around them both.

"I'm glad," she breathed in relief.

Joseph admired the scarf some more, careful not to let it fall into his tea. He wrapped it around his neck and tried to don a thoughtful expression.

"How does it look?" he asked, unable not to smile.

"Very dignified and yet, somewhat daring," she replied in a "posh" voice. "The red highlights against the brown signify something bold, yet understated in your temperament. It all comes together in a picture of stability with a hidden vein of strength and spontaneity…"

Joseph began snickering as soon as she started teasing, and by the time she was winding down, he couldn't stop. Unable to keep the haughty expression she started with, Phyllis was smiling and shaking her head at him.

"It does look well," she added in her normal voice, giving it a critical look over. "I gauged it properly, and it seems just the right length."

"It's lovely…it is," Joseph said as he tried to stem his laughter. "I can't thank you enough."

They sat quietly for a moment as Joseph continued to admire his scarf, and Phyllis took the opportunity to admire Joseph. His face was still flushed from his laughter, and she liked the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at her. She was taken aback when he suddenly frowned.

"What is it?"

"Well…you're still without a scarf." He began to unwind the new scarf from his neck. "I should let you have this one back until you can—"

"Oh no…no…don't worry about that," she hastened to reassure him. "I'm working on a new scarf for myself as well. It should be done soon."

"Will it look like mine?"

"I'm using different colors," she replied. "It would be a bit…awkward if we matched, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose…." he mused, as if he wasn't convinced.

"I'm quite enjoying knitting again," she went on. "It's been a long while since I have, so I'm thankful that you lending me your scarf gave me a reason to pick up my needles."

"What else are you planning?" he asked, propping his chin on his hand and giving every impression of being willing to sit at the table with Phyllis and talk for hours about handcrafts.

"Oh…this and that. I might make a sweater for the Bates' baby…for him to grow into."

"As fast as he's growing, you'd better knit quickly." Joseph watched her laugh and wondered how long she would be willing to stay. "Is today your half day?"

"No," she said. "In fact, I really ought to be heading back soon. I've got things to do before the gong."

"Oh," he said quietly, his face falling.

"I could come back sometime, if…if that would be alright."

"Of course it would, Phyllis!" he replied, visibly happy at the prospect. "You're welcome anytime."

"Maybe after Easter then, when you're not so busy with everything," she suggested, standing up in preparation to leave.

Joseph immediately stood as well and went to get her coat. As he removed it from the hook near the door, his foot scuffed against a pair of boots and a garden spade, which fell to the floor with a clang.

"Um…perhaps I'll have the place a bit more picked up next time," he mumbled as he shoved the items to one side and began helping her with her coat. "I haven't…er…done much with it."

"It's a lovely cottage," she assured him, as she glanced at the heavy, grimy, dark curtains that draped the front windows and the scuff marks on the dingy walls. "Maybe it could just use a woman's touch around the edges…"

Joseph began fastening her coat before realizing what he was doing and hastily dropping his hands. Clearing his throat, he took a reluctant step back. Phyllis finished buttoning her coat, looking up at him the whole time with a quirk of a smile.

"It certainly could. Use a woman's touch, I mean." He swallowed hard as she put her gloves on. "Maybe….do you, um…." She looked at him expectantly. "Maybe you could make some suggestions?"

"I'm sure I could."

"Thank you again for dropping by…and for the scarf," he blurted, trying to delay her leaving just a few moments longer.

"You're welcome, Joseph," she replied with a warm smile, well aware of what he was doing. "Now, I really must get on."

He moved past her to open the door. She paused before going through.

"Curtains," she said firmly.

"Curtains? What?"

"Next time I come over, we'll hang new curtains."

With that, she smiled and headed out into the cold. Taking a quick glance back, she saw him standing in his doorway with his mouth hanging open as he watched her leave and contemplated just what in the world she could mean by offering to hang new curtains in his cottage.

He would ponder that as he listened to halting recitations and off key, three part harmony warbling every afternoon for the next two weeks. Every time he wrapped his lovely, warm scarf around his neck, the word reverberated through his mind.

Curtains!