The Scarlet Yarn
Micah James

To put it simply, Elizabeth could not stand her younger sister. They just couldn’t
seem to peacefully coexist. As a matter of fact, she was doing just fine before June
came along; she had been the warm glow at the centre of the little grey house on the
farm, like the hearth that their family gathered around at the end of each day. She
had her own bed, her own chair, her own toys, and even a beautiful china teacup
reserved for very special occasions, carefully packed away in a shoebox. Above all,
she treasured her keepsakes and relished her parent’s attention.
She hadn’t noticed at first, as children seldom do, but it wasn’t long until
Mother’s tired sighs and tightening apron gave the notion that something was
changing. When Mother explained that by spring she would have a new brother
or sister, Elizabeth was ecstatic! She doted on Mother all through those months,
brewing her cups of tea (though often forgetting to strain out the leaves), and doing
extra chores. She was nervous, but terribly excited to have someone to play with
and look up to her. She planned out the games they’d play and the places they’d
explore as she sat by Mother’s feet while she rocked in her chair, knitting away.
There was a tremendous amount of knitting, and sewing, and building all sorts of
things to prepare for the baby.
Although she was small, she wanted to help, so she asked Mother to teach her
to knit. She carefully watched Mother’s nimble fingers, stumbling with her own
stubby ones. Click, click, click: Mother’s needles resonated as she slowed to show
Elizabeth the stitches, pausing frequently to adjust her daughter’s small hands.
Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth could only make a bunchy, twisted string. She
didn’t mind this however, since Mother praised her and examined her work as she
would her own. She was making a scarf in a brilliant red. Elizabeth savoured its
cranberry hues as it turned in the firelight on Mother’s round stomach. ‘It seems
very long for a baby,’ she thought.
The mystery was solved when the succulent scarf was found folded neatly on her
bed. She hadn’t imagined that it was for her, but now took great pride in showing
it to everyone she met. It wasn’t long after that that the snow drops came up and
the sun beamed too warmly to wear a woolen scarf, so she was told to roll it up and
stow it away.
~

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Then one day there was a commotion in the little grey house. Elizabeth was
told to get out of the adults’ way and was shooed outside. By the time she returned,
everything was quiet and still, nothing but the short cries of a baby in the doctor’s
arms could be heard. Father was solemn and took her aside. She had a new little
sister, he explained, but her Mother had died. She couldn’t recall anything else, only
that where Mother’s rocking chair had been there was now a bassinet. She couldn’t
forgive her sister, even years later, for taking away her dear Mother.
To make matters worse, she was incredibly annoying! As soon as June could
crawl, she was always underfoot. When she could walk, she followed Elizabeth
wherever she went, touching her things and ruining her favourite toys. Nothing
was safe from those grasping hands, and she had to share everything. The only thing
she could keep to herself was that scarlet scarf safely tucked away, only to be taken
out on the coldest days.
~
It was on one of those biting days that Elizabeth came home wrapped up in her
scarf. On her arrival, Father took up his hat and told her he was going into town
for a while. Unwinding her scarf and hanging it up, she glared at her sister, who was
gleefully scribbling in her schoolbooks. Snatching them up, she escaped into the
bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Her homework took twice as long due
to tedious erasing. The minutes ticked by as she sat bent over her books.
The air grew colder, and her fingers were getting stiff when suddenly she heard a
sharp crash. She opened the door and was met with a massacre of tiny white shards
littering the floor, her sister sheepishly smiling in the midst of it. Elizabeth’s eyes
darted to the empty spot on top of the pantry, the overturned box on the table, then
back to the mess on the floor. Her face, ears, even her fingers grew hot, forgetting
their chill just moments before. She shouted and pounced on the pile. Her shaking
hands grasped at the little pieces of delicate china as she bellowed at her sister “get
out and never come back!” The small girl ran out into the yard, leaving Elizabeth
there in the remains of her beloved teacup.

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Sitting on the kitchen floor crying in her rage and sadness, she was unable to
hear the winds squealing louder outside, and she hadn’t noticed the snow swirling
past the window panes. It wasn’t until a branch hit the roof that she snapped out
of her sobs. Elizabeth gazed out the window but couldn’t see past it. “A blizzard!”
she yelped, and ran to the other windows, shuttering them tight. She went into
the bedroom to shutter those too, and found that her sister wasn’t there. Elizabeth
dashed to the kitchen and looked around frantically, her heartbeat so loud in her
ears it almost blocked out the sound of the howling winds. It was then that she
remembered the bang of the back door as June had run away.
Her face was cold as she ran to the door, flinging it open. It promptly swung
and slammed back in her face. She grabbed her coat and slipped on her boots,
fumbling to tie up the laces. Pressing on the door with all her might, she peered out
again through the gap. White. No fence posts, no garden, no pathway; just white,
swirling snow. A hollow pit grew in her stomach as she turned in the direction the
barn should have been. “June must be out there,” she thought desperately. Elizabeth
whirled back inside and pulled open drawers and cupboards, searching for a ball of
string or a rope. She found a small spiral of twine, but it only stretched from one
hand to the other. Her eyes turned to her scarf hanging on the hook.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and gently pulled it down. Her beautiful scarf.
Her lovely, ‘only-hers’ scarf. She pictured Mother’s hands as they knit it together
and squeezed the little mass in her arms. She winced as she snipped one of the
small loops at the end of the scarf. Pulling a thread loose, she tied it tightly around
the handle of the door and flung the rest over her neck. Bracing for the wind, she
pushed open the door and stumbled outside. The cold air stung her skin as ice
blasted her eyes like sand. Pulling gently on the strand of yarn clamped in the door,
Elizabeth stepped out into the blizzard. She could barely walk against the fierce
winds, and it took all her strength just to step through the snow. Still, she pushed
on ahead, making her way in the direction—she hoped—of the barn.
It felt like hours had passed before her boot hit a board. She pulled herself along
the wall with numbing fingers until she felt the doorframe. A whirl of sparkling
snow blew into the barn as she squeezed herself in and shut the door behind her.
Her eyes adjusted to the faint glow of a small lamp, the light dancing around her
sister’s huddled form. She shot towards her and shook her awake. As June rubbed
her eyes and shivered, Elizabeth pulled a blanket from her coat and wrapped it
around her sister’s shoulders. Back on their feet, the girls returned to the door and
faced the blizzard outside.

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“How will we ever find our way back?” June cried over the winds. Elizabeth said
nothing but wrapped her arms around her sister and tied the last bit of the damp
yarn around her waist. She gave it a tug and it flung free from the snow, a faint line
of scarlet heading out before them. She held her sister close and, closing her eyes,
trudged through the storm, following the yarn in her hand. After ages of walking
towards nothing but white, the grey door appeared, the yarn pulled taut through
the door. The girls tumbled onto the floor, snow shaking off in clumps. Elizabeth
pushed herself to the hearth and lit a small match, reigniting the embers that glowed
in the ashes. Before long, the fire was flickering brightly on their huddled, sleeping
faces, a pile of wet, unraveled yarn at their sides.
~
The girls’ Father could hardly believe his eyes when he opened the door and
saw them sitting together at the kitchen table. June’s hands were twisted up in a
mess of yarn as Elizabeth laid down a pair of needles and untangled her sister. Two
short, scarlet scarves tumbled onto each of their laps as they click, click, clicked
away in the kitchen of their little grey house.

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