Stitches in Time by Suzanne Woods Fisher

Author:Suzanne Woods Fisher [Fisher, Suzanne Woods]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781493419395
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2019-08-19T00:00:00+00:00

While Izzy collected eggs in the henhouse, the chickens came out of their roosts, one by one, clucking in that deep throaty way. It was how they communicated that she was intruding in their chicken world and they were not happy about it. She liked hens. Not as much as sheep, but she did enjoy their personalities. Each one, so unique. She tried not to have favorites, though, or to name them, because then she couldn’t bring herself to eat them for supper. Better not to know, that was her chicken dinner policy. She heard the screen door open and assumed it was Luke. But when she turned around, there was Fern’s girl. She hadn’t seen her since the afternoon when she got dizzy in the yarn shop.

“I’m feeling better.” She shrugged, her hands jammed into her sweatpants’ pockets.

Izzy handed her the basket of freshly laid eggs. “Does that happen to you very often? It came on kind of suddenly.”

She studied a brown egg, still warm, in the basket. “Like I said, only when I don’t get enough to eat.”

That was hard to fathom, because this girl ate like a lumberjack. But Izzy didn’t say that out loud. “Sometimes being hungry makes me feel that way too.”

“Yeah?” Relieved, the girl’s whole being lifted, like the sun came out from behind a cloud. In that instant, she seemed like a sweet young girl, not a sullen, silent reminder of herself.

Izzy felt a little guilty for having such unpleasant thoughts about the girl. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.” She looked up, pleased to be asked. “I guess you’ve been wondering about me.”

Nope. Izzy gave the girl a vague smile and walked out of the henhouse. The girl trotted right on her heels.

“I have big plans. A lot of things are ahead of me.”

“Is that right.” Izzy didn’t mean it as a question, but the girl took it as an invitation to talk.

“My dad always said I was pretty enough to be a model. Travel the world. Have a new car every year and a house in the Hamptons.”

“Oh my. Those are big plans.” It surprised her that this girl wanted to be a model, because she didn’t seem at all interested in clothes or fashion or make-up. She didn’t even comb her hair very often. Or wash it. Each day, she wore big baggy sweats and pulled her thick long dark hair into a severe ponytail.

“A man stopped me in a store one day and told me that I could be a plus-size supermodel. He gave me his card.” She pulled a business card out of her sweatpants’ pocket and handed it to Izzy. The edges were worn down, like the girl had handled it too much. “What do you think of that?”

Izzy read the card. “Modeling agent?”

“Yup. He said he could get me some good photographs for a . . . hmm . . . there’s a word . . .”

“Portfolio.”

“That’s it! That’s just the word he used. A portfolio. He said he’d take pictures of me in his studio for a portfolio and introduce me to all the right people.

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