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everything was quiet indoors； only the crack of the fire every so often； and the click…click of the knitting needles； and my sighs。 my sighs； you say？ well； yes； my sighs。 because i wasn’t happy。 i’d fallen into remembering； and that’s a bad habit for a woman of fifty。 i’d got a warm fire； a roof over my head and a cooked dinner inside me； but was i content？ not i。 so there i sat sighing over my gray sock； while the rain kept ing。 after a time i got up to fetch a slice of plum cake from the pantry； nice and mature； fed with brandy。 cheered me up no end。 but when i came back and picked up my knitting； my heart quite turned over。 do you know why？ i’d turned the heel of that sock twice！
now that bothered me。 it really bothered me； because i’m a careful knitter； not slapdash like my sister kitty used to be； nor half blind like my poor old mother when she got near the end。 i’d only made that mistake twice in my life。
the first time i turned a heel too often was when i was a young thing。 a sunny afternoon。 i was sitting by an open window； enjoying the smell of everything blooming in the garden。 it was a blue sock then。 for… well； for a young man。 my young man。 i won’t tell you his name； there’s no need。 well； i’d been daydreaming。 silly。 white dresses and white cakes and a lot of nonsense like that。 and all of a sudden i looked down and saw that i’d turned the heel twice。 there it was； plain as day。 a ribbed leg part； a heel； more ribbing for the foot and then— another heel。 i laughed out loud。 it didn’t matter。 easy enough to undo it and put it right。
i’d already drawn the needles out when kitty came running up the garden path。 what’s up with her？ i thought； all of a hurry。 i saw her face was greenish white； and then she stopped dead the minute she saw me through the window。 that’s when i knew it wasn’t a trouble for her but for me。 she opened her mouth but she couldn’t even say my name。 she was crying。 and then out she came with it。
there’d been an accident。 he’d been out with his brother； my young man。 after some grouse。 where they didn’t ought to have been。 someone saw them and they took fright。 ran off。 daniel； the brother； he got to the stile first and hopped over。 my young man； he was too hasty。 his gun got caught in the stile。 he should have slowed down； taken his time。 he heard footsteps ing after them and panicked； yanked at the gun。 i don’t need to spell it out； do i？ you can guess what happened。
i undid my knitting。 all those little knots that you make one after mother； row by row； to knit a sock； i undid them。 it’s easy。 take the needles out； a little tug and they just fall apart。 one after another； row by row。 i undid the extra heel and then i just kept going。 the foot； the first heel； the ribbing of the leg。 all those loops unraveling themselves as you pull the wool。 then there was nothing left to unravel； only a pile of crinkled blue wool in my lap。
it doesn’t take long to knit a sock and it takes a lot less to undo it。
i expect i wound the blue wool into a ball to make something else。 but i don’t remember that。
the second time i turned a heel twice； i was beginning to get old。 kitty and me were sitting by the fireside here； together。 it was a year since her husband had died； nearly a year since she’d e to live with me。 she was getting so much better； i thought。 she’d been smiling more。 taking an interest in things。 she could hear his name without welling up。 we sat here and i was knitting—a nice pair of bed socks it was； for kitty； softest lambs’ wool； pink to go with her dressing gown— and she had a book in her lap。 she can’t have been looking at it； though； because she said； “joan； you’ve turned that heel twice。”
i held up my work and she was right。 “well； i’m blowed；” i said。
she said if it had been her knitting； she wouldn’t be surprised。 she was always turning heels twice； or else forgetting to turn at all。 more than once she’d knitted a sock for her man with no heel； just a leg and a toe。 we laughed。 but she was surprised at me； she said。 it wasn’t like me to be so absentminded。
‘well；“ i said； ”i have made this mistake before。 only the once。“ and i reminded her of what i’ve just told you。 all about my young man。 and while i was reminiscing aloud； i carefully undid the second heel and got started to put it right。 takes a bit of concentration； and the light was going。 well； i finished my story； and she didn’t say anything； and i thought she was thinking about her husband。 you know； me talking about my loss all those years ago； and hers so recent by parison。
it was too dark to finish the toe properly； so i put it aside and looked up。 “kitty？” i said。 “kitty？” there was no answer。 i did for a moment think she might be asleep。 but she wasn’t。
she looked so peaceful there。 she had a smile on her face。 as if she was happy to be back with him。 back with her husband。 in the time i’d been peering at that bed sock in the dark； chattering away with my old story； she’d gone to him。
so it bothered me； that night of the pitch…black sky； to find that i’d knitted a second heel。 once i’d done it and lost my young man。 twice and i’d lost my sister。 now a third time。 i had no one left to lose。 there was only me now。
i looked at the sock。 gray wool。 a plain thing。 it was meant for me。
perhaps it didn’t matter； i told myself。 who was there to miss me？ no one would suffer from my going。 that was a blessing。 after all； at least i’d had a life； not like my young man。 and also i remembered the look on kitty’s face； that happy； peaceful look。 can’t be so bad； i thought。
i set to unraveling the extra heel。 what was the point of that； you might wonder。 well； i didn’t want to be found with it。 “silly old woman；” i imagined them saying。 “they found her with her knitting in her lap； and guess what？ she’d turned her heel twice。” i didn’t want them saying that。 so i undid it。 and as i worked i was readying myself to go； in my mind。
i don’t know how long i sat there like that。 but eventually a noise found its way into my ear。 from out…of…doors。 a cry； like some lost animal。 i was away in my thoughts； not expecting anythi