Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_03 Read Online Free PDF Page B

if he was speaking ironically, but his eyes were kind and his smile genuine. She smiled back and repeated something her father used to say to her: “Never trouble trouble, till trouble troubles you.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œIs there a phone down here I can use?”
    â€œBack over here.”
    It was early issue Ma Bell, made of heavy metal with an old-fashioned dial instead of buttons. Betsy called her shop.
    â€œGodwin? We’ve run into a little complication over here. Can you bring me samples of all our orange wools? I’m looking for a color I’d call burnt orange, but bring anything from russet to red. Needlepoint, yes. What? Well, don’t we have a sign that says Back in Five Minutes? Then write it on something and get over here. Fast.”
    While they waited, Betsy looked again at the tapestry. She knew she was still a novice at needlework, but she’d seen expert work, and this seemed very well done. The stitching had a satisfying evenness. There were no beads or metallics.
    Well, except in the halo. Betsy came closer. The mildew odor was still enough to wrinkle her nose, through which she took tiny sips of air.
    Between the double gold lines of halo was a blue gray, slightly sparkly area. No, it wasn’t the blue-gray that was sparkly, there was a tiny design stitched over it, or in between the stitches or something. Betsy frowned and leaned over the table, holding her breath.
    â€œIs there another problem?” asked Father John.
    She straightened. “No, I’m just wondering what that is.”
    â€œI know stitches have various names, but I couldn’t tell you the name of even one.”
    â€œIt’s not a stitch,” said Betsy. “See, there are little pictures in the halo. You have to get close to see them, they’re—oh, they were done separately, then stitched to the gray stitching. Appliqué, it’s called. They’re like little line drawings, see them? There’s a clover leaf, and then some kind of animal, and then a heart or something ...”
    â€œWhere?” asked Father John, bending beside her. “Oh, I see them. How very clever. They’re attributes, I believe. See? That heart is supposed to be on fire. It’s for Saint Theresa. And here, this is Saint Olaf.” He was pointing to a tiny double-bladed ax.
    â€œI don’t understand,” said Betsy, straightening again. “I mean, how is an ax St. Olaf?”
    â€œCome, come, you know what I mean. For instance, that first one. If I tell you it’s not a clover but a shamrock, who does it make you think of?”
    â€œOh!” said Betsy. “Saint Patrick.”
    â€œOf course. And the lamb is Saint Agnes, and if that’s a chain, it’s probably Saint Ignatius. Back before literacy was common—but also because no one knew what almost any of the saints actually looked like—when a statue or painting of a saint was commissioned, the artist could put whatever face he found inspiring on it. But then, to tell the viewer who it was supposed to be, he would add some of the symbols attributed to that saint. That’s what they’re called: attributes.”
    Betsy said, “Well, yes, of course! I remember learning about that in Sunday school. Saint Lucy was a pair of eyes on a plate, ugh! And the four evangelists were an angel, an eagle, a lion, and—what?”
    â€œAn ox. And the Trinity was a triangle or three interlocking circles. We use both here at Trinity, one overlaying the other. Not all of the attributes are for saints. Some symbolize various aspects of God or of Christian virtues. The horse means war, unless he’s ridden, in which case horse and rider stand for our Lord Christ.”
    â€œSo what was the idea of using attributes in this tapestry?”
    â€œPerhaps to give it an all-saints theme as well as Good Shepherd? Hmm, this looks like a rowboat. I wonder who that symbolizes. Mrs.