Finally, he dropped his hand. "I don't know what to say."

"Neither do I," Susan managed. "I expected this. But I have to tell you. When I stand back and look at the situation, I'm amazed. Three girls got pregnant, but this is a referendum on moms."

"Not moms, plural. One mom."

Right, she thought-because it all went way back to what had happened seventeen years before. "But I had a handle on this, Phil," she said. "Everyone at school responded so well to what we did. I had good will on my side. How can one opinion piece change things so fast?"

"It gave people permission to question."

"Fine. Question me as a mom. But I'm a good principal. Isn't that worth something?"

"You can't separate the two."

"Sure you can. Come on, Phil. If I was a Perry, I wouldn't be getting this criticism."

"If you were a Perry, you'd have a husband, and your kids would be younger than Lily. When a Perry gets pregnant at seventeen, she aborts it before anyone's the wiser."

Something about the way he said it gave Susan pause. "What?"

Phil seemed to realize he'd spoken out of turn. He waved a hand. "Oh, one of those daughters a while back. But the fact is that you did have Lily at seventeen. How did your father handle it?"

"My father chose the town over me. I was banished. End of story."

The silence that followed was as foreboding as any. Phil was brooding again, refusing to look at her now. Suddenly she was back at the school board meeting, sensing that her career was up for grabs.

"No, Phil," she said softly. "Don't suggest it."

He sighed, raised his eyes. "Not even a leave of absence?"

"I can't. This job means the world to me."

"Only until the smoke clears?"

"It would be an admission of guilt, when I've done nothing wrong."

She waited, but Phil was silent.

"Why would I take a leave?" she asked.

"Because certain members of the board have asked for it. I've had calls since the meeting."

"How many?" There were seven members. Four would make it a majority vote.

"Three. They don't know where this is headed and feel that the town might be better cutting its losses."

"Losses?" Susan cried. "Excuse me. What have they lost?" When he began to hedge, she said, "Their innocence? Their world reputation? Their self-respect?"

"Mock it if you want, but this is a traditional town."

"Yes," she said, then paraphrased the editorial, "with the lowest divorce rate in the state and zero violent crime. But we do have MaryAnne and Laura raising their twin daughters over on Oak Street, and we do have a town meeting moderator who attends AA meetings every night."

"They don't generate publicity."

This was true. Susan was over a barrel. "Are you telling me to take a leave?" If he was ordering her to do it, actually putting her on suspension, she wouldn't have much choice.

He sat straighter. "No. I'm just suggesting that you might want to consider it."

"I have. I want to stay. There's too much work still to do."

He raised a hand that said, Fine. Your choice. You stay.

But there was no victory in it for Susan. On the way back to school, she wondered if she had simply delayed the inevitable.

Chapter 16

Susan was the last one to arrive at the barn Saturday morning. She had overslept after another uneasy night, and might have been sleeping still if Kate hadn't called.

"I'm so sorry," she said as she hurried to the back. The other three were nursing coffee, together for the first time, really, in over a month. The sight of it did her heart good. For the briefest time, life was normal again.

She took the chair beside Pam and squeezed her hand. "I've missed us. Oh, wow," she exclaimed, standing again to study samples of the three colorways that she and Kate had worked out. "These look amazing, Kate. What do you guys think?"

In a measured tone that Susan guessed had more to do with her life these days than yarn, Sunny said, "I like them. Vernal Tide and Spring Eclipse are soothing. They're a nice contrast to March Madness."

"Which isn't as soothing." Susan had embellished on it since its inception in her attic, raising the temperature of the yellows and greens that lay amid gray and white. Clearly, her own mood had come into play here, strong strokes of color against a calm field. "Too much?"

Sunny studied the sample. "I don't think so."

Susan repeated the question in a look at Pam, who said, "They're good. When will you do the last two?"

"Today. Kate needs time to dye enough skeins for photos to meet the catalogue deadline. Should we go ahead and book the photographer?"

"Actually," Pam said, "I think we should photograph finished items this year, rather than unknit skeins."

Kate looked startled. "We've never done that."

"Other knitting catalogues do it."

This was true-and heartening to Susan. "Is it what Cliff wants?" she asked. Clifton Perry was Pam's brother-in-law, and the catalogue was his domain. A staunch voice for the dignity of Perry & Cass, he was an unlikely ally, given Susan's notoriety.

"Well, he hasn't exactly said it," Pam hedged. "But he knows I have a feel for marketing, so he listens to me. Once he sees the layout, he won't turn it down."

"Does he even know about this yet?" Susan asked softly.

"No. I'm going out on a limb for you guys," she said with a hint of anger. "It's a good move, don't you think?"

Susan didn't like the "going out on a limb" part, but at least it was a positive plan, so she nodded. "Definitely." She turned to Kate. "Can we get samples knit in time?"

Kate was doubtful. "It'll be a challenge, with Christmas so close, and me having to spend every minute dyeing yarn. I'd have my girls do small items, like socks or a hat, only this is a bad time for them in school."

Same with Lily, Susan knew. Besides, Lily was working on something else that would likely take priority. Susan didn't want to think about that project, much less mention it to the others. "I'd have time to knit a scarf, but that's it. Could you do a shawl, Pam?"

"Possibly, but Kate's right. Christmas is close. What about our freelancers?" PC Wool had a stable of women who knit for trunk shows and magazines.

"That might work," Kate said. "I have enough of them, and they'll want the money for the holiday, but I'll have to pick patterns ASAP. I was planning to see our designer in January. I could push that up. How many items do you want for the spread?"

"One for each colorway," Pam said, "preferably in different weights."

"That'd be a lot of work for nothing if Cliff opts for the old tried-and-true."

"A lot of work for nothing if he nixes PC Wool entirely," Sunny muttered.

But Susan had to be hopeful. "Maybe what Pam's trying to say is that if Cliff sees a more impressive finished product, he'll forget what's happening here."

"Speaking of which," Pam told her, "I did talk with George. We had dinner with him last night. I said you were a fabulous principal and that he was wrong to suggest otherwise."

"Will he print a retraction?" Susan asked, though she knew the answer.

So did Pam. "He's prickly, not an easy guy to reason with."

"Then his job suits him," Sunny said. "He can sit in his office and write unfair things without having to run them past anyone else." To Susan, she added, "You did not tell Lily to get pregnant."

"But I didn't prevent it, so maybe I am to blame," Susan said. She was still trying to make sense out of the public turnaround, wondering if she was the one who didn't get it. "Lily is my child. At what age does a child become responsible for her own acts?"

"By law in the state of Maine, eighteen," Sunny shot back, echoing what Susan suspected had come from Dan.

"Then I am responsible." Acknowledging that brought Susan to the topic she really wanted to discuss with these friends. "So am I a bad mother?"

"If you're a bad mother, we all are," Kate mused. "What does it take to be a good one?"

This was what Susan had been thinking as she had lain awake last night. There was no single answer, but for current purposes, one did stand out. "Vigilance. A good mother watches her kids closely."

"We do."

"Apparently, not closely enough," Susan went on, mocking her detractors. "In order to have prevented these pregnancies, a mother would have to eavesdrop on her daughter's conversations, monitor her texts, hack into Facebook."

"A neurotic mother does that," Kate said. "I refuse to. A good mother trusts."

"After she teaches right and wrong," Susan added, because teaching was her thing. "But it's like riding a bike. At some point a parent has to let go, even if it means the child falls."