Blanket measures 36 x 50 inches.
Beehive Non-Shrink Baby Wool, 3 ply, 18 balls (1oz. Balls) of White and 7 balls of baby blue.
Knitting Pins, 1 Pair No. 3 (3mm size)
Steve Rogers sat at the kitchen table, feet not quite brushing the floor, huffing over a bowl of steaming water. Sarah Rogers took a tea towel and draped it over his head to trap more of the wet air and rubbed her boy’s back between the shoulder blades.
“I-I just wanted,” he gulped.
“Shh,” she told him. “I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She wished there was something more she could do. Sometimes she felt like it must have been her own fault, her own weak constitution that kept her son from playing out with the other boys.
Once his breathing was back under control, Sarah scooped him up and retreated to her bed, the two of them curled up against each other. She pulled out her knitting and gave Steve some scrap paper that she brought home from the ward to draw on.
Instead of filling the paper with flights of fancy like he usually did, he just watched her needles ticking back and forth. “What are you making now?”
“Mrs. O’Dea in 203 is expecting. I thought it would be nice to make her a blanket for the little one.” He watched her for a little longer. “Steve? Would you like to try?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Girls knit.”
Sarah bit down a smile. “Girls knit, but boys can too. Your father knew how to knit.”
He looked up at her in surprise, “Really?”
“Really. He told me that a lot of the men in the 107th knit when he was in the war. He said that especially when men were hurt or sick, they’d knit to keep busy, and so they’d still be useful. Knitting made sure that everybody could help.”
She finished a row and turned the knitting. Making her voice deliberately casual she said, “So… do you want to help?”
A host of expressions played over his face. Uncertainty, frustration, curiosity, and pure Irish pigheadedness. “Yes.”
“All right then. Here, you hold these.” She put the needles in his hands and looped an arm around his shoulders so she could guide him. “Okay, you hold your yarn here, and loop it over the right needle like so, then pull…
In through the front door
Around the back
Out through the window
And off jumps Jack.”
She guided his hands once more, using the needle to pull one loop of yarn through another. Then let him do it on his own, ready to jump in and correct if he needed it. But of course her Steve didn’t need it. He hesitated a little, repeated the rhyme under his breath, but didn’t go wrong. So clever, her boy.
He got through a few rows and frowned at it. “Ma, it looks all lumpy, not like yours.”
“The more you practice the more even you’ll be.”
“And Mrs. O’Dea will like it? Even if it’s lumpy?”
“Mrs. O’Dea will love it. Especially if she finds out you helped. Even if it’s lumpy it will be special because you made it with love.”
Steve nestled a little closer into her side. “Well, that’s good then.”
“Yes,” she said, and dropped a kiss on his forehead, “That’s good.”