The Sisters of Sugarcreek

by Cathy Liggett

  “Of course, Lou. I understand,” she told him. “Your parents need you. They definitely come first.”

  “Liz, if you have to get someone else—”

  She cut him off. “This old ceiling has hung in here for this long. I’m sure it’ll last awhile longer.”

  She didn’t even know who else she could call, or whom to trust to do good work. Plus, Lou had been a classmate of hers and Karl’s way back when, and they’d used him for most repair jobs. Lou’s name was one of the first to come up whenever anyone in town needed repairs.

  “Well, I’ll be there as soon as I get things under control here. But seriously, Liz, like I started to say, if you need to get someone else, I totally understand.”

  “I hear you. I’ll keep your family in my prayers, Lou.”

  “I know you will, Liz. Thanks.”

  She slipped the phone into her jeans pocket and eyed her kitchen ceiling more seriously. She was glad that Jessica and Lydia were both so easygoing—and not people she needed to impress. Unfortunately, she’d grown so accustomed to the cracks in the plaster that they’d become a part of her scenery. She hadn’t thought about how awful it looked when she’d invited the ladies over.

  But actually, now that she was really looking, the ceiling was quite a sight. In fact, was she imagining it, or were there a few more cracks than there had been the last time she looked? She racked her brain, trying to remember which cracks had been where. Her eyes were still turned upward when the doorbell rang.

  Daisy had been lying in a corner of the kitchen, keeping her nose attuned to the myriad of food scents. She also was taking every opportunity to beg Liz for a sampling or two with her big, brown, drooping eyes. But the sound of the doorbell trumped the scent of the stew, at least momentarily. Daisy hopped up and fell in behind Liz.

  “Our company has arrived, Daisy Duke,” Liz hummed to her companion as the two made a path to the front door, Liz eyeing every cushion, pillow, rug, and afghan along the way, seeing that they were fluffed, angled, and lying just so in their particular places.

  “Hey, you two, come on in.” She greeted Jessica and Lydia with hugs, thinking that the pair coming through her door may have been about the same age but couldn’t have looked more different.

  Jessica was dressed in jeans and appeared taller than usual as a result of the tan boots she wore. Her nearly black hair fell in neat bangs across her forehead, then in long, soft waves around her face and past the collar of her waist-length olive-green corduroy jacket. A caramel-colored sweater hung out from below the jacket, completing her casual, trendy look.

  Lydia, meanwhile, had her hair tucked beneath her kapp as usual, only hints of its beautiful auburn shade visible from wisps that had escaped at the nape of her neck. The dark-gray jacket she wore over her plum dress was a twill fabric, much longer and boxier than Jessica’s. The only thing that appeared remotely similar between the two was that they both had their hands full.

  “Goodness, what all did you gals bring? I told you you didn’t have to bother.”

  “Well, after working all day, somehow Lydia still found the time and energy to go home and make blueberry fry pies from scratch.” Jessica deferred to her new employee, her eyes glistening with astonishment.

  “Fry pies!” Liz clapped a hand to her chest. “I haven’t had a fry pie in forever. My Karl loved them, and I have to admit I never once tried to make some for him.”

  “Henry didn’t care for them. He always thought they were a shortcut to a real pie,” Lydia said, then flushed as if she’d shared too much personal information. “But, um, they’re not so difficult. And I’d already rinsed the berries before I left for work this morning.”

  “I’ve quickly learned Lydia is very modest too.” Jessica grinned. Then, holding up a rose-colored bag from the Cottage, she added, “The best I managed to do was bring goodies from the shop for the lessons Lydia has so kindly offered to give. Oh, and I also made a quick stop at Skinny’s Ice Cream Parlor for some vanilla ice cream.” She nodded to the parcel in her opposite hand.

  “You two are the best.” Liz smiled. “Jess, you can just leave your bag right there.” She pointed to the black painted bench sitting at her entryway. “Then let’s get all of the yummy stuff put away,” she said, leading her guests into the kitchen.

  “I didn’t realize you lived on this street,” Jessica chatted as she trailed behind her. “I’ve always loved the homes here. They’re so quaint.”

  “For nearly five years now,” Liz answered as she stored the desserts in the refrigerator.

  By the time she’d closed the refrigerator door, Jessica was shrugging out of her jacket. Liz saw Lydia glance at Jessica before she started to do the same.

  “Here, I’ll take those.” She held out her arms for the coats and noticed that as soon as Lydia’s hands were free, she smoothed out the skirt of her dress, then stood rubbing one hand with the other. Liz thought she appeared nervous and her heart went out to the younger woman—she was feeling slightly anxious herself.

  In all the years she’d lived in Sugarcreek, as much as she came in contact with Amish acquaintances each day, and as much as she appreciated their culture, she realized she’d never invited an Amish person to her house. She certainly wanted her home to be as welcoming as possible for Lydia. And Jessica, too, of course. But Jessica already seemed to feel quite comfortable.

  “Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious, Liz,” Jessica said.

  “Thank you for saying that, but it’s only stew.”

  “She says it’s only stew,” Jessica explained to Lydia in a confiding tone, “as if it’s not a big deal. However, Liz is one of the best cooks and bakers around. She’s like Paula Deen and Betty Crocker all rolled into one.”

  “Jah?” Lydia’s brows arched. “Paula who?”

  “Oh.” Jessica bit her lip. “It’s just this lady who’s on—well, it doesn’t matter.” She blinked and Liz found herself biting her lip too. “The fact is Liz used to make nearly all the dinners for events at church. And as for baking, let me tell you, all of us kids at school were thrilled when it was her daughter’s birthday. Amy always brought in the best cupcakes ever. We gobbled them up in seconds.”

  “Well, thank you for those kind words, Jess.” Liz smiled. “But I just meant I’d made stew—and not anything fancy. It really is one of my favorite comfort foods, especially at this time of year.”

  “A comfort food can be a very gut thing, I think,” Lydia said a bit shyly, ducking her head. “Danke for asking me here.”

  “Yes, Liz, thank you,” Jessica chimed in.

  “I’m really glad you both came,” she said sincerely. “And actually, if you both are hungry, everything’s ready. There’s no need to wait. Why don’t you take a seat at the table, and we can visit while we eat.”

  As Jessica and Lydia settled around the table, Liz quickly took the coats to the office off the kitchen and laid them on the love seat there. When she came back to the kitchen and saw her guests sitting and talking, and Daisy right between them at their feet, she couldn’t believe the warm feeling that came over her.

  It brought a tear to her eye, thinking how it would’ve made Rose so happy to see them that way. And as for herself . . . it made her happy too. Ever since the fire she’d been trying to get her footing, feeling displaced. But right now her house felt full and her heart did as well. Maybe following Rose’s lead and performing the simple act of kindness where Lydia was concerned had been more than a good place to start.

  Heartened by the thought, amid their chattering, she set the applesauce and salad bowls on the table, followed by the basket of bread. Then she ladled the stew into a large white porcelain soup tureen. A wisp of steam swirled over the huge bowl as she brought it to the table. The sight of the main dish seemed to quiet the conversation.

  “Well, ladies—” Liz slid down into a chair and glanced around the table at her guests—“should we say grace silently, to ourselves, before we eat?” she suggested, kn
owing it was the Amish custom.

  She’d scarcely asked the question when a sound crackled over her head. As they all glanced up, a few chips of plaster fell from the ceiling. Followed by a sprinkle of more plaster. Until suddenly a shower of the stuff trickled onto the table. Plopped into the stew-filled tureen. Onto the applesauce. Over the bread. And throughout the salads. Then, without warning, while the three of them sat gaping, the brushed-nickel light fixture dropped from the ceiling like a leaden weight. Dangling just a foot above the table, it swung back and forth like something out of a spooky movie.

  While more spurts of white were still splattering onto plates and splashing into the stew, the three women jumped up from the table and fled to the family room, Daisy scurrying close behind them, tail between her legs.

  “It’s okay, Daisy. It’s okay.” Liz bent down and looped an arm over the creature’s neck, hugging her protectively. Yet as they all watched from the adjoining room, Liz couldn’t believe her eyes. Tremors rippled across the ceiling like an overhead earthquake, sending more chunks clattering to the floor. The grand finale finally came when a block of plaster the size of her stovetop fell, smacking onto the tile floor, causing the three of them—and Daisy—to jerk back simultaneously.

  In a state of shock, Liz was sure she looked just as wide-eyed to Jessica and Lydia as they did to her. “Oh. My. Goodness. Did that really just happen?”

  With white dusty stuff spewed everywhere, the potentially heartwarming evening had turned into a heart-stopping nightmare. As Daisy shook herself to be rid of the flying debris, Liz turned to her guests, more concerned about them than her destroyed kitchen. “Are you two all right?”

  “No worries, Liz,” Jessica reported, brushing off the front of her lightweight sweater. “I’m fine.”

  “Jah, me too.” Lydia gazed at the mess. “But your poor kitchen . . . and dinner.”

  “At least your fry pies and ice cream are safe in the refrigerator. I hope so anyway.” Taking in the totality of the mess, Liz wasn’t even sure if that would be true. “This place looks like a disaster area,” she said, to which Jessica started laughing.

  “What?” Liz grimaced. “Did that sound funny?”

  “No. Not at all. I’m sorry. . . . it’s just . . . well, you look like—I don’t know—the ghost of Christmas past or something. There’s so much white stuff in your hair. And your face . . .” Jessica giggled some more as she stepped closer and started to pluck plaster from Liz’s hair. “How did you get so much white all over your face?”

  “Hmm . . . let me think how that might have happened,” Liz answered mockingly, then began to relax a bit and chuckle as well.

  “You know—” Lydia tilted her head and grinned—“you actually look good with white hair, Liz.”

  “Oh, I promise you, this hair of mine will not be turning white anytime soon—at least not until I’m so old that my hairdresser absolutely refuses to cover up the gray for me.”

  “I’m glad I don’t have to worry about those things.” Lydia pulled at the strings of her kapp.

  “Yes, well, maybe your hair is fine, but let me tell you there’s enough plaster up there to start your own ceiling,” Liz teased, reaching up to get at the debris stuck in Lydia’s kapp.

  Standing taller than either of them, Jessica glanced at the tops of both of their heads and chuckled. “Yeah, you two are a sight.”

  “You’re laughing—” Lydia smiled—“but you haven’t seen the back of your sweater.”

  “Really? What’s wrong with my sweater?” Jessica tried to look over her shoulder to see.

  “Don’t worry; I’ll get it for you,” Lydia offered.

  Standing in a less-than-perfect circle, while Jessica plucked fragments from Liz’s hair, Liz worked on the back of Lydia’s kapp and shoulders. At the same time, Lydia picked away at the white flecks stuck to the back of Jessica’s wool sweater.

  “Isn’t this what they call social grooming in the animal kingdom?” Liz wondered out loud. “I feel like female lions, cleaning each other.”

  “Or apes.” Jessica snorted.

  “I think I’d rather be like baboons.” Lydia brushed over Jessica’s back. “They’re much cuter than apes, don’t you think?”

  “Oh—like the baboons at the Farm at Walnut Creek, you mean? They’re Cole’s favorites of all the exotic animals there. They’re adorable.”

  “I, uh, I’ve never been to the Farm, actually,” Lydia said softly. “I’ve only seen pictures of baboons in a book once.”

  “You’ve never been to the Farm? Right down the street?” Liz was surprised to hear that, and as Jessica’s eyes met hers, she could tell Jessica was too.

  “Nee, I haven’t.” Lydia’s voice grew quieter. “Henry always promised to take me. But he was usually mighty busy. Somehow it never worked out that way.”

  “Well, like I said, Cole loves it at the Farm,” Jessica spoke up. “We’d love to have you go with us one day.”

  The three of them grew quiet as they finished ridding each other of plaster and dust as much as they could.

  “We should’ve done this outside.” Jessica shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. “Now we’ve made a mess in this room too.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Liz brushed off one more speck from Lydia’s shoulder. “I’ve got all night to clean this place up.”

  Jessica looked at her. “You mean we have all night.”

  “No. No. And no. I’m going to grab your coats from the back.” Liz started to tiptoe through the debris on the kitchen floor. “Then you two are going to get out of here and go get something to eat.” She wobbled precariously on the piles of plaster.

  “Liz, you’re not getting rid of us because of a measly kitchen ceiling caving in. We’re not leaving you with this mess.”

  “Nee, we’re not.” Lydia rolled up the sleeves of her dress. “Where do you keep your broom?”

  “And your trash bags?” Jessica asked.

  “Girls, really . . .”

  She kept trying to change their minds, but she could tell it was useless. Within moments Lydia had found a broom in the pantry, and Jessica had discovered trash bags underneath the sink.

  “All right,” Liz conceded. “But I’m sure not sending either of you home hungry. I’m calling to order a pizza right now.”

  “Twist my arm,” Jessica said as she pulled a bag out of the box.

  “Jah.” Lydia put a hand to one hip. “You can twist mine, too.”

  Liz wasn’t sure if the idiom was exactly common in Lydia’s vernacular, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t believe she was smiling over the evening—instead of wailing—as she tapped in the number for Antonio’s.

  AFTER HOURS OF CLEANUP at Liz’s place, Jessica didn’t think she could be any more tired as she laid her purse and keys on her kitchen table and slid the box of leftover pizza into the refrigerator. She felt like she’d been gone for a hundred years.

  Thankfully, everything appeared quiet on the home front, all except for a low murmur coming from the TV. Following the sound into the family room, she found Marisa wrapped in Aunt Rose’s chocolate-colored afghan, curled up on the couch asleep. The teenager must’ve had quite the day too, Jessica decided. She hadn’t even stirred when Jessica came in.

  “Hey, Marisa.” She gently rubbed the girl’s shoulder. “I’m home.”

  “Huh?” Marisa opened one eye slowly but didn’t move, taking a moment to get her bearings.

  “You’re at Cole’s,” Jessica reminded her.

  “Oh . . . yeah. Right.” Both eyes opened and she pushed back the knit throw. “Is it really late or something?”

  “Later than I thought I’d be. I should’ve texted you but I got so caught up in the drama at Liz’s, and then I had to take Lydia home, and honestly I just forgot.” She felt like she was the teenager and Marisa the parent as she tried to explain her lack of communication throughout the evening.

  “Drama?” Marisa blinked.

  Jessica smiled.
“Liz’s kitchen ceiling came crashing down. It scared us half to death.”

  “Her ceiling fell?” The news was enough to make the teenager bolt upright. Her eyes grew wide. “Like the whole ceiling? Seriously?”

  “Most seriously.” Jessica nodded. “It was quite a shock.”

  “I don’t get it. How does a ceiling fall?”

  “Very messily, I can tell you.” By the time they’d gotten Liz’s kitchen tidied up the best they could, the pizza had been cold. But the three of them had each gobbled down a piece anyway. “Liz has tried to have someone over to fix it for weeks, but the guy kept having different issues and never showed up. So the ceiling just kept getting worse and worse and . . .”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “You’re not kidding.” She bent over to straighten the piles of books, yarn, mail, papers, and games on the coffee table, which seemed to keep getting worse and worse too. “How was Colester tonight? Everything go okay?”

  “Yeah,” Marisa said around a big yawn. “We did his homework, then played a few games of cards. We took turns reading a story after he got in bed. He seemed happy to go to sleep. No drama on this end.”

  “I can’t tell you how thankful I am to hear that. I’m beat.”

  “Me too.” Marisa yawned again. “And I’ve got a test tomorrow I still have to study for.” She started to push up from the couch, but then stopped. Her face brightened. “Oh—do you want to see the prom dress I’m getting?”

  “Of course I do.” Jessica sank down on the couch next to her sitter, feeling a bit like her older sister. Her much older sister, actually, as tired as she felt. But still, the prospect of looking at a fancy dress did sound fun and perked her up a bit.

  “I’m really excited about it.” Marisa fished her phone from her jeans pocket. “I refuse to wear a borrowed dress like I did for last year’s prom. I want my last dance here to be awesome, and I plan to look awesome too.”