The Sisters of Sugarcreek

by Cathy Liggett

  Actually . . . it had all started with Henry’s way of doing things, hadn’t it? He’d never let them stay after service to have lunch and visit with the others. Or on the rare occasions when he had, their stay had only been for a very brief time.

  And yet, when it’d been their turn to host church at their house, no one could have faulted Henry for his open-armed congeniality. But then the very next Sunday, when Lydia thought she’d finally be allowed to stay for lunch and get to know her fellow worshippers better, Henry had the final word once again. He’d tug her back to the buggy right after church and drive them home so they could “enjoy a quiet Sunday afternoon.”

  And those Sundays had been quiet, for sure. With him puttering around the barn doing whatever he found to do, and her in the house wishing she had someone to talk to.

  But I have to tell ya, I can’t do it your way anymore, Henry.

  Now the Sunday afternoons were far too long and even lonelier. All because she’d never gotten to know the others she worshipped with in the way she’d always wanted to. She hadn’t gotten to feel a part of what was going on. No one had bothered her much—she was sure they thought they were only doing what she wanted. That she preferred to be left to herself. They didn’t expect her to stay long. Or to say much. Or to smile much.

  But today all of that was going to change. Unless she lost her nerve and needed to leave, of course. That’s why she’d declined Jonas’s invitation and driven herself.

  After tying Flora alongside the other buggies, she made her way to the Keims’ barn. At least the Keims had hosted church many times before so she was familiar with their arrangements and didn’t have to guess how things would be laid out. As usual, their barn had been cleared for prayer time, with benches on one side of the space for women in their kapps and benches on the other side for the bare-headed men facing them. The minister preached from the area left in the middle while a few young boys sat on the steps that led up to the loft, looking down on him.

  As Lydia slipped into an empty spot at the end of a bench, the lady to her right was busy talking to another woman and didn’t seem to notice her. But a moment before the service began she caught sight of Jonas in the cluster of men. Her neighbor smiled and she could feel the warmth of his gaze all the way across the wide space that separated them.

  The kind gesture was all she needed to stop focusing on herself and begin concentrating and praising their mighty and generous Gott. After all, He had gotten her there safely, hadn’t He? And she was among friends—if only she’d let them be. Beyond that, He was always with her. And today, Gott help her, she wasn’t going to run home early. She was going to stay and start getting better acquainted with the people who loved and worshipped Him just as she did.

  Yet three hours later as service ended and the men began moving tables into the barn to set up for lunch, the butterflies in her stomach started all over again. Steeling herself, Lydia took a deep breath and approached one of the tables, where a lady whose name she wasn’t sure of was already setting places.

  “Can I help you?” Despite her nervousness, luckily the words came to her as naturally as if she were addressing a customer at the Cottage.

  “Jah, that would be a very gut thing. Danke for asking.” The woman smiled. “How about you take one side of the table, and I’ll take the other.” She handed Lydia plates and napkins. “Together, we’ll have the tables set in no time and everyone can eat. I think I heard some stomachs growling during church.”

  “I believe one of them was mine,” Lydia said as she distributed plates. “But don’t tell anyone.”

  The woman laughed. “I won’t tell on you if you don’t tell on me. I’m Sarah, by the way.”

  “Hi, Sarah. I’m Lydia.” She paused before adding, “I have a sister named Sarah.”

  “Jah?” Sarah paused over the table. “Is she younger or older?”

  “Younger.”

  “I have a younger sister too.” Sarah smiled, and with that, the two of them were as busy at talking as they were at arranging the lunch plates.

  When they finally finished their designated tables, Sarah went to check on her children and Lydia knew just what she needed to do next. It was exactly what she’d been dreading.

  Putting one foot in front of the other, alternating one bold step and then one timid one, she followed the curved path that led from the barn to the Keims’ house, where the other women would be preparing lunch.

  The door to the house was already open when she got there. Even so, she hesitated. How awkward it was going to be once she stepped inside! Women would be bustling around, knowing one another, knowing what to do and where they belonged. She, on the other hand, was going to feel mighty uncomfortable.

  Or . . . she could skip the discomfort and head home right now.

  Where she would feel alone and discouraged and mad at herself for not trying.

  After weighing the options once again, she finally went inside the house. The scene was everything she’d been envisioning. Stepping around the groups of busy women, she wound her way to the hub of the kitchen to see what there might be for her to do.

  She fully expected even more women there, scooting in all directions, taking care of all kinds of preparations. The only thing she wasn’t anticipating was the greeting she received.

  “Lydia?”

  She’d barely been in the kitchen for ten seconds when Ruth Keim looked up and noticed her. Right away, the older woman put down the bowl she’d been stirring and came toward her. “Lydia!” she said again, her tone turning from surprise to glee as she wrapped her arms around Lydia. “You are really staying for lunch, jah?”

  Lydia nodded.

  “Oh, danke, dear Gott,” Ruth cried as she hugged Lydia once more. “Your being here is just what we’ve been praying for. Isn’t it, Abby?”

  Ruth’s daughter Abigail happened to be standing at the sink, peeling cucumbers, when Lydia had walked into the kitchen. Hearing the news from her mother, Abigail hurriedly laid her work aside, drying her hands on her apron.

  “We’re so glad you’re here, Lydia.” Abigail caught her up in a hug too.

  Touched that these women had even been thinking of her—let alone praying for her—Lydia felt a surge of emotion well up in the back of her throat. She could barely get out the words that had become so familiar to her. “Can I . . . can I . . . help you?”

  “Can you help?” Abigail took her hand. “Why, of course you can. You don’t think you’re going to get out of here without us putting you to work, do ya?”

  With her arms around Lydia’s shoulders, Abigail drew her to the kitchen table, pointing to the platters sitting there. “For starters, do you mind cutting the sandwiches in halves so there’s more to go around?” she asked.

  Did she mind?

  “I would love to.” Lydia smiled up at Abigail. “Really love to,” she said, meaning the words with all her heart.

  Because of the late lunch she’d had after church and still feeling full from sharing the company of others, Lydia hadn’t been hungry for much of a dinner. After scrambling a couple of eggs and quickly cleaning up the mess, she settled into a chair in the sitting room with her knitting.

  The second pair of booties she was working on was even more adorable than the first. Being at the Cottage all the time, she kept coming across patterns she liked and was eager to try. With her friend Rebecca getting closer to delivering, she knew the booties would go to good use. Not only that, after stopping in at the bakery often to visit Rebecca, her friend had grown dearer and dearer to her. She wanted to do something nice for her and the precious little one who would be arriving soon.

  Yet every time she glanced at the printed sheet to see what directions came next, out of the corner of her eye she kept noticing the same thing. The quilt. Draped over the arm of her husband’s chair. The one Jessica and Liz had made from Henry’s shirts.

  The quilt was all she could see.

  Stilling the needles in her hands, she stared
at the blanket and wondered about her husband all over again.

  The time she’d shared with her fellow worshippers earlier had been so special and enjoyable. Why hadn’t Henry ever wanted to stay after church and join them?

  Had he been that disappointed in her as his wife? Was he that embarrassed by her? Or was there something else?

  So many things about Henry didn’t make sense, didn’t ring true. She’d never realized before how tired she was of the hurt and the mystery. Of having lived with a man—and still grieving a man—she never really knew.

  ROLLING OVER, Liz peeked at the clock on the nightstand with more than a little trepidation—7:20 a.m. Her alarm had gone off promptly at 6:55, and ever since she’d been lying in bed, barely hearing the light patter of the drizzling rain, staring at the shadows on her bedroom ceiling. Which wasn’t very inspiring. And held no answers for her.

  Kind of like her life had felt the past weeks.

  Unsettling. And so out of rhythm again.

  At first she’d simply attributed the problem to the upheaval in her kitchen. Being unable to cook had left her feeling antsy and with far too much time on her hands.

  But the thing was, Daniel had been there every day, pulling down the old ceiling and preparing for the new one. She had no worries and no doubts that he’d have her kitchen back in working order before long. He was every bit as competent as Lydia’s neighbor Jonas had said.

  Yet knowing that to be true still didn’t alleviate the deep-seated anxiety gnawing at Liz—the sense that her kitchen ceiling wasn’t the only thing in need of repair.

  Too many nights she’d been waking up, lying there in the dark, pondering and praying, wondering if she could continue to make ends meet selling real estate. In the past year, it seemed she’d been putting more effort into her job than ever before—doing more social media, making call after call, trying to solicit new business any way she could think of. And while all of those strategies proved to be effective for other salespeople in her office, for some reason they weren’t working even half as well for her.

  Overall, her sales horizon looked dreary and bleak. And yet . . . if she wasn’t able to make a living selling real estate any longer, what was she going to do? It wasn’t like she was getting any younger. Not like she had many options. At least not that she could think of.

  Which was why she was still in bed thirty minutes after her alarm had gone off.

  “I don’t know, Daisy. I just don’t know. Seems like these days the harder I try to put pieces of my life’s puzzle together, the less they want to fit.”

  At the mention of her name, Daisy got up and moved from the foot of the bed up close by Liz, snuggling against her side.

  “Oh, thank you, girl. Thank you.” She sighed. “And don’t you worry. Everything will be all right. I’ll snap out of it. I always do.”

  But instead of popping up, she kept lying there. Trying to think of a solution, yet feeling as blank as one of the pages in her organizer lately. Until she looked at the clock again and realized Daniel would be at her house, ready to work, in fifteen minutes.

  “Time to rise and try to shine,” she told Daisy. But as she climbed out of bed, she wasn’t sure how to dress or what to “shine” for. Had absolutely no idea what she was going to do with herself for the entire day—besides maybe stop in at the Cottage for a quick visit.

  Feeling indecisive—and completely unlike herself—she grabbed a pair of black exercise pants from the shelf in her closet along with a faded pink T-shirt. Then, shivering from the slight chill in the house, she pulled her favorite, nearly threadbare purple zip-up from a hanger too.

  Making a beeline for the bathroom, she startled at her own reflection in the mirror. If anyone actually could look like they’d been wrestling a bear all night and lived to tell about it, she certainly did.

  After hurriedly brushing her teeth, she splashed cold water on her face, thinking it might jump-start her features. But patting her face dry, she realized it hadn’t helped much at all.

  That’s when she tried moisturizer. Lots of it. And then color. Five dots of beige foundation, blended in. A streak of grape lipstick to her lips. A swash of pink blush to brighten her cheeks. Followed up with a quick gliding of brown/black mascara sifted through her lashes before hiding them behind her glasses. Then using both hands, she tugged and fluffed at the ends of her spiky hair. She hadn’t yet gotten to the back of her head when the doorbell rang.

  Daniel!

  Daisy eagerly loped ahead of her down the stairs, having grown as happily accustomed to their daily visitor as Liz. Standing in the entry, the dog wagged her tail expectantly, and Liz knew just how she felt. The day got better the moment she opened the door and spied Daniel’s sweet grin and friendly face.

  “Hey, Liz.”

  “Hey there!” she said, taking in his fresh look for the day. Shaven, dressed in a green plaid shirt and jeans and smelling like something fruity and outdoorsy all at the same time, Daniel looked a far cry from the plaster-covered guy who had left her house most evenings.

  Daisy, however, didn’t have quite as much of an attention span. Scoping out a squirrel in the front yard, she scooted around their legs and bounded out of the house.

  “Whew! Let me try that again.” Liz chuckled, thankful Daisy hadn’t knocked either of them over in her excitement. “Good morning.”

  “It is a good morning.” Daniel’s smile was like a conduit illuminating every feature of his face as he stood there holding a cardboard carrier with two coffees instead of the usual one for her. “I thought I’d bring something different this morning.” He lifted a large white bag in his opposite hand. “It’s a quiche. I hope you like sausage.”

  “I do. It sounds wonderful!” she said, wishing so badly that instead of lying in bed stressing she would’ve gotten up and done more to fix herself up. But he didn’t appear to notice her haphazard makeup job.

  “Good!” he replied, then paused, surprisingly apprehensive for him. “The only thing is I, uh, I couldn’t eat quiche on the fly like I usually do the muffins from the bakery, so—”

  “You could join me while I eat mine.”

  He looked relieved. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind me doing that.”

  Was he kidding? Her heart leapt at the chance. If she couldn’t share a cooked breakfast of her own, at least she could share her hospitality. “Why don’t you set all of that on the coffee table while I grab a couple of things from the kitchen?”

  She made her way to the kitchen and tiptoed across the dusty floor, gathering up all she needed. In a matter of minutes she returned to the family room and set the coffee table with her best blue place mats, creamy white plates, two juice glasses, and her better silverware, along with a wedged pie cutter. That, of course, was after rinsing and shaking everything out, making sure the items were all plaster and dust free.

  Daniel eased onto the floor, stretching out his legs as he leaned against the bottom section of her sofa. Before she joined him, she retrieved a small carton of orange juice from the mini fridge across the room and filled both of their glasses. Then also filled their plates with the delicious-looking quiche.

  Bowing his head, Daniel offered up a silent prayer before he lifted his fork. Liz felt moved to do likewise before they began to sample the special treat he’d brought.

  If it hadn’t been spitting rain all morning, the sight outside the patio door to their right might have been more inviting. But currently the bird feeder was void of any fine feathered friends, and the yellow and bronze chrysanthemum blooms around the perimeter of the patio had been beaten down by the rain, looking more like eyesores than eye-catching at the moment. Even so, inside Liz’s family room all was good. Very good.

  “This is nice.” She looked up from her plate. “And the quiche is incredible. Delicious.”

  “I agree on both counts,” he replied in between bites.

  “Where did you get it? And how have I missed knowing about something this tasty?” she wo
ndered out loud.

  “You haven’t overlooked anything. It’s from Annabelle’s in Millersburg. You probably just don’t head that way too often.”

  “You’re right; I don’t.” She stopped and sipped at the coffee—which, she realized, like her new friend, she was getting more used to and enjoying more all the time. “So what are you up to in the kitchen today?”

  “Well, today is a big day in the life of your kitchen. It’s the end of phase one, getting everything ready before the new ceiling goes up.”

  “You sure have been working hard on it, Daniel.”

  “It’s definitely getting there.” His eyes shone with appreciation. “How about you? What’s on your agenda for the day?”

  She’d been enjoying his company and the breakfast he’d brought, but suddenly his question brought on the same heavy, lost feeling that had kept her lying in bed too long that morning. She could feel her heart sink at the thought of what the rest of the day held—or more like, didn’t hold. “I’m not sure—which, I have to tell you, feels very strange.”

  “You’re not going to the office?”

  She sighed, dangling her fork in midair. “I don’t know. Here it is Thursday and I was there yesterday and all the days before that, as you know. But nothing seems to change. Or not for the good anyway.” She shook her head, repeating some of the bleak news she’d already shared with Jessica and Lydia. “I had a sale pending that fell through. Then was waiting for a client to make a bid on a house, but now that couple is hedging. I know I have to scare up some business, but going into the office doesn’t seem like the answer. I don’t know what is.”

  She shrugged, feeling helplessly confused. “I have to admit it’s beginning to worry me. So much that I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night,” she admitted and would’ve been embarrassed that she’d said so much if he hadn’t answered her with one of his gentle, empathetic smiles.

  “It’s hard being self-employed. Waiting for things to fall into place is tough,” he offered. “But you know, one way or another, things typically do.”