The Sisters of Sugarcreek

by Cathy Liggett

  “You know, you’re exactly right.”

  “You can relax now.” He took a pair of work gloves from his coat pocket and held them in his hands. “All looks gut in here, Lydia, and smells verra gut too.” He turned and sniffed toward the kitchen. “Friendship bread, eh? I thought I smelled cinnamon.”

  “Can I get you some? A little thank-you for your help? I can spoon out soup for you to eat later too,” she offered, happy to have a way to repay him—though she realized what a small payment it would be. After all, not once that morning had he ever made her feel he’d been inconvenienced or put out by helping her. In fact, he’d acted just the opposite.

  As she started for the kitchen, eager to put a nice parcel together for her neighbor, he reached out and touched her arm, stopping her. “Nee, Lydia. You have guests you’re going to need to be feeding and a long day ahead of you. Save what you have for the ladies. You women need all the nourishment you can get.”

  “Oh, and you don’t?” She put a hand to her waist and grinned. “Especially after hauling every chair you own from your house to mine?”

  “Don’t ya worry.” He laughed. “Big strappin’ guys like me don’t get worn out from carrying a couple of chairs.”

  She chuckled at his description, having become more accustomed to his teasing. After all, in reality Jonas Hershberger was not exactly the big and strapping type. Rather, he was muscular and fit-looking, and strong, but a few inches shy of six feet. He had a presence when he walked into a room but didn’t seem to feel the need to dominate any person in it. To her way of thinking, if anything was big about her neighbor it was his heart.

  “Well, that’s good to know. But I have to tell you, it was more than a couple of chairs you moved.”

  He shrugged off her reminder.

  “You’re verra gut to me, Jonas,” she said, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude. “I hope you know I’ve thanked the Lord for your kindness many times.”

  All at once she felt embarrassed that she’d said too much. She hadn’t known those words—the truth—were going to come out of her. But they had, and now she wondered if she’d made Jonas feel awkward as well. She was relieved when he gave her one of his relaxed smiles.

  “Some people make it easy to be nice, Lydia,” he said simply. “That’s how it is for me with you.” He looked into her eyes as though he didn’t have anything to hide. Before she could even think of a way to reply, he took a step forward, toward the fireplace. “C’mon, Jeb.” He clapped his hands. “We’ve got to get going, boy. We need to get out of here before the woman work begins.”

  Jeb rose slowly, then took a moment to stretch out his hind legs. As he sauntered toward his master, Lydia had to smile at the way the well-trained dog kept glancing back at Kit as if he wished he could stay.

  By the time she walked Jonas and his pup to the front door, a horse-drawn buggy was making its way up her drive.

  “Good timing,” Jonas said. “It looks like your first buggy of quilters is just arriving.”

  “Jah, you’re right. That’s verra gut timing.”

  “Have a great day with the ladies, Lydia.” Her neighbor tipped his hat.

  “You have a great day too, Jonas. I’ll get the chairs back to you as soon as I can.”

  “No need to think about it now.” He waved as he and Jeb descended the porch steps and headed toward his house. “We’ll work it out later.”

  “Okay, danke.” She waved back and then folded her arms over her chest, bracing herself against the chilled air and for what was to come.

  Ever since the night she’d sat in Jessica’s car and they’d come up with the idea for the sale, she’d been preparing for this day—first in her mind, then for real.

  Her initial task had been to approach the ladies from church to see who might be willing to share their talents. Naturally, she felt timid about reaching out to them since she hadn’t been friends with them for all that long. But she needn’t have been anxious. After she explained about the Cottage’s situation, they’d all been willing, even eager, to help without question or hesitation.

  The next item of business had been to name a date, and then to gather all the materials they’d need for such a large number of quilters. After that, planning out the snacks and sweets was a must, as she’d mentioned to Jonas, and took some doing. She’d never entertained such a large group in her home before except for the few times she and Henry had been designated to host church.

  She’d spent so much time organizing the get-together that she hadn’t thought what it would be like actually hosting it. Now that the first buggy was arriving, she felt a twinge of nervousness tighten her stomach. She hoped she’d thought of everything that would make for a comfortable, productive day for the ladies. She hoped she could say the right things to let them know how much they were appreciated.

  Standing on her porch, she rubbed her shoulders and all at once remembered another time when ladies were making their way up her driveway. Jessica and Liz. Sneaking up the gravel path on foot in the dark of night. How the memory made her smile! How much had happened in her life since then.

  “Thank You for bringing me this far, Lord,” she whispered. “I truly don’t think You brought me this far to leave me now, did You?” The thought made her relax as she watched her church friends spill out of the black buggy.

  “Lydia!” Ruth Keim waved up to her.

  “Hi, Ruth! Hi, Abigail!” She waved. “Oh, Sarah, it’s so good to see you, too.”

  As the Keim buggy emptied, several other carriages caravanned up her driveway. Soon over a dozen women and just as many puffs of breath in the cold air could be seen as the ladies greeted her and each other in the warmest way.

  A few of the women carried plates of baked goods, others a covered dish or two. Between the ladies and the extra snacks, her modest home and kitchen filled up quickly.

  “It was so nice of you to bring things,” Lydia said as she bustled around the kitchen trying to organize all that they’d brought to share.

  “I don’t think we’ll starve as we’re quilting, do you?” Abigail spoke up. “It looks like we could be here for days.”

  “Ain’t that the truth?” Lydia laughed. “Would anyone like some friendship bread or sweets?” she asked, glancing around, going into the sitting room, trying to make sure everyone heard her over their individual conversations. “Or I also have coffee or tea?”

  “We should probably get down to business instead. Don’t ya think?” Ruth suggested. “We can always visit and snack in between getting our work done.”

  Lydia looked over the group of women, who all seemed to be nodding in agreement. “Well, jah. We can do that for sure,” she said.

  “You just need to tell us what you want us to do,” Sarah said. “Or more like how you want us to do it.”

  At the Cottage, the largest class Lydia had ever been in charge of contained seven knitters. This time she had fourteen faces looking to her for direction. The good news was, they were all adept at their quilting craft.

  “First, ladies, I just want to say danke. Danke for coming today.” She looked out at the women, some standing, others sitting, around her living room. “As I mentioned to you all previously, the Cottage is in a bit of financial trouble. We really hope and pray that the Santa Cottage Sale will be a way to get the shop on its feet for the new year. Your quilts could mean all the difference in making that hope a reality.” She paused before adding the rest that Jessica had asked her to say. “But I have to tell you all, Jessica doesna want you to go unpaid for your kindness and help.”

  She noticed many confused expressions and furrowed brows upon the delivery of that message. “She would like you and your families to share in any money the quilts bring in.”

  With that, feet shifted, backs straightened, and there was a lot of glancing at one another before Ruth spoke up. “We’re just here to help a neighbor, Lydia. You know that.”

  “Jah, it’s not for us we’re doing this,” another woman sa
id, to which a dozen heads nodded assent.

  “Well . . .” Lydia tilted her head at the group. “What about discounts? Would you consider a discount on Cottage purchases as a repayment for your work?”

  “There’s no need for discounts neither,” Sarah said. “Or any kind of repayment. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t want to be.”

  “I know.” Lydia’s voice came out in a hush as she found herself wishing she hadn’t missed out on so many years of friendship with these women. But at least she knew them now, and she was grateful for that in many ways. “Everything you’ve said—” she smiled—“it’s all exactly what I told Jessica you would say.”

  “You can also tell her we’ll be there to check out her Santa Cottage Sale,” an older woman affirmed.

  “We sure will,” Abigail said. “But right now we better get cutting instead of just chatting. I can’t wait to see the material you picked out.”

  “With so many of us here, I think we can manage to come up with three quilts,” Ruth added. “What do you ladies think?”

  Heads bobbed and lips muttered “jah” all around the room.

  “Do you have enough material for that many?” a lady standing in the back asked.

  “Actually, I do.” Lydia had imagined that working on two quilts wouldn’t be a problem, but when so many women offered to come and help, she’d hoped for three quilts and had brought home enough material to make that many and more.

  “Which pattern do you think Jessica would like us to use on the quilts?” Ruth asked, causing Lydia to smile.

  “Jessica will be happy with whatever design you choose,” she answered, deciding not to tell on Jessica, who wouldn’t know the difference between a log cabin pattern and a lone star one.

  “Well, I guess we can get started then,” Ruth said as all the women around her nodded.

  “Jah, definitely,” Lydia said, looking around the room and taking a deep breath.

  Of course, with these women she knew exactly what getting started meant. Before dividing into groups, before picking out material, before getting a cup of tea . . . each one of them bowed her head and clasped her hands together, first taking a moment for silent prayer.

  “IT’S A PAWNSHOP, MISS. You didn’t really expect to get top dollar for your earrings, now did you? Haven’t you seen the shows on TV?”

  Jessica’s cheeks burned as the bearded shop owner peered over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses, seeming annoyed by her attempts at bargaining. But not so irked that he was about to give in to her. “Either you want to turn your rubies over to me at that price or you don’t. Simple as that,” he said succinctly as he held up her earrings in his hand while she held the worn, empty jewelry box in hers.

  “But they mean so much to me,” she moaned. All through her ride to the shop, her mind had been flooded with fond recollections attached to the ruby and diamond teardrop-shaped gems. From the moment her aunt had given the jewels to her nearly ten years earlier, they’d claimed a treasured place in her heart. Even wearing the sparkling earrings on her date with Derek recently had somehow made her outfit and the night feel more special and complete. “My aunt Rose gave them to me when I graduated from high school and—”

  The owner didn’t hesitate to interrupt her. “Like I said—” he held up his hand—“you either want to sell me your earrings at that price or you don’t.”

  Well, of course she didn’t want to relinquish her beloved earrings to the man at any price. And especially not at the super-reduced appraisal he was set on. But what was she going to do? The earrings were the only thing of value she owned. She wouldn’t have brought them to the pawnshop in the first place if she didn’t feel she needed to.

  “I, uh . . . guess I . . . Oh, all right,” she surrendered with a sigh. You win, she wanted to say.

  The transaction with the owner was quick, but not at all painless. As she left the pawnshop and trudged down the sidewalk toward her car, she couldn’t recall a time in her life when she’d felt more heartsick about having extra cash in her wallet. But it was a sacrifice she’d had to make, wasn’t it?

  After all, Lydia and her buggy team, as her friend was calling them—a group of Amish women Jessica didn’t even know—were sacrificing their time and talents to make quilts for the sale. Liz was spending a huge amount of energy and days to make all kinds of Christmas cookies and cakes to sell.

  Besides working social media to incite interest about the sale—and knitting as many lumpy, bow-covered scarves as she could up until the sale date—Jessica felt like she had to do something more. Not only for the Cottage, but she had to think of Cole, too. He would be expecting gifts from Santa under the tree come Christmas morning. And with it being the first Christmas without his Grand Rose, Jessica knew he’d be missing his great-aunt’s love and thoughtful gifts as well. They both would.

  I still miss you every day, Aunt Rose!

  Burying her glove-bare hands in her pockets and nestling her chin into the collar of her coat to ward off the cold, she strode over the last blocks to her car, lost in thoughts of past Christmases with her aunt. She was so caught up in the past that she practically leapt off the sidewalk when the ear-piercing sound of a police siren screeched behind her.

  Her hands flew out of her pockets and up to her ears. Luckily the jarring noise lasted all of a few seconds, after which she turned to see where the sound had been coming from.

  Although she should’ve guessed.

  There was Derek behind the wheel of his sheriff’s car. He slowed, keeping an even pace with her stride as he rolled down the passenger window and called out to her, “Hey, Jess. What are you doing in this part of town?”

  Startled to see him, she tried to maintain her cool. “Me? What are you doing here?”

  “Uh, the sheriff’s building is just a few blocks west.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.” How could she forget? She’d been so wrapped up in what she was doing, she’d completely forgotten about the possibility of bumping into Derek near his workplace. Not to mention needing to have an explanation ready for him as to why she was in his territory and so far from the Cottage.

  Luckily it was close to lunchtime and he seemed to have his mind on other things. He leaned as far into the passenger side of the car as he could, giving her a hopeful look. “Want to get some lunch or something? You look hungry.”

  “How could I look hungry?” She laughed. “I’m thinking you sound hungry.”

  “I am. So you want to grab a bite?”

  “I shouldn’t, Derek. I should get back to the shop.”

  “You sure have been avoiding me lately.” He gave her his most pitiful expression.

  “How can you say that? We just went to the tree-lighting ceremony in the park with Cole, didn’t we?”

  “And with a lot of other people.” He jutted his teeth, gazing at her with thoughtful consideration. “I don’t know . . . I might have to arrest you just to spend some time with my friend.”

  She giggled. “Arrest me for what?”

  “Uh . . .” He hesitated momentarily. “How about jaywalking?”

  “Do they really arrest people for that? And if they do, I haven’t even crossed the street yet. Who’s to say I’d jaywalk anyway?”

  “Well, if that doesn’t stick, how about arguing with an officer?” he tried.

  “Really? I could get arrested for that, too?”

  “Do you really want to find out, ma’am?” he said in his best deep-toned, authoritarian voice.

  “I give up.” She chuckled at his antics. “I would love to have lunch with you, Deputy. Where’s a good place to eat around here?”

  “Where’s your car?”

  She pointed up the street, only half a block away. “Right there.”

  “I’ll meet you by your car and then you can follow me.”

  “Yes, sir, Deputy, sir.” She saluted.

  “Now you’re getting the hang of how these things work, little lady,” he tea
sed as he straightened behind the steering wheel and rolled up the car window.

  As she retrieved her keys from her purse, Jessica found herself shaking her head at him. Oh, how he could bring out the happy in her. Ever and ever, the man could always make her laugh.

  It had been quite some time since Jessica had been to Mick’s Diner, but the place didn’t seem to have changed at all. Resembling an old, nostalgic diner from the fifties, its neon sign still beckoned in a dazzling way even in the middle of the day, and the structure’s high-gloss, candy-apple-red coat of paint shone as it always had. Inside, the oversize black-and-white squares of linoleum flooring also gleamed like the eatery was brand new, as did the metallic soda fountain countertop.

  As she and Derek sat on opposite sides of a red vinyl booth, Jessica was actually glad that he’d made the suggestion to come there. Not only did Mick’s have the best burgers and fries in the entire country—which she could easily attest to, since she’d downed the first half of her burger in record time—but the diner held a lot of fond memories for her too.

  “I need to bring Cole here,” she said, smiling at the jukebox in the corner and the high barstools she used to swivel around on. That is, she’d swivel until Aunt Rose would make her stop or her stomach would begin to churn—whichever came first. “I haven’t been here in forever. I forgot what a treat it was to come to Mick’s as a kid.”

  “The only time I got to eat here was with you and Rose.” Derek smiled as he dragged a fry through a mound of ketchup.

  “Oh, yeah. You loved their root beer floats, didn’t you?” She nodded toward his ice-filled glass of water. “I’m surprised you didn’t order one.”

  “Too much sugar while I’m on the job. I was afraid I’d fall into a sugar coma.” He picked up his glass and took a sip. “But I have to say, those floats were incredible. Almost as incredible as you. I mean, when you’re all here—and not distracted by whatever has been going on with you lately,” he added.

  Her eyes grew wide and her grin did too as she sat shaking her head at him. “That had to be one of the strangest segues I’ve ever heard. From root beer floats to me? Interesting . . .”