The Sisters of Sugarcreek

by Cathy Liggett

  And of course, there was the huge void in their lives these days—the empty spot that Rose used to fill. Great Rose, as he’d called his great-aunt, who had been like the best kind of grandma to him.

  “You know . . . you haven’t had a joke for me the past few mornings,” she tried again.

  Cole shrugged as he continued to thumb at the pad in his hand.

  Many mornings he’d have a joke or riddle for her, something silly he’d found in one of the joke books his Great Rose had made a part of his birthday gifts for the past two years.

  “So I’m getting the hint you’re thinking he might grow up to be a comedian one day, Aunt Rose,” she’d teased her aunt this past birthday, his seventh.

  “Actually, no, I was thinking more like a doctor,” her aunt told her. “One with a deep heart and a lighthearted bedside manner.”

  Which Jessica had realized in that moment was exactly how her aunt lived her life. The way she’d always rolled.

  “Well, Colester,” she addressed her son once more, “since you haven’t had any jokes for me lately, I have one for you.”

  Finally. He tore himself away from his game. And glanced up, eyeing her curiously.

  “Ahem.” She cleared her throat dramatically, stalling. Now trying to recall the joke she’d found online earlier that morning. “Do you, Cole, um . . . Oh! Do you know what’s smarter than a talking bird?”

  She could tell his little mind was whirling, sifting through possible answers. Until he gave up and shook his head.

  “A spelling bee!” She grinned, proud of the clever nugget she’d found.

  “Mom, that’s not funny,” her son informed her. But despite what he said, a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

  She sighed. Well, at least that was an improvement. Worth the time she’d spent online looking for first-grade jokes.

  “You know, sometimes a joke is only as funny as the person who tells it.” She shrugged, nudging the last skein of yarn back into place. “You’re a much better joke teller than I am.” She deferred to him, but he wasn’t taking the bait.

  “When is Marisa coming?” he asked instead.

  The shop wasn’t supposed to open for a half hour yet. But she’d unlocked the front door anyway so Marisa could fetch Cole from there, instead of making her sitter and lifesaver these days climb the wooden stairs that ran up the side of the building to the apartment. Plus, there was never an end to things she could straighten up in the shop while the two of them waited.

  “I’m sure she’ll be here any second.”

  No sooner had the words left her mouth than the bell tinkled over the front door. She and Cole both looked that way expectantly. Her son, she was sure, was hoping it was Marisa since he was anxious to get away from all the “girl stuff,” as he kept calling the bins of yarn and material in the store. And Jessica, in true Pavlovian mode, felt a certain degree of anxiety each time that little bell chimed. True, she’d been used to dealing with the public as a receptionist at one of the town’s dental offices. She’d also enjoyed being a sort of publicist for the practice, overseeing their social media and implementing some marketing ideas. But now there wasn’t a dentist or higher-up to confer with or defer to. Now she wasn’t just a greeter and marketer. She was large and in charge, completely.

  But it wasn’t Marisa coming in the door for Cole. Or a customer for Jessica. It was Liz.

  Jessica barely got out a hello as Liz sailed into the shop, waving a white paper bag in her hand.

  “I believe I just snagged the very, very first pumpkin muffins of the season from Good for the Soul Bakery. They’re still warm, in fact,” Liz informed Cole, who was looking at her—and the bag—wide-eyed. “But, oh, dear.” Liz’s expression changed like the tide. “It looks like you’re headed off somewhere.” She nodded to his feet.

  “Soccer practice,” Cole replied, glancing at his own soccer shoes and shin guards.

  “Well, how about we save these until after soccer practice then?” Liz bobbed her head as if Cole had already agreed to the suggestion. “You don’t want to be doing a lot of running with muffins stuffing your stomach.”

  “Thank you for bringing them,” Cole replied, and Jessica felt warmed that even in the midst of his terseness with her lately, he wasn’t being that way with Liz.

  “You’re very welcome, Cole, and I appreciate your good manners.”

  Cole beamed as Liz gushed over him, as if she were speaking to one of her grandchildren. But then, even the few times Jessica had been in contact with Liz, she’d thought that everything about Liz was effusive in one way or another. The older woman’s plump cheeks appeared to be continually stained cherry red, as if she was always excited about what was to be or what had been. Her eyes rarely stopped twinkling behind those blue glasses of hers.

  “I have something for you, too.” Liz handed Jessica the bakery bag and then fumbled around in the purse hanging from her shoulder. “I believe this is yours.” She drew out a lipstick tube. “I found it in the car from the other night. It must’ve fallen out of your purse. I didn’t want you to be without it.”

  “Oh, my Raspberry Rhapsody. Thanks, Liz. I was wondering what I’d done with that.” She took the tube with her free hand. “But you didn’t have to make a special trip over here. I could’ve picked up the lipstick from you.”

  “Not a big deal. The shop is on my way to work.”

  On the occasions Jessica had seen Liz, she’d been in everyday street clothes or even a casual dress on Sundays at church. Now she looked so official and professional in her white blouse and navy Regency Real Estate blazer topping her khaki skirt, almost like a different person.

  “Do you have an appointment today?”

  “Just going to the office to scare up some business. I hope.” She tugged at a spike of hair at the back of her head. Jessica always thought Liz’s hair looked adorable and in style. Cropped short and dyed the color of molasses, it stuck up and out in some places, sprung to life with the help of mousse. “But actually—” Liz grimaced—“do you mind if I use your facilities before I head out? I’ve had too much tea this morning.”

  “Sure. Come on upstairs. Cole, we’ll be down in a minute,” she said to her son, who after the removal of the muffins was already absorbed in his game again.

  Jessica led Liz across the hardwood floor of the Cottage, Liz’s one-inch heels clacking behind her. Even though she’d never had much interest in knitting or quilting—which her aunt had never tried to push—Jessica had always been proud of her aunt’s shop. On the outside the shop resembled a chalet like a few of the other stores along Main Street, indicative of Sugarcreek’s nickname, the Little Switzerland of Ohio.

  The inside of her aunt’s store, however, couldn’t have been truer to its name. Every inch of the interior had a cozy cottage feel. Bins and baskets of vibrant yarns, chunky yarns, sparkly yarns, and pastel ones, too, decorated the left side of the shop. Row after row of bolts of plain fabrics, patterned fabrics, silky fabrics, and textured ones were displayed along the right side. Knit sweaters, shawls, and scarves hung from the shoulders of burlap floor mannequins. Quilt samples, displaying a variety of patterns, hung from available walls and parts of the ceiling.

  Once they reached the midsection of the shop, the staircase to her aunt’s apartment was off to the right, hidden behind a closed door so customers would never suspect it was even there. As Jessica made her way up the staircase with Liz in tow, the old wooden steps squeaked beneath their weight, and she couldn’t help but think of all the times she’d traveled up and down the stairs.

  As a young girl, it’d been a heady experience to strut her friends through the colorful store and to impress them with the mysterious “reserved for owners only” staircase.

  At twenty years old with a newborn, she’d walked those steps plenty too. Trying to soothe Cole, attempting to get him to sleep, while wondering how and when she’d manage to get a place of her own, even though Aunt Rose promised all would work out fine.<
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  Now she was here again . . . another phase of her life. Climbing the steps with Liz, a woman she’d never suspected she’d become so familiar with.

  And every time she climbed those stairs, no matter what, she wished her aunt Rose were waiting for her at the top.

  “Watch yourself,” she warned Liz as she opened the door to the apartment. “It’s a little crowded in here.”

  As Liz gingerly made her way to the bathroom, stepping around boxes and misplaced end tables, Jessica headed for the kitchen. She was wrapping the muffins in plastic wrap when Liz joined her.

  “Thanks again for the muffins, Liz. Cole loves them—and I do too.”

  “No problem at all.” Liz waved a hand, then glanced around at the conglomeration of furniture behind them, and Jessica knew everything she was thinking but was kind enough not to say.

  “I know. I’ve still got some work to do. I’ve already gotten rid of a few things. But not enough obviously.”

  It was funny that when she was a little girl growing up over the shop, the apartment had seemed so spacious. Now that she was on the other end of the spectrum, she was having a hard time making sense of the small area she had to work with.

  “I have to figure out what to keep of mine and Cole’s, and what to keep of Aunt Rose’s.” She sighed, thinking about the dilemma all over again. “It hasn’t been as easy as I thought it’d be. I either feel sentimental because there’s something Cole grew up with or sentimental because of something I know Aunt Rose was fond of.”

  “It all takes time, honey.” Liz nodded understandingly. “You’ll figure out what makes you and Cole most comfortable.”

  “Some things have been easy to part with, though. I mean, I obviously don’t need two toaster ovens or blenders or mixers, and I don’t feel particularly attached to any of them.” She nodded to a box she’d packed a week ago that was still sitting against the kitchen wall. “I’ve packed some of those up to give away since it’s not like Cole will be getting his own place anytime soon.”

  “Let’s hope not.” Liz smiled.

  “If our church was still there, I could donate Aunt Rose’s things to their fall collection drive,” she said, then shook her head. “I can’t believe I just said something so stupid. If the church was still here, she would be too.” She could feel the familiar dull sorrow begin to rise inside her.

  Liz reached out and touched her cheek. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s all still unbelievable to me, too.” She paused and bit her lip. “Listen, honey, I’ll be going right by Goodwill if you want me to take that box of kitchen stuff for you.”

  “I would’ve done it myself, but I kind of feel chained to the shop right now. Really, you wouldn’t mind?”

  “I wouldn’t have offered if I did.”

  Knowing Liz as she did at this point, Jessica didn’t think that was altogether true. But it would be good to get one more box out of the way. “I appreciate it, Liz. I really do. I’ll carry it to your car.”

  “And what about this bag?” Liz tugged on a green garbage bag next to the box.

  “Yeah, that one can go too. It’s just place mats and napkins and tablecloths,” Jessica told her. “There’s not enough room for all of it.”

  As Liz picked up the bag and Jessica grabbed the box, Cole’s voice shot up the stairs with more energy than she’d heard from him all morning. Lifting her heart a bit.

  “Mom, Marisa’s here.”

  “Hey, Jessica,” the sitter called up to her.

  “Hi, Marisa. You two guys stay put for a minute, okay? I’m coming right down to say good-bye.”

  If the past weeks had her son feeling apprehensive about where they were living, they’d left her feeling apprehensive and more protective than ever about him leaving her side.

  No way was she going to let him head off anywhere without kissing him, hugging him, and telling him she loved him.

  Suddenly wanting to be near her, the stray cat purred and strutted in and out of the folds of Lydia’s skirt as she knelt over the garden bed at the side of the house.

  “I’m sorry. Not now, Kit.”

  She gently shooed the sleek gray cat away with the back of her hand before turning her attention to the sad-looking patches of lettuce again. Most of the greens were overgrown with leaves spiking upward and outward in every direction. She could only spy a few heads of lettuce that might even still be edible.

  Reaching over mounds of greens gone haywire, she cut off the top two-thirds of a head that still looked contained and normal. Turning it over in her hands, however, she was disappointed. A milky white substance oozed from its center, meaning that head of lettuce had also bolted and would be bitter for sure.

  Sitting back on her heels, she grimaced at the tacky mess of a garden that had once held a beautiful, tidy bounty of vegetables. A sting of shame pricked her cheeks. She’d neglected the bed of plants for far too long.

  Not only had most of the greens wasted away, but she had a bucketful of tomatoes that had fallen from their vines and been prey to whatever critters had chomped on them. Also, with the unexpected upheaval in her life, understandably the time had long since come and gone for planting rows of turnips and beets to gather later in the fall.

  It wasn’t so much that she needed the harvest from the garden. Living all alone now, she could manage on a pot of soup for a week. Plus, it wasn’t as if her cupboards were bare. Canned tomatoes and beets lined her pantry, and the freezer was stocked with peas and beans.

  But after counting and recounting the envelope of money Mr. Cohen had given her, and after getting an idea of what her monthly needs and bills would be, she discovered there wasn’t as much of a cushion as she thought there might be.

  She’d hoped selling some fresh vegetables might be that cushion. At least until she found another way to get by. Considering the mess her garden was in, there wasn’t even the slightest possibility of that now.

  Still . . . the area did need to be cleaned out, and she needed to salvage whatever she could since so much had already gone to waste. Hopefully dear Gott could forgive her for being so wasteful with His provision.

  Getting back up on her knees, she’d decided to start with the lettuce again when a shadow came over the row of greens.

  “Oh!” She looked over her shoulder, tightening the knife in her hand.

  “I need to stop doing that to you, don’t I?” Jonas stood over her.

  “It would be a gut thing if you did. My heart can’t take many more surprises,” she said, even though as she looked up into her neighbor’s face, she could already feel her pulse settling down to its normal rhythm.

  “I thought for sure you’d hear my footsteps this time. Or notice Jeb’s panting.” He nodded to the tan-and-white collie at his side.

  “Oh, so this is Jeb? Jeb the snoop, jah?”

  The animal stood nearly as tall as she was on her knees and apparently was as friendly as he looked. As she reached out to pet him, Jeb moved past her hand, coming right up close to lick her face instead. Taken by surprise, Lydia lost her balance and toppled backward. She had to catch herself with her hands to keep from falling to the ground.

  “Jeb, down,” Jonas commanded. “Down, Jeb. That’s enough.” When Jeb didn’t seem to hear him, he pulled the dog off her.

  “Sorry about that,” he apologized.

  “He certainly makes friends quickly,” she said as she straightened her kapp.

  “He must like you.”

  “Ah, well . . .” She took off her garden glove to wipe the dog’s slobber from her face. “I’m sure in time we’ll get to be good friends, Jeb.” Just not so close so fast, she thought. “Are you two out for a walk?”

  “Nee. I needed to ask a favor, but when I knocked on your front door, neither you nor your husband, Henry, answered. Then I saw you around the corner here.”

  Feeling like she’d been caught in a lie at the mention of Henry’s name, Lydia asked, “What favor do you need?”

  “Ah, well, my rake broke
and I tried wiring it together—” he scratched at his forehead—“but it won’t hold.”

  “That’s all? You want to borrow a rake?”

  “Jah.”

  “That’s not a problem.” She got to her feet, relieved his favor was simple and that it had nothing to do with him needing Henry’s help with something. “I’ll get the rake from the shed.”

  He nodded his thanks, and when she looked into his kind eyes, she thought maybe she should tell him about Henry, but somehow she didn’t want to. It was only the second time she’d seen him, and she just wasn’t ready to talk about it with him. Like Jeb’s friendly but overbearing introduction, it felt too close too fast to be talking to another man about her departed husband.

  “You don’t think your husband would mind?” he called after her as she crossed the yard to the shed.

  Lydia didn’t even turn to answer. Instead, she shook her head feeling thankful he couldn’t see her face. That she didn’t have to look into his eyes again.

  As she stood in the shed, grabbing the rake from its spot on the wall, she realized that, at least, was the truth. Henry wouldn’t mind Jonas borrowing the rake—or anything at all for that matter. Her husband had always been generous with everyone. Even strangers. He’d been talkative with everyone too.

  Everyone else, except for . . .

  Lydia’s body froze. Her heart jolted when she realized the place her thoughts were running off to. She shouldn’t be questioning such things about Henry . . . and her. The two of them together. What they had shared . . . or hadn’t.

  She shouldn’t.

  She wouldn’t.

  IF YOU CAN’T BE BIG, don’t belittle.

  Liz sat at her kitchen table, amber rays of late-afternoon sun seeping through the window, and smiled over her cup of tangy pomegranate tea as she read the snippet of Amish wisdom topping the lined ivory page of her purple suede-covered organizer.