As she shone the flashlight on the shrubs, looking for a spot to cross through, she realized she’d only been to O’Malley’s house a couple of times by herself when the older man had lived there. Once when she had to wrangle one of his baby goats that had gotten loose and was feasting on her garden. The other time when a letter had come for him in her mail. Certainly neither of those times had been after dark.
Finally making her way across Jonas’s yard and up his walkway, she knocked on the door and waited for him to answer. She felt odd and far too bold. So unlike the reserved person she knew herself to be. Jonas looked as surprised as she was at herself when he opened the door.
“Lydia?” Half of his face stayed in the shadows, making him look sterner than she’d ever seen him. Or was he really that upset with her?
She crossed her arms over her chest and stood bravely. “I’m sorry to bother you, Jonas.”
“It’s awful late. Is there a problem?”
“Jah, Jonas. There is.”
“What’s going on?”
“I lied to you,” she said simply.
He looked down at his feet, then raised his head and looked into her eyes. She realized it was the first time she’d ever seen him without his straw hat. His dark hair was cut short and outlined his forehead neatly. His left brow rose a slight fraction as he asked, “Do you want to come in?”
“Nee.” She shook her head, not feeling right about going inside. He seemed to sense her feelings and stepped out the door.
“Okay, then.” He motioned to the cement stoop. “Want to have a seat in that case? It’s big enough for both of us.”
“Danke.” She felt relieved by his understanding as she tucked her skirt under her and sat down on the step. In a matter of seconds, Jeb came to sit as well.
“Actually, it’s big enough for the three of us,” Jonas added, amusement coloring his voice.
Somehow having the friendly creature sitting between them gave her more confidence. “Jonas,” she started.
Her neighbor raised his hand. “Lydia, you don’t owe me any explanations about anything.”
“Well, if we’re going to be good neighbors, I think I do.” She folded her hands in her lap and found herself looking everywhere but at him. “You see, it hasn’t been so long since my husband—since Henry’s been gone. He died in the big church fire, and I haven’t completely gotten my bearings. I haven’t gotten my bearings at all. And the first day you came by, well—”
“Lydia, I know about your husband.”
“You do?” She dared to steal a glance at him.
He nodded. “And I’m real sorry for your loss.” Even in the dim porch light, she could see the sympathy in his eyes. “I learned about it from some people at church just this morning. But I didn’t want to say anything to you. I thought I’d wait till you felt comfortable to say something to me first.” He paused, his expression just as strained as he added, “I’m also real sorry cause I must’ve made you mighty nervous showing up at your barn the way I did.”
“Well . . . jah. But you already apologized for that, Jonas, and it wasn’t anything you could help,” she said, though she vividly recalled how scared she’d been. “I’d been so wrapped up in my own situation, in my sorrow, I hadn’t even noticed that someone had moved in over here. Then, the day you found me in the garden, I started to tell you but at the time, my mind—well, I had it on something else.” With all of that confessed, she finally felt like she could breathe again and let out a sigh.
“Anything you want to talk about?” He plucked a prickly leaf off a holly shrub next to the step and rubbed it between his fingers.
“Oh, I . . .” She wasn’t sure what to say. Or how much he wanted to hear. “Not really.” She shrugged, glancing out into the hushed darkness. “There are just a lot of changes with Henry gone, and things I’m not used to. He took care of everything. Now I have to find a way to do all those things and to make money too. Even handling Flora is new to me,” she admitted. “You’ll never know how much you helped me with her, Jonas. I’ve had a fear of horses for a long time, and I know my nervousness makes her nervous too. I’m guessing I should’ve worked to overcome my fear long ago, and Henry should’ve let me get used to horses again. But he liked to take things over and do them his way. That’s how things were.” Her cheeks suddenly flushed at the realization of how much she was talking. Why was she saying so much? Surely he was tired of listening to her.
But as she started to apologize, hoping she hadn’t made him uncomfortable, he reached out and patted her hand. “If it helps to know you’ve got neighbors you can call on for anything—well, Jeb and I are here.”
“Oh, jah, Jeb is always everywhere. Ain’t you, pup?”
She chuckled slightly as she put her arms around the creature and nuzzled her face into his neck. Before she knew what was happening, tears sprang to her eyes. She hadn’t realized how raw her emotions were, but she couldn’t stop herself as all of her feelings came tumbling out onto the willing, furry Jeb. The simple comfort she found burying her sorrow in the pet’s warm, silky coat made everything seep out of her. Crying for Henry. Crying for herself. Crying for what was and what might have been. Crying for the sweetness of the night filled with the kindness of strangers and a neighbor’s consoling touch.
It was minutes before she released Jeb from her hug and sat up, wiping the tears from her cheeks, emptied and embarrassed by her outburst. “I’m sorry, Jonas.”
“Sorry for having feelings?” he said softly. “Don’t ya be.”
“Sorry I got Jeb all wet too.” She sniffed.
“Aw, I think he can handle it. He’s been through worse.”
They sat together quietly for a bit. She realized she could hear the comforting sounds of the crickets and cicadas once more.
“Gott is gut, Lydia,” Jonas said, words that seemed to come out of nowhere but oh, how they fit the moment.
“Jah. I know.” Her voice cracked. “You’re right.” Giving Jeb one last pat, she stood and straightened her skirt. “So . . . do ya forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. All is well between us, neighbor.” He smiled up at her.
“I should be going then.”
“It’s mighty dark. Jeb and I will walk you back.”
“That’s okay. I have a flashlight.” She took the light from her apron pocket and flicked it on. “I’ll be okay,” she said, treating the flashlight as if it were protective armor.
She could see the hint of a smile reach his eyes. “All right then, if you say so. I hope you get a good night’s rest, Lydia.”
“Danke, Jonas.”
“Come on, Jeb. We need our rest too.” With that, Jonas got up from the stoop and stepped onto his porch. “Oh,” he called out to her. “Lydia, I don’t know what kind of job you’re looking for—”
She chuckled at that. “I’m mighty sure I don’t either.”
“Well, just to tell you, I saw a sign in the bakery last week. They were looking for help.”
“Jah?” A flutter of hope lifted her heart. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to check it out tomorrow. Good night, Jonas.”
He waved his good-night, and even though her flashlight lit the way, she could feel her kind neighbor watching out for her as she crossed into her yard and into her house. Closing the door behind her and on all that had taken place, she felt like she really might get a good night’s rest for a change.
“I PROMISE I’LL MAKE IT HAPPEN, Mrs. Grisham.” Jessica cradled the phone on her shoulder as she jotted down notes and at the same time rang up four skeins of bulky yarn for a customer. “I’ll get the correct yarn here as quickly as I can. I apologize for the mistake.”
She covered the phone with her hand as Mrs. Grisham prattled on. “Thank you for stopping in,” she said, handing the bag of yarn to the white-haired woman leaning over the counter. “Please come back.”
“Oh, we always do.” The lady brightened at her attention. “Many of us love visiting the Cottage
when our group comes to town. It’s been a little too hectic in here today, though. The pen to sign the guest book isn’t even working. Usually the place runs much more smoothly than this.” Uncertainty filled her gaze as she glanced around.
“Well, I—”
Jessica couldn’t even begin to explain to the woman about her aunt Rose and the reason for all the delays and hiccups. For one thing, she was afraid she’d break down in tears if she started talking about her aunt. For another, the line at the register was growing longer, and Mrs. Grisham wouldn’t stop harping on the phone.
“We sure hope to see you again,” she said to the woman instead.
If only someone would’ve told her about the busload of women visiting town from a senior center in Columbus, she might’ve been better prepared for the barrage of chattering ladies. At least she would’ve made the effort to try.
As it was, she was stuck behind the counter at the cash register, unable to bring order to the chaos around her. She couldn’t do a thing to help the women throughout the store who were digging through supply drawers and bins, searching for yarns and needles and threads. She also couldn’t help Marisa, who was at the cutting station at the other end of the counter, doing her best to take care of customers as quickly as possible. How could Jessica help with anything when she was ringing up sales with a phone to her ear, trying to calm down one of the Cottage’s biggest customers?
“I know your group needs the yarns for your project as soon as possible, Mrs. Grisham.” She shifted back to her phone call. “That’s why I’m willing to pay for overnight delivery.”
“Yes, we do need the yarns, Jessica—like yesterday.” Mrs. Grisham’s voice rose. “Which is when you said they’d be ready for pickup.”
“And with overnight delivery they’ll be here promptly,” she offered again, still wondering how she could’ve messed up the order so badly. Had she been helping Cole with his math homework at the same time and somehow transposed dye lot numbers on the order form?
“Well then . . .” Mrs. Grisham paused, seeming to consider the offer. Jessica would’ve crossed her fingers for good luck if her hands hadn’t already been in motion. “You need to call me the moment they arrive,” the other woman acquiesced.
“Absolutely. The very moment.” Jessica smiled into the phone. “Thank you, Mrs. Grisham. And . . . that mistake won’t happen again.”
It had been a fifteen-minute battle working her way back into Mrs. Grisham’s good graces, but feeling triumphant, Jessica clicked off the phone. How had her aunt ever been so adaptable with everyone and everything?
She was just about to ring up the next sale when Marisa sidestepped toward her. With her naturally curly hair tucked behind her ears and her face void of makeup, Marisa looked young for her age but as pretty as ever. Her olive complexion was creamy and flawless, but her blue-green eyes were apologetic. “You remember I have to leave early, right? Like right now, actually.”
Jessica had been feeling fortunate that Marisa only had a few classes that morning and had been able to come in early to help. But she’d totally spaced out about her having to head back to school for a college-prep presentation.
But then again, she could hardly keep her and Cole’s schedules straight lately. “Hmm . . . are you sure, Marisa?” She edged closer, whispering to her teasingly. “Do you really want to go away to college and miss all of this?”
Laughter bubbled up from her helper. “You’re kidding, right?” She glanced out from the counter, shaking her head at the line of ladies that seemed to never end. “I do hate to leave you like this, though.”
“I’ll be fine. You need to get going.” Jessica signaled her release by pulling at the strings of the apron tied around Marisa’s waist. Marisa always liked to wear Aunt Rose’s ivory apron, thinking she looked official and crafty when she was measuring and cutting. “Now scoot, girl. Get out of here.”
Even though she’d been given permission, Marisa looked sheepish about leaving, taking her time pulling the apron over her wavy mane. It really was the worst timing ever. But how could Jessica be upset with her? She knew how fortunate she was to find such a conscientious, hardworking teenager, a mature young girl who wanted to save money for college—and just as importantly for a prom dress, even though the event wasn’t until spring.
A whiff of cherry blossom trailed behind her helper as Marisa handed the apron to Jessica and went to grab her sweatshirt and backpack from the closet at the back of the store.
Standing in the middle of the counter, Jessica took a deep breath and looked to her right toward the line at the register, and to her left toward the one at the cutting table. “So, who’s next?”
The ladies at the head of both lines held up their fragile-looking hands.
“Okay, then.” She was just about to revert to a quick round of “eeny, meeny, miny, moe” in her mind when the phone rang again. She took it as an out and held up a finger to the ladies in front of her before she answered.
“Jessica.” Mrs. Grisham’s voice was completely familiar by now, plus she was one person who rarely bothered with formalities. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“You mean you want me to order a different color?” Jessica grabbed a pen and pad by the register, ready to write down the woman’s request.
“No, I changed my mind, meaning you don’t need to reorder the yarn.”
“But it’s no problem, I promise you.”
“Yes . . . well . . . the shop in Coshocton has what our group needs, and we’re going to purchase it all from there.”
Coshocton? Over fifty miles round-trip? The woman would drive all that way rather than deal with Jessica?
“But you don’t have to go that far for the yarn you need. I can have it here quickly,” she promised once again. “Please give me a chance to make it right.”
“I can’t trust that will happen. I think Coshocton will work out best.”
“Well . . . if that’s really what you need to do, Mrs. Grisham.” She could feel her heart sink, but she knew any more pleading would be a waste of her breath. The woman had her mind made up. “You take care.”
Dazed by the call and loss of a huge sale, she hung up the phone and tried to concentrate on the business at hand. She was just about to ring up the customer directly in front of her when a woman at the cutting station interrupted.
“Can you cut three yards of this for me, honey?” she asked, patting the bolt of material she’d laid on the table. “I want to get to the cheese shop before our bus leaves.” Jessica noticed the woman’s cane and thought it might take her some time to get to the other shop, so she started over to that end of the counter.
“What about me, Millie?” The bespectacled lady waiting at the register put a hand to her hip. “At least you already got to go to the gift shop. I haven’t even made it there—or to the cheese shop.”
“Oh, you must get over to the gift shop, Lucy,” another woman in line chimed in. “They’ve got the cutest frames. Forty percent off.”
Jessica looked from woman to woman, then over their heads to the grandfather clock at the front of the store. How many more hours did she have to endure? How many more hours could she endure? At the moment thoughts of all she had to do at the end of the workday—picking up Cole from after-school care, making dinner, doing homework, and taking him to soccer practice—almost seemed like a picnic in comparison.
Just as she was lamenting and trying to regain her strength, she spotted a familiar face walking by the front window.
“Ladies, I know you’re all in a hurry. But give me one second, will you, please? I think help may be on the way,” she announced. Rushing from behind the counter and out the front door, she certainly hoped it was true.
“Lydia!”
Lydia felt a tap on her shoulder at the same time she heard her name.
Startled—and shocked that someone recognized her—she turned to see one of the women who had stood on her porch the night before.
“Jessica?” Sh
e blinked, not believing her eyes.
“I know this sounds crazy, but . . .”
Lydia almost smiled at that. Seeing Jessica at her house the night before hadn’t seemed very normal either. “Jah?”
“Would you possibly have time to help me out in the shop? Just for a little while?” Jessica’s eyes pleaded. “A huge busload of women got dropped off in town, and I’m completely over my head.” She gestured with her hands. “Actually, I’m drowning.”
“I don’t know how much help I’d be.” If Jessica was the owner of the shop and over her head, wouldn’t Lydia be too?
“From what you said last night, I know it won’t be hard for you. I’ll pay you.”
“It’s not that, Jessica, but I have to . . .” She glanced down the street at the bakery, hesitating.
Eager to act on Jonas’s suggestion from the night before, she’d gotten up early, eaten a light breakfast, and spent her usual quiet time with the Lord. But then realizing most shops in town didn’t exactly open at the crack of dawn, she busied herself with chores for a few hours. Following that, she got cleaned up, put on a neatly ironed navy dress, and after mustering up her courage with Flora, which took less time than it had before—but more time than she thought it would—she’d driven the buggy to town, still enthusiastic about her plan.
Yet, admittedly, as she walked up Main Street, her excitement began to wane. In all the years she and Henry had lived in Sugarcreek, he’d rarely taken her to town with him. She felt like a stranger in a strange town. Plus, the closer she got to the bakery, her stomach tightened more and more. Her steps grew slower and her heart beat faster as reality sunk in. She’d never looked for a job before. She wasn’t at all sure what to expect, questions tumbling over and over in her mind.
She was beginning to feel just as anxious and desperate as Jessica looked.
The Sisters of Sugarcreek Page 7