The Sisters of Sugarcreek

by Cathy Liggett

  Maybe it would be good to work in Jessica’s shop for a bit. A few minutes might be all she needed to get her stomach settled and her nerves quieted before she headed to Good for the Soul.

  “Okay. Jah, I’ll do my best to help,” she answered.

  “Oh, Lydia, you’re a lifesaver!”

  She couldn’t remember anyone ever calling her such a thing. Before she knew it, Jessica had looped an arm through hers and led the way to the Cottage. In an instant, Lydia realized why her new acquaintance had looked so frazzled—she couldn’t believe the number of women swarming in the shop. Many stood at the counter with bolts of fabric in their arms or baskets of yarn in their hands. Others roamed the store or sat on the bench, resting their feet.

  “How about I ring up people and you cut fabrics?” Jessica suggested.

  Since Lydia didn’t know the first thing about checking out customers, that was more than fine with her. She followed Jessica’s lead and stepped behind the counter, feeling completely out of her element and off balance.

  When she’d first rolled over in bed that morning, the familiar heaviness in her heart had still been there, just as she expected it would be for a long, long time. The prospect of employment, however—of having something to do with her time and a way to make ends meet—had woken her up with a bit of hope fluttering through her veins for a change. But she’d never imagined she’d be thrown into a situation like this. Even a temporary situation like this.

  Smiling timidly, she nodded at the woman who was next in line, feeling shy and awkward. “How—how can I help you?” Even though she’d heard shopkeepers and clerks ask the same question plenty of times before, the words felt strange coming from her own lips.

  “I’d like five and a half yards of this cotton.” It was obvious the frail woman was having trouble heaving the bolt onto the counter. Lydia leaned over as far as she could, taking it from her, quickly realizing the woman was too caught up in her own needs and thoughts to even notice her shyness. Even so, her hands trembled as she smoothed out the fabric along the yardstick. The scissors wagged in her hand. What if now, of all times, she couldn’t cut a straight line?

  “I’m making a sweater for my daughter,” a woman interrupted as Lydia tried to concentrate on her cutting. “Can I mix these two different brands of yarn?” she asked, holding out the skeins.

  Lydia hesitated and glanced at Jessica, hoping she’d hear the woman and chime in with an answer. But Jessica was busy ringing up an order. She was on her own. “Well,” she stalled, wanting to make sure she gave the right answer. “Are the yarns the same weight? If so, that will be a gut—a good thing. But you’ll have to test your gauge and make sure it’s the same for both,” she warned.

  The woman at her other side edged closer. “I have a question too. I’m making a quilt for my granddaughter’s wedding, and now the backing is showing through the white background of the quilt top.”

  “Jah?” Again Lydia looked Jessica’s way. Jessica was handing a woman change. “It’s showing through, you say?” She had to think about that for a bit. “That’s probably due to the kind of batting you’re using.”

  As she continued to cut the fabric as carefully as she could, she made a suggestion for a brand of batting she always used, hoping she wasn’t wrong in saying so.

  “Oh, dear.” The customer in front of her sighed. “I forgot to get a pale-green thread for the fabric you’re cutting.”

  “I can get it for you if you’d like.”

  “Would you mind?” The older woman glanced toward the floor. “My feet aren’t used to all this walking. My legs are swelling, and I’m starting to get worn out.”

  When Lydia got back to the counter with the thread, Jessica called out, “Lydia, what do you think of this yarn for an afghan?”

  Lydia could feel Jessica and the customer staring at her while she studied the pile of medium-weight yarns Jessica was referring to. She noted the pastel colors. “Is it for a baby?”

  “A great-grandson.” The customer nodded.

  “In that case, you may want a lighter weight. That’s more common for a baby blanket.”

  “Can you help me pick something out?”

  “Well, I—” She wasn’t familiar with the layout of the store. Typically, Henry had taken her to discount stores on the outskirts of town to get whatever she needed for her knitting or quilting. But Jessica and the woman were looking at her as if she knew everything there was to know. “Jah, sure. Just let me finish up with the person I’m waiting on.”

  It seemed like only minutes had gone by when the shop began to clear out, the crowd trickling down to a pair of ladies browsing some seasonal fabrics. Glancing at the clock, Lydia was shocked to realize she’d been at the Cottage for over two hours. Time had flown by!

  “I didn’t mean to keep you this long,” Jessica apologized.

  “Oh, it’s fine,” she said. She was tired but felt pleased about the work she’d done. “It was a different sort of experience, for sure. It was good for me.”

  “It was good for both of us. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” Jessica stepped over to the cash register. “I hope you don’t mind if I give you cash.” She opened the drawer and pulled out some bills, handing them to Lydia before she could even respond.

  Lydia quickly noted the twenties in her hand. “This is way too much, Jessica,” she protested.

  To which Jessica held up her hand. “You earned every penny of it. I would’ve lost most of the sales this afternoon if it hadn’t been for you. Half of the women would’ve gotten frustrated and walked out the door.”

  “I’ve gotta say, it sure was busy.” She felt like she was just catching her breath from all the commotion. “The women were buying up everything.”

  “One lady even asked if she could buy the ‘All You Knit Is Love’ plaque Aunt Rose made.” Jessica shook her head, smiling in disbelief. “But I wasn’t about to sell that.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Lydia couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to this new person who had entered her life, but she needed to get going. She still had other business to take care of. “Well, I best go and get to the bakery.”

  “Thanks again, Lydia.” Reaching out, Jessica hugged her, surprising her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been hugged . . . by anyone.

  “You’re, uh, you’re welcome,” she stammered.

  As she tucked stray hairs into her kapp and headed up Main Street once more, she felt good about the way the day had gone. It had probably been best she hadn’t gotten to the bakery earlier. Surely they would’ve been overrun with the customers off the bus too.

  The chimes above the bakery door greeted her cheerily, making her feel welcome right away. She’d only been to the bakery a very few times and had forgotten how much she loved the vanilla scent of the place and the layout of the shop. Decorated in hot pinks and vibrant greens that reminded her of the peonies that bloomed in her yard each spring, it had plenty of places to enjoy a sweet treat or rest from the day. Tables topped with vases of flowers graced the middle of the shop, and filled-to-the-brim bookcases and cozy chairs were off to the right.

  She almost felt like she deserved to sit and rest for a few minutes after the hours she’d put in at Jessica’s. She even might have done so if she hadn’t been on a mission.

  “Can I help you?” a lady asked in Pennsylvania Dutch from behind the bakery cases.

  Lydia almost felt like she was looking into a mirror. The two of them appeared to be the same age, with the same kapp and same navy dress. Except for this woman was wearing an apron as green as grass—which protruded over her pregnant belly. “We don’t have much left, I’m afraid. But what we have is still fresh from the morning.”

  Even after all she’d managed to accomplish at the Cottage, now when it mattered most, her voice faltered. “Ah, nee. I, uh . . . I’m Lydia. I’m here to ask about a job. Is there a job you might have?”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. That positio
n has been filled.”

  “Jah?” Disappointed, she forced a weak smile.

  “It’s for my position, actually. I’m Rebecca, by the way. I’ll be leaving to have my baby, though not for a while yet. But the owner of the shop wanted to make sure she had a replacement. She posted the job never expecting to find the right person so quickly.”

  “I guess I’m a little late, then.”

  “You should stop back in the next few weeks, though, in case something changes with the other person.” Rebecca smiled kindly. “People do change their minds, you know.”

  “That’s true. Danke.” She felt a bit heartened by her new acquaintance’s suggestion. “Danke for your time.”

  Lydia started to walk away, then turned and studied the bakery cases again. She hadn’t baked anything for months and couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a sweet. She stepped back toward the counter. “You know, I’d like one of those crullers you have left.”

  “Would you like that for here or to go?”

  She glanced around at the inviting-looking shop but knew she couldn’t stay. She had to see how Flora was doing. “I’d like to take it with me, please.”

  Rebecca bagged up the donut quickly. “That’ll be ninety-five cents.”

  Lydia pulled the bills from her apron pocket and stared at them. It was the first money she’d ever made. The first time she’d worked and been paid. It felt like a good start and something to be mighty grateful for. If Flora seemed all right, she’d poke her head into a few more shops and see if anyone else was hiring.

  Needing to catch her breath, Jessica sat down on the oak bench in the middle of the Cottage, still reeling from the whirlwind of women.

  A glance around revealed that the visitors had taken a toll on the shop too. Bolts of fabric were piled up behind the counter. Others were leaning haphazardly on shelves or lying everywhere they shouldn’t have been, left by women who’d changed their minds just as women were wont to do.

  Bins that had once held one color of yarn were now mostly multicolored messes, and the worktable was covered with more work for her to do—putting away all the items ladies had considered and left lying there.

  Surely Aunt Rose had seen her Cottage as messy as this some days. Oddly, Jessica couldn’t ever remember it being that way. She’d been too caught up in her own world to notice, especially as a young girl, playing games and dress-up. It hadn’t ever mattered to her what disarray the Cottage was in, or what cleanup there was to do, had it? She was simply happy scuffling around the place in her aunt’s sparkly gold cape and cherry-red high heels.

  “Can I wear these shoes to school tomorrow?” she remembered asking more than once.

  “Not tomorrow.” Aunt Rose always smiled. “But someday. Someday you’ll fill my shoes . . .”

  The memory jolted Jessica, causing a surge of unexpected tears. She could almost hear her aunt’s voice, her aunt’s promise. But it just wasn’t true. It wasn’t. She couldn’t fill her aunt’s shoes when she was a little girl, and she still couldn’t fill them now.

  “Oh, Aunt Rose, I’m already making a mess of things.” She sputtered the words out loud, looking around the shop, wishing she would see her aunt there. Needing her encouragement. Her absolution—Jessica realized she may have already lost the shop’s biggest client for good. Not to mention a portion of sales that she could’ve consistently depended on.

  She couldn’t even answer any of the women’s questions today. And there was no chance she could offer any classes or workshops—she needed help herself. With the holidays coming quickly, things in the shop were only going to get busier and worse.

  True, she needed to hire someone. But also true, her funds were tight. She’d had to use her aunt’s savings for funeral costs, and sadly, being the sole supporter of her son, Jessica barely had any savings of her own. That left little extra money to employ anyone on a steady basis. But if she didn’t, where would that lead? She couldn’t do this on her own as Aunt Rose had. If she tried, she might lose it all. For good.

  She needed help. She needed expertise. She needed someone her customers would trust.

  She needed . . . Lydia.

  Jessica shot up from the bench.

  Where had Lydia said she was going? To the bakery?

  Moving behind the counter, she grabbed the keys to the shop and ran out, locking the door behind her.

  Feeling somewhat anxious, Lydia knocked on Jonas’s door, then stepped back down onto the porch step, waiting for him to answer.

  Muffled sounds came from inside. A scooting chair . . . footsteps. She’d probably interrupted his supper. But if she had, he gave no clue of that when he opened the door and saw her standing there.

  “Hey, Lydia,” he greeted her with an easy smile. “What’s going on?”

  “You don’t have to worry,” she said earnestly. “I won’t make a habit of coming here every day.”

  He chuckled. “I can honestly tell you that’s the very least of my worries.”

  She could feel her face flush as she held out the bag from the bakery. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d given anyone a gift, except for Henry on his birthday. “I brought home some sugar cookies for you, Jonas.”

  “Ah, my favorites.” His eyes lit up as he took the bag from her hand.

  “They’re my way of saying danke,” she explained.

  “Jah? Does that mean what I think it does? You got the job?”

  She shook her head. “Nee, I didn’t. The position was already filled.”

  “Oh.” He frowned.

  “But—” she couldn’t contain the huge grin spreading across her face—“I got a job at the quilting and knitting shop instead.”

  “You did? Really?” His grin looked pretty uncontainable too. “Well, gut for you, Lydia!” He chuckled as if he was sincerely tickled. “Gut for you!”

  “Jah, I start tomorrow.” She couldn’t believe her own ears. “And I wanted to thank you because I wouldn’t have even gotten to town today if you hadn’t made that suggestion last night. And there couldn’t have been a better time to go because today there was a bus full of women from Columbus who invaded the quilt shop.” She paused to explain. “The shop is owned by the lady who was here last night—Jessica.”

  “Jah? That’s a mighty big coincidence.”

  “I know, and she saw me through her shop window when I was headed to the bakery, and she asked me to help in her store because she was so busy, and—”

  “And it was all Gott’s perfect timing.”

  “Jah, you’re right. That’s what I’ve been thinking too. It was all Gott’s perfect timing—including your suggestion, you know.”

  “Then I will enjoy these cookies even more than I usually do. In fact—” he began to dig into the bag—“I think I’ll start celebrating right now.”

  She laughed as he rambunctiously bit a big chunk out of a cookie, leaving flaky crumbs dangling from his lips.

  “You make that look verra gut,” she said.

  “It is mighty tasty. Want to try one?”

  “Nee. I’d best go.” She shook her head, backing down the steps. “I have work in the morning, you know, and that will certainly be a long day for me.”

  “Gut luck on your first day.” He held up the half-eaten cookie. “You’ll do great, Lydia.”

  “Thank you again, Jonas . . . for everything.”

  As she cut through the place in the shrubs where she was beginning to wear a path, Lydia thought about how Jonas wasn’t the girlfriend next door she’d always wished for. But all the same, Jonas Hershberger was a mighty good neighbor. And for that, she felt blessed.

  LIZ PEERED INTO the pot of stew with a critical eye to make sure it was simmering just right. Giving the chunky meal a stir with a wooden spoon, she refrained from adding another dash of pepper or salt. It was perfect as it was—she’d already given it a taste test, twice.

  She definitely needed to leave well enough alone. But she was so excited to have Jessica and
Lydia coming for dinner that she’d found herself fussing over everything, even the simple mixed-greens salad she’d put together to accompany the stew. She’d also taken the time to cook up homemade applesauce and had made a special trip to town to buy a loaf of Amish bread.

  Her cottage-style home didn’t have a dining room, so she’d set the farm table in her kitchen using her cobalt-blue linen, “for company only” place mats and blue paisley napkins to brighten her white French countryside dinnerware. Adding the last item to her table—a small clear, round vase of burnt-orange mums—she stepped back to take a look at everything and decided that she’d done all right. The overall effect was cozy and warm and friendly, just the way she’d hoped. Certainly a setting her guests would feel comfortable in.

  That thought had her relaxing—until her cell phone rang. She didn’t even want to look at the caller ID, hoping Jessica wasn’t cancelling or having trouble picking up Lydia. Not only was she looking forward to sharing a meal with the pair, but as the Cottage’s new employee, Lydia had offered to share knitting and quilting tips with her and Jessica after dinner. Liz couldn’t wait to learn from a true, experienced Amish woman.

  Holding her breath, she picked up the phone from the island.

  “Hello?” she said apprehensively, expecting to hear Jessica’s voice.

  “Liz? It’s Lou Hager.”

  “Oh, Lou. It’s you.” Her shoulders loosened at the sound of her repairman’s voice. “My kitchen and I are looking forward to you coming tomorrow.”

  “Uh, well, that’s why I’m calling. I actually should’ve called earlier, but I didn’t think of it till now. I’m at a hospital near Youngstown. They admitted my mom yesterday. She’s been real sick, and my dad isn’t in the best condition either. I had to head up here to take care of them.”

  “Oh, Lou, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, well, obviously I’m not going to make it to your house to start on that ceiling of yours tomorrow. Honestly . . . I can’t tell you when I will be there. It could be a few days or it could be weeks.”

  She’d already scratched Lou’s name from her organizer the week before when he’d had to cancel due to other issues, something about his ailing dog. Apparently he’d been having a run of tough times. She could certainly sympathize with him.