The Sisters of Sugarcreek

by Cathy Liggett

  It wasn’t just his words; it was the seriousness in his voice, the dull tone, that made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Straightening, she slowly closed the refrigerator door, searching her brain, trying desperately to imagine why he was saying such a thing.

  He rarely just dropped her off, and certainly not without a prior explanation. He always came in and stayed awhile. In fact, she’d thought he’d already settled onto her sofa. But when she walked back out to the family room, he remained standing in her entrance. With his coat on.

  “Do you have work to do? Are you still finishing up that special order for Christmas you’ve been working on?”

  “Yes,” he said, the answer terse for him. His tone foreign to her.

  She searched his face. Stared into his eyes. And felt a tension between them she’d never felt before. “But I’m suspecting that’s not the reason you’ve decided not to stay. Am I right?”

  He exhaled deeply. “You would be right.”

  “Is it anything I can help with?”

  He looked away. “I’m not really sure.”

  “Do you want to try me?”

  “I think I should.” His jaw tensed as he spoke through pursed lips. “What’s going on with me has to do with you, Liz. With us.”

  Her heart felt as though it stopped beating in her chest. His answer was so unexpected. She thought they’d been getting along so well, enjoying each other’s company. Had he been trying to tell her something and she hadn’t gotten the message? Her stomach sank to her toes. “In, uh . . . in what way?” She was almost afraid to ask.

  “Well, I keep going back to the way you introduced me to your friend in the hardware store, that Belinda lady, and, uh, I’m not sure what to think about it.”

  She could feel her face heat as if she’d been caught at something. “I introduced you as my friend because, well, you are my friend, aren’t you?”

  “I am, but—this is crazy. I feel like an awkward teenager talking about this.” He rubbed his brow, shifted on his feet. “Look, Liz, I thought I could wait. I thought I could be more patient. But once I heard you say that today, I realized the time has come. For me, at least. I need to know how you feel. And if that’s how you think of me—as just a friend?”

  She stared at him, searching her feelings, trying to find words. Oh, if she was being honest, introducing him to Belinda as a friend had made her pause. It had. But what were they, then, if not friends—the very closest of friends? And did he have to bring this up now? Get serious so soon? When things had been going so well between them?

  Seeing she was speechless, he held up his hand.

  “Okay. If you don’t have anything to say, I do.” He glanced at the floor as if to get his bearings, then looked into her eyes with an intensity that shocked her. Making her feel powerless to look away.

  “Liz, I go into a lot of houses month after month, year after year, but when I came into your home, right off I could feel it was filled with something special. And also, right off, I knew that something special is you. I know we haven’t known each other very long, but after all the years of being on my own . . .”

  When he spoke again, his voice was filled with a new earnestness and a sweet softness as he gazed at her. “Liz, I like the way you think. The way you look. The way you laugh. The way I feel when I’m with you. I even have to admit I like the way you can’t keep from talking when I’m watching the news. That has become endearing too. But only because I’ve come to realize I’d rather have you near me—above anything else.”

  “Daniel, what you’re saying . . .” She faltered. “I mean, of course, you’re special to me. You really are. And I love spending time with you too.”

  “Yeah.” His eyes scanned her face as if trying to read her mind. “But I’m not sure if it’s the same way for you as for me. I want more, Liz. I want a chance to have more for us.” He paused. “I know I haven’t exactly said anything before, but I’m saying it now. I’m asking you, will you take some time to think about it? About us being more than friends?”

  Already her heart ached. She couldn’t imagine not seeing him. He’d been there day after day. But as much as she enjoyed his company and felt completely comfortable with him, it had all happened too quickly. Had taken her by surprise, the way they so easily fit into each other’s lives. It was all still so new to her. And even though her feelings ran deep for the man, being more than what they already were to each other . . . What did that mean? What would that look like?

  He was right, of course. Her heart was going in all directions. She needed time, needed to sort things out. “Yes, of course. I’ll think about it, Daniel. I will.”

  “Thanks,” he said quietly and then started to go. But before he grabbed the knob on her door, he turned on his heels and faced her. “Oh, and Liz?”

  “Yes?”

  She thought he wanted to say something else. But apparently he was done with talking. Before she knew what was happening, he took her hand in his and swung her close to him. Closer than she’d ever been before. Against his broad chest that held his heart of gold. She couldn’t resist wrapping her arms around him to steady herself.

  Immersed in his embrace, she could smell the familiar, pleasing scent of him. And just as she was getting used to that, he shocked her by leaning down and covering her mouth with his. Kissing her so ardently yet so sweetly that once he released her from his arms, she stood breathless, wide-eyed.

  “Daniel . . .” She touched her fingers to her lips, the effects of his tender kiss still leaving her quivering, reverberating all the way from her mouth to her toes. “I thought you said you wanted me to think about things.”

  “I did say that,” he replied, his voice low and intimate. “And when you do, Liz, I want you to think about that kiss, too.”

  ON MOST DAYS AFTER WORK Lydia preferred to have her usual driver, George, drop her off at the bottom of her driveway. That way she could get her mail along with a little exercise by walking up the drive to her house. But today she was thankful when George stopped his car a foot from her mailbox and was intent on waiting for her. Between working nonstop with Jessica to get the shop ready for the sale and helping her Amish friends finish up quilts, she felt as spent as a plow horse ready for retirement.

  “You get out and get your mail, Miss Lydia. Then I’ll drive you up to your front door,” George suggested kindly. “A woman your size could blow away in this wind.”

  Truly it had been a gray, gusty day in Sugarcreek. Hour after hour, the wind had howled mercilessly as if wanting to prove that winter was there to stay, causing her weary bones to ache even more than they already did.

  Not about to turn down George’s offer, she dashed out of the car and back in just as quickly, not even bothering to look at the few envelopes in her hand. It wasn’t until she was in her house and kicking off her boots at the front door that she began to thumb through the mail.

  “Oh, Kit, there’s a letter from Maam,” she informed her nearly domesticated stray. The cat rarely ventured outdoors nowadays. Instead, Kit was there to welcome her home at the end of most days, circling her furry self between and around Lydia’s ankles in greeting.

  “It’s a long letter too,” Lydia added, as if Kit understood everything she was saying.

  The envelope bearing her mother’s handwriting was noticeably thicker than any she typically received. Maam’s response was much quicker than usual too. All of which had Lydia’s heart thudding dully in her chest as her limbs grew even heavier and more tired.

  She’d been concerned when she’d mailed the letter to her maam, fearing she’d said too much. Now, receiving such a lengthy and fast response, she knew for sure her emotional outpouring must have had an effect on her mother. Something she had never meant to do and instantly felt sorry about.

  Letting go of a sigh, she turned on both lanterns in the sitting room and sank down onto the love seat. As she gently tugged open the envelope, Kit mewed at her feet, protesting the change in their dail
y routine.

  “I know, Kit, I know. Don’t worry. I’ll get your food in a minute,” she promised.

  As if to make certain Lydia wouldn’t forget her, Kit jumped onto the love seat, curling up next to Lydia’s hip. Stroking her fluffy companion, Lydia let out a deep breath. “Oh, Kit, I’m not even sure I want to read Maam’s letter. I hope I didn’t worry her too badly.” But even as she said the words, she drew the bulky letter from the envelope and began to focus on her mother’s writing.

  Dear Lydia,

  In all the years that you’ve been gone from home, I may have wished there weren’t so many miles that separated us. I know for a fact, though, that I have never said that to you. But I am saying it now because this is certainly one of those times when it would be better if we were sitting across the kitchen table from one another. If we were, then I could be there to steady you as you read all that I have to write to you.

  Her mother’s words were far more sentimental than usual, but sounded oddly ominous, too, causing Lydia to pause and take a deep breath as she clutched the paper more tightly.

  First off, I know you aren’t imagining the distance between you and your husband that you talked about in your letter. I only know this because of a conversation—a very difficult conversation—I had with Henry’s grandmother Miriam after his passing. She came to me with a grieving heart. But she wasn’t only grieving Henry’s death, she was also aching over what he’d been through in his short life. In her words, it was a secret she—and only she—had been carrying in her heart for decades and just couldn’t bear to carry alone any longer.

  I have to be honest and say Miriam shared things that I certainly wished she hadn’t. Things that made me feel mighty uncomfortable to hear—and I sure didn’t want to repeat them to you. I suppose I didn’t think you needed to hear them. At least that’s what I thought until I received your letter. When I read how disturbed and confused you were about your years with Henry and your marriage, it was then that I began to think differently.

  Now I’m feeling Miriam’s confiding in me had a greater purpose than I ever imagined. Her sharing with me about Henry lets me share with you. As disturbing as what I have to tell you certainly is, I pray it will help you find a sense of peace with your past, my child. I also pray it will help you move on with the life ahead of you . . . just as I pray that Henry has finally found rest and peace in eternity.

  Lydia had never received a letter from her maam that made her hands shake, but her hands were certainly trembling now. Kit, seemingly sensing her sudden onslaught of tension, hopped from her snuggly spot on the couch to the floor, busying herself with a self-cleaning. Meanwhile, Lydia, like her mother, wished there weren’t so many miles that separated them. Oh, how she’d much rather hear what her mother had to say firsthand instead of sitting and reading her message all alone.

  But that was a useless wish to make, and nothing she could do anything about. Instead, she braced herself as best she could and read on.

  Twenty-four hours after opening her maam’s letter, Lydia was still having a difficult time processing all that she’d read. She was just thankful for an extremely busy day at the Cottage in which she could go through the motions, helping customers and making preparations for the Santa sale in between. The busyness masked the fact that she was stunned beyond words about her husband’s past. And didn’t allow time to interact with Jessica the way she normally did.

  With so much going on at the Cottage, Jessica hadn’t seemed to notice her quietness anyway. At least not until the end of the day, when they were sitting around the worktable with Liz.

  “Okay, girls,” Jessica addressed them. “I know this is boring, tedious work, making bows for my scarves. But don’t forget—” she paused to chuckle—“you two were the ones who talked me into knitting all of these lumpy things, saying how stylish they are. And now you’ve both gone silent on me.”

  Lydia looked up from stitching a baby-blue bow into place on one of Jessica’s creations but still didn’t have anything to say. Apparently—and atypically—Liz was short on words as well. Glancing up from cutting strips of glimmering ribbon, she simply shrugged, not offering any kind of explanation.

  “Wait a minute.” Jessica’s dark eyes narrowed in on Liz. “You weren’t even supposed to be here to help, were you? Hadn’t you and Daniel planned to—”

  Liz held up a hand to stop Jessica midsentence, and for the first time that day Lydia’s mind shifted from her own issues to her friend’s, noticing an unmistakable look of sadness in Liz’s eyes. “Yes, Daniel and I had a lot of plans. For today, next week, next month. But I don’t know.” She shrugged again. “I don’t know if any of them are going to come together now.”

  “Oh, Liz . . . Did you two have a fight or something?” Jessica pressed Liz more boldly than Lydia felt comfortable doing.

  “Not really a fight.” Liz sighed as she let go of the pair of scissors. Sinking deeper into her chair, she plucked unconsciously at the hair at the back of her head. “He gave me an ultimatum.”

  “Meaning?” Jessica prodded.

  “He doesn’t want to be ‘just friends’ with me anymore.”

  Knowing how fond Liz was of Daniel, Lydia felt relieved to hear he wanted to see more of her—not less. “Is that a bad thing?” She leaned forward, asking her friend tentatively.

  “It doesn’t sound like it is,” Jessica interjected.

  Rarely was Liz slow with an answer. But she hesitated, picking up a half yard of silver ribbon, sliding it through her fingers over and over again, causing specks of sparkle to dust the table. “I don’t know. I definitely have some thinking to do. Everything he said took me very much by surprise. One minute I think we’re just that—really good friends—and the next minute he wants so much more.” She glanced between the two of them. “Oh, I know what you two are thinking, and yes, you’re right. I probably shouldn’t have been so taken aback by what he said. Obviously I could tell we both had strong feelings for one another. Even our first dinner together was perfect, a perfect evening. And ever since that night, I’ve been happy with the way things were going. Slow and easy. So why does he need to complicate perfection?”

  “Maybe he thinks you both can be even happier,” Jessica suggested.

  Liz frowned. “But a relationship like he wants—well, it’s such a big step for me at this point in my life. Nothing I imagined for myself. And I guess, even today, I’m still quite overwhelmed. I mean, you think you know what’s going on in a relationship, but so often you really don’t.” She sighed more wearily than before. “I suppose many times you’re only aware of yourself, too caught up in your own reality.”

  “Jah.” Lydia’s hands and Jessica’s scarf dropped to her lap. “Jah. That is the truth, isn’t it?” she said. “Verra much the truth,” she added, unable to hide the quiet, grave tone in her voice, which made both of her intuitive friends gaze at her intently.

  “Is something going on with your friend Jonas too?” Liz’s forehead creased curiously.

  “Nee, nee,” she was quick to answer. “It’s nothing about him. I haven’t even seen him this week, I’ve been so busy. But yesterday when I got home, there was a letter waiting for me. From Maam. Telling me about a visit she had from Henry’s grandmother months ago, after his passing. Reading that letter . . . well . . . I learned things about Henry that I . . .” She looked down at her hands until she could gather the nerve to glance back up at her friends. “Lord forgive me, but the truth is, I misjudged my husband something awful.”

  Jessica and Liz eyed her sympathetically but kept silent, their questions voiced in their caring, pensive eyes.

  “He, uh . . .” She shook her head and blinked at them. “I don’t even know how to say this.”

  She’d been shocked when she’d read about Henry’s grandmother’s account of what he’d endured. Achingly sad and sick to her stomach, completely depleted of strength. The most she could manage was to feed her mewing Kit. Other than that, she couldn’t eat.
Or sleep. Or even pray with any clarity, her mind such a jumble of thoughts. Most of the night, she’d simply sat in the sitting room and stared out the window. Or gazed at the quilt her friends had made, recalling each shirt Henry had worn and how he’d looked in it. Or she’d fixed her eyes on her Bible, hoping to get through the dark night, too numb and vacant to even pick up the book in her hands.

  She’d been glad when daylight finally came and she could get ready and get to the Cottage. But as much as she wanted to say something to her friends about what she’d learned—to clear Henry of all she’d been thinking of him and all they might have imagined him to be because of what she’d said—she still didn’t know how to get the words out.

  “Henry . . . ,” she started again, but then stopped as she glanced over at Cole, who was kneeling by his great-aunt’s bench in the middle of the store. Waiting for Marisa to arrive, he was oblivious to their talking and concerns as he played with some LEGO figures he’d put together. So carefree. So innocent. So trusting. As every child should be allowed to be.

  Yet from what her mother’s letter had said, from the time Henry was Cole’s age, he had never been given that chance.

  “Someone took away Henry’s innocence,” she finally said, her voice breaking in a hoarse whisper. “And I never, ever knew. He never told me. It was someone . . . someone he trusted.”

  Tears brimming in her eyes, she glanced between her friends, who both appeared horrified. Just as she’d been. Just as she still was.

  “Oh, Lydia, I . . .” Jessica grasped for words.

  “That’s just so . . .” Liz closed her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. “So awful. So heartbreaking.”

  When Lydia had first read that her husband had been sexually abused during his growing-up years, it had been just that—heartbreaking. Unleashing a profound maternal reaction in her that she’d never felt before—as if Henry were still alive but a small, vulnerable boy who needed her protection. And then to find out that the abuser had been an uncle on his father’s side—an uncle who was a minister—brought on an onslaught of anger that raged through her veins.