Chapter 1
Tillie Lapp wiped the last of the breakfast crumbs from the long pine table and glanced out the kitchen window. Her husband Jacob was repairing the fence, making sure everything was tidy before their visitors arrived.
“Mamm, when will they be here?” Ten-year-old Ivy appeared at her elbow, her prayer kapp slightly askew as usual.
Tillie reached over and straightened it. “This afternoon. The driver said he'd have them here by two o'clock.”
“And then you'll tell the story? About when you and Auntie Lucinda lived in the same house?” Ivy asked.
“We'll see. Let Auntie Lucinda and Uncle David settle in first.” Tillie turned back to the counter where she'd laid out ingredients for two apple pies.
Ivy pulled a chair to the counter and climbed up to help. “May says she remembers more of the story than me, but that's not fair. We're the same age.”
“You both heard it at the same time, so maybe she's got a better memory than you.” Tillie handed her daughter a paring knife and a bowl of apples. “Be careful with that blade. Cut like I showed you.”
They worked side-by-side in silence for a few minutes. Through the window, Tillie could see her two boys helping their father. They were more of a hindrance than help, but Jacob was patient.
“Mamm? Is it true you and Auntie Lucinda didn't like each other at first?”
Tillie laughed. “Well, that's all part of the story. I'm sure the others will want to hear it again so how about we wait?”
“I know it's true. I remember that bit.”
“Yes, it's true.”
“Why didn't you like her? She's so nice. She always brings candy, and she laughs at everyone's jokes even when they're not funny.”
“People can surprise you, Ivy. Sometimes the person who irritates you most becomes the person you treasure the most.” Tillie started crimping the edge of the crust, her fingers moving in the pattern her grandmother had taught her. “We just needed time to know each other properly. Sometimes you think you know a person when you don't, not really.”
Ivy set down the paring knife carefully and slid off the chair. “I'll check the guest room, Mamm.”
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later, she was back. “I put fresh flowers on the dresser like you asked, and I made sure all the quilts are straight.”
“Good girl.” Tillie smiled at her. “Now go gather the eggs. We'll need extra for breakfast tomorrow.”
As Ivy hurried out again, Tillie allowed herself a moment of quiet reflection. In a few hours, Lucinda would be here with her family—her husband David, and their three children. The two families had grown close over the years, visiting when they could despite the distance between their communities. The hire car would bring them all the way from Riversend. Way too far for a horse and buggy.
Jacob came in through the mudroom, washing his hands at the sink. “The boys and I finished mending that section of fence. The place looks ready for company.”
“Good. The pies will be done soon.” Tillie slid the first one into the oven. “I'm making two, just in case.”
“They'll be gone in no time. Everyone loves your pies.” He came up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You'll be glad to see her.”
“I can't wait.” Tillie turned to face her husband. “Remember how Lucinda and I used to live in that house?”
“How could I forget? I was right next door. I heard all the squabbles.” Jacob's eyes crinkled at the corners. “You said you'd never met anyone so stubborn and foolish in all your life.”
“I did not say foolish.”
“You did. You also said she snored.”
Tillie laughed. “Well, she did. And she said I was bossy.”
“You are bossy.” Jacob kissed her forehead.
Tillie playfully pushed him away. “I have to be sometimes. Ivy wants to hear the story again.”
“That's no surprise. You and Lucinda always tell the story when the two families come together.”
The afternoon crawled by even with Tillie's attempts to keep busy. Finally, the crunch of gravel carried through the open window. Tillie wiped her hands on her apron and stepped onto the porch as a large van rolled to a stop at the end of the path.
Before the driver had his door open, Ivy flew off the steps. The side door slid open and May jumped down—the two girls ran straight for each other, prayer kapps bobbing, and collided in a hug that nearly knocked them both over.
“You came!” Ivy squealed.
“I told Mamm to tell the driver to go faster,” May said, breathless.
“Come see our room—our room,” Ivy said, already tugging her toward the house. “You can see the barn from the window!”
They were halfway through the front door when Lucinda climbed out of the van, laughing under her breath. David stepped down behind her and reached for the bags. Tillie met Lucinda at the path and they embraced.
“It's been too long,” Lucinda said.
“Far too long,” Tillie replied. “Come on in—there's pie cooling.”
The driver moved to unload the rest of their things while David paid him. Jacob appeared from the yard, gave David a quick nod, and took two cases without a word.
Inside, the hallway filled fast—suitcases, a box of toys, boots lined up in a row. The smell of fresh bread and apples drifted from the kitchen.
“It looks like more than it is,” Lucinda said, setting a smaller bag near the stairs. “Most of this is for the boys. They insisted on bringing half their things.”
“The rest can come when you find a place,” Tillie said. “For now, you're here.”
Jacob brushed past with two heavier cases. “Room at the end of the hall,” he said to David. “Good light in the morning.”
“Thank you,” David said, following with another bag.
Ivy and May pounded up the stairs, their voices echoing. “This drawer is yours—no, the top one—”
“We can watch for the sunrise together!”
“Don't forget your doll—she can go on the pillow.”
Meanwhile, Tillie carried a stack of folded towels to the guest room. “Closet space on the right,” she told Lucinda. “Hooks behind the door.”
“We're grateful,” Lucinda said. “All of it.”
“Family doesn't count gratitude,” Tillie said, straightening the quilt. “You’re as good as family. Just put your things where you like.”
A while after, the boys were in the yard with Jacob, the driver had pulled away, and quiet returned—the kind that sits on top of a house when it has more people in it than usual.
Tillie and Lucinda worked side by side in the kitchen. “Oh, I brought candy,” Lucinda said.
“Well, don’t be showing it to the children before supper.”
Lucinda laughed. “I won’t.”
They set the table for supper and caught up on each other’s news.
By the time the sun slid behind the trees, the table was crowded with everyone taking a seat at their long table. Jacob took one end, David the other. The four young boys were squeezed along one side, the girls on the other.
Silent prayer settled over the table. Then plates went round, hands reached and withdrew, bread disappeared. David answered Jacob's questions about the road and his new job. The children compared school notes and talked about their teachers while the adults had their own conversation.
“Ivy and I are going to stay up late and talk,” May said, beaming.
“Not too late,” Lucinda said.
“Just a little,” Ivy bargained.
When the last plate was cleared, the girls helped wash up while the men and the boys were in the other room.
Once all the washing up was done and they were all in the living room, Ivy hovered behind her mother’s chair with May at her elbow. “Can you tell the story now, Mamm?”
“What story?” May’s five year old brother asked.
“The story of when my mother and your mother lived in the same house,” Ivy said. “Right before May and I were born. When they didn't like each other.”
“You didn't like each other?” One of the other boys asked.
Lucinda and Tillie glanced at each other and smiled.
“Well,” Tillie said, pushing her teacup a little away from her. “I suppose now's as good a time as any. The boys haven’t heard this story before.”
Jacob leaned back, folding his hands. David did the same at the other end. The kitchen settled. The girls sat together, waiting.
Lucinda folded her hands on the table. “It began on the day two newly widowed young women turned up to the same house on the same day,” she said.
May's eyes went wide.
“That was you and Aunt Lucinda,” Ivy said.
The boys were quiet for once.
“You tell it this time,” Lucinda said to Tillie.
“I will, but you won't like the beginning.”
Everyone laughed.
Tillie cleared her throat. “It was a different time. We had nothing in common but our last names and our pride. And somehow, that all added up to a disaster.”
Lucinda looked around at the six children. “Everyone comfortable?”
“Yes,” they chorused.
