The Sugar Creek Girls

By Judith Ward Daily

"Some of you might not have had the privilege to have lived in a small country town, but I did, and I remember it well. An unassuming air of dignity seems to hover like a billowy cloud over the humble community of Sugar Creek. As The Sugar Creek Girls embark on various tomfoolery missions, it brings them up close and personal to mortality. When

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Media Reviews
• Release date: Nov 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958091722

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The Sugar Creek Girls

Judith Ward Daily

Copyright © 2022 Judith Ward Daily.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author and publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023902718

ISBN: 978-1-958091-73-9 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-958091-74-6 (Hardcover Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-958091-72-2 (E-book Edition)

Some characters and events in this book are fictitious and products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Book Ordering Information

The Media Reviews

99 Wall Street #2870

New York, NY, 10005 USA

www.themediareviews.com

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Printed in the United States of America

Dedicated to the memory of

Lula Maurie Harlan

1907-1991

My mentor and friend

"All in all, it was a never-to-be-forgotten summer –

one of those summers which come seldom into any life,

but leave a rich heritage of beautiful memories in their going."

– L.M. Montgomery

Contents

Acknowledgment

The Adventures of The Sugar Creek Girls

Summer Vacation

Making Amends

A Decisive Moment…

Screams in the Night

The River Dwellers

An Act of Kindness

The Bohemian Woman

Calvin

The 4th of July

Threadway’s Five & Dime

The End of Summer

Twenty-four Years Later

Cal Harrington

Closure

Author Biography

Acknowledgment

A special thank you to my editor, Tammy Covey, for all of the work she’s done on this book, from manuscripts to each photo and beyond. I’m so thankful to have you on board with me. Without you, this book’s interior would still be laying on a table somewhere. You’ve helped to make my writing visible so others can enjoy this spirited and humorous adventure of The Sugar Creek Girls.

To my husband and encourager Randy Daily, for his support and believing in me all of these years.

Many thanks to Stina Krieger for her great photography skills in catching the comradery and fun that the girls experienced during photo shoot.

I would also like to thank The Media Reviews, who had a part in making my dream come true. Through their guidance, I’ve learned it takes much more than the author’s story to get to the publishing stage of a book. The team I worked with understood me when I didn’t understand myself. They were there every day encouraging me, teaching me and I am grateful for each of you. Thank you for your patience with me.

To everything there is a season,

And a time to every purpose

Under the sun.

Ecclesiastes 3:1

When I was growing up, Father set aside each Friday night as family night. He was a fanatic for puzzles. I’m not talking about those simple five hundred or the one-thousand-piece ones. ‘No. No.’ He’d say, ‘There’s no challenge to be sought in small things. And that’s what’s missing in young people today. They do not know how to rise to the challenges of life.’ He spoke those words of wisdom in a booming authoritative voice like Mister Orson Wells. I decided right then it would be to my advantage to listen to my father. Still, I’d get antsy at times and want to quit, but he’d remind me that each tiny piece was a part of the whole picture. Back then, my inquisitive mind couldn’t quite grasp his teachings, after all I was just a kid staring at thousands of meaningless objects.

The things and purposes which God still allows into each season of my life; I now know have been placed there to help me. God alone is meant to see the whole picture. I must search for it… one tiny piece at a time.

I was a child full of life—extremely vocal—not a shy bone in my body, and an imagination that ran at full throttle—according to my mother. My physical features of curly, coppery-red hair and a mass of freckles gave the boys permission to tease, but I didn’t care. I was smarter than they were, and I could out-think them. The whims of my fantasy kept me living on the edge of excitement.

In the South, where I grew up, life was adventurous for an inquisitive youngster such as I was, but not without troubles, mostly self-inflicted, I might add. There were times when I felt my so-called given roots seemed to be stuck in the mud. But the continual turning of events kept me going. Today, when I think of those long-ago days, I laugh.

No matter where I’ve traveled, the different countries I’ve seen, the museums, operas and theatrical amusements, nothing has been as memorable or as valued as the experiences I endured in my childhood. They have guided me well.

Even now, when I find myself in a tough situation and I want to give up, the faithful words of my father, which were meant to be somewhere between encouragement and discipline, will find their way to my ears and I can still hear him say, ‘focus’.

The inhabitants of the community where I lived—the simplicities and complications of life—the culmination of my father’s puzzle-piece-analogy, all of it, continues to amaze me.

Many things still seem wrong, or at times chaotic, as I amble along my journey’s path. Yet, somehow, they seem to find a way to fit into an all-embracing plan for my good. The only time I’m fooled by the way things arise is when I’m concentrating on a tiny piece of an extremely large picture. I admit, it is then that I’m limited, and if not careful I become confused with the puzzling turn of events. I’m thankful that God is limitless, and He is leading me to hope and trust in Him. George Iles said: ‘Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark’. I’ve grown up reaching out to God, knowing that it was His hand that has guided me.

Years have passed, but I continue to live one piece at a time…still searching, still waiting to see the whole picture.

Don’t be discouraged by unanswered prayers.

Time is our trainer teaching us to trust God.

-Ms. Louisa Gertrude

The Adventures of The Sugar Creek Girls

On my twelfth birthday, Mama gave me a special gift. A diary. She said with every life there’s a story to tell, and I should tell mine. On the first page of the diary, she wrote:

To my beautiful red-haired daughter,

Always remember and bear in mind,

A dear true friend is hard to find.

When you find one that is true,

Trade not the old one for a new.

The Adventures of The Sugar Creek Girls

Summer: 1957

Dear Diary,

There are a lot of communities Cross Creek and I live in a small one called Sugar Creek. Besides ours, there’s Hog-Eye, Tater Hill, Shiners Ridge, Riley Springs, Scruff and Scruggs Valley, Wabaseeka Scatters, and finally Hockers Holler. I believe that’s all of them. Now if you put them all in a row and start with Sugar Creek and end with Hockers Holler, it’d only be about an eight-mile stretch. Even though we live in different communities, we’re all Cross-Creekers.

In order to get to the Cross Creek communities, which are located about two miles west of Pine Fall, you turn onto a dirt road. There’s a new sign at the edge of the road that reads: Cross Creek this way . The first sign once read: JOE JASPER LANE; rightly named for the first settler at Cross Creek. About a month ago, the Reverend Johnson, and five upstanding ladies from the Presbyterian Church in Taylor County, were on their way to speak to the Riley Springs Presbyterian Women’s Guild. They were following the directions given by Reverend Smathers, but when it came time to turn onto Joe Jasper Lane, they found that the sign read differently. Obviously altered. Someone had cleverly removed the J and the PER from the name JASPER, and then added an S so that it read… well, by now I suppose the Reverend and his ladies figured it out as well as everyone in Pine Fall. If I were guessing, I’d have to guess it was the Hazard twins who were behind that little sinister prank. They’re well known around the communities for their tomfoolery ways. But they’re a story for another day.

Like I was saying, for us locals, there’s no need for a sign at all seeing as how everyone around here knows where to go. However, for those looking to go Cross Creek for the first time, we simply tell them to look on the left for a big silo with a really big beer bottle painted on it.

Years ago, the Rhinelander Beer Company had their logo painted on a silo for Jib Weaver’s daddy; partly for advertisement, partly for Mr. Weaver, as he was a big Rhinelander beer drinker. One time he went to the Louisville beer plant just to have a look around, and while he was there, he talked to the big man in charge and told him how much he loved their beer and he wanted to do something for the company. When Mr. Weaver returned home, he sowed two hundred acres of barley grass; said it was his contribution to the beer industry. Down near the bottom of the silo painted in big red letters it says:

THIS SILO IS DEDICATED TO:

Jibulon Weaver

Arkansas’ Largest Barley Hops Producer

For His Outstanding Excellence and Dedication

To Rhineland Beer Company

Five Rivers, Wisconsin

Established 1845

Sorry about that. I got a little off the subject with some Pine Fall history. Like I was saying, once you see the silo, turn off the highway, go about a mile till you come to the Pine Fall River, or as we call it: The Creek. Now there’s two ways to get across the creek. One is to go down the river a little way until you come to the narrows. It’s really shallow there and whether you’re in a wagon, on horseback, or just walking, you can easily get to the other side. But, if you’re in a car or truck, you’re going to have to drive on the wooden runners that stretch across the old iron bridge. Once you’ve done it a few times it’s easy. Just make sure both front tires line up with the runners so you don’t fall into the creek. From time to time, we’ve had to get Jim Bo Adair’s big truck with the wench on it to crank a truck or two out of the water. Even though it’s really old, and rattles like the devil when you drive over it, Daddy says it’s still safe and sound. It’s also the quicker way to cross, and almost everyone owns a car or a truck now days, except Henry Wooster and his boys, Gator and Joe Bob. They ride horses everywhere they go; and Mrs. Wooster, well, she never goes anywhere. So, like I was saying; whenever I’m asked where I live, I just say: Cross Creek at Sugar Creek.

One thing I can say for sure is this, living here has certainly been interesting in the twelve, almost thirteen, years since I was born. I guess you could say that the people who live here are different. Some are even from foreign countries. Since before WWI, their mamas and daddies and grandmas and grandpas came across the ocean from places like Germany, Yugoslavia, Italy, Poland, and some other places I ain’t never heard of. Even though they’ve lived in different countries and some still talk in their own languages, they seem to fit right in with the rest of us Southerners.

Take Miss Fiona for example. She’s from Hungry and she can tell your future. She wears colorful long-flowing skirts and flashy bright-colored blouses. She also wears lots and lots of jewelry, mostly bracelets and big earrings. I particularly like her gold belt with all the dangly chains and charms attached. Her hair’s as black as a raven’s. Her eyes are as green as summer ivy and her face is wrinkle-free. Mama says Miss Fiona is a beautiful woman.

I agree.

Oh, and by the way, Mama informed me that Miss Fiona is from Hungary not Hungry. And quite honestly, that’s so much better than being from a place whose name would have been akin to an empty belly!

Mama also says that no one can tell the future but God, and even then, He keeps it to himself. Foreign people, like Miss Fiona, fascinate me, and I visit them as often as Mama lets me. I’m not supposed to be a pest…that’s something else Mama says.

I simply enjoy observing people no matter where they come from. Mama says that I’m what you’d call a people-person. For one thing, she says I ain’t never met a stranger, and I guess she’s right. I’ll talk to anyone who’ll listen. I reckon you’ve already guessed that. I’m always asking questions and sometimes I get a lot of peculiar answers. Maybe that’s why I find people so interesting. I ain’t afraid to open my mouth and talk, that’s for sure. I know that I’m full of questions, but the way I see it, the only way to learn is to ask. I believe that’s in the Bible … somewhere. Sometimes, I can tell just by the way a person walks if they’re happy, sad, lazy, or up to something. But there are times when Mama says that I’m looking too long, and it may appear that I’m staring. She also says that when I ask too many questions that’s just being plain nosey. It ain’t polite, she tells me.

Once I asked Daddy to describe me. He thought for a moment and then said: You’re too busy with things that aren’t any of your business. You’re stubborn, sassy, and opinionated like all southern females. Then he winked and said, I wouldn’t want you any other way.

Not my thoughts exactly, but he was honest. However, I’m not entirely to blame, it’s just who I am. I also have curly red hair, green eyes, and a ton of freckles! But that ain’t my fault either…that’s Gods. I know I shouldn’t complain about my looks. After all, God made me in His image. I think that’s in the Bible too—somewhere. Though I just can’t seem to picture God with curly red hair and lots of freckles. Not even with my imagination, which Mama says runs at full throttle most of the time.

She says these things are the downfalls in my character, and I need to work on getting them fixed. I suppose I need to work on lots of things. For example: the word ain’t. Mama says if I’m going be a writer, and that’s what I want to be, then I need to quit saying ain’t. Now I ain’t, I mean I’m not, one to argue with my mama, but gee whiskers it’s going to be hard to quit saying ain’t. I guess it’s my one downfall.

Oh, and by the way, Mama says that if I’m going to quote the Bible, I should quote chapter and verse. And though I may be full of questions, she said, it doesn’t give me the right to continually ask. However, James 4:2 says, "You have not because you ask not." I think that’s nearly the same.

Sugar Creek is the largest of the cross creek communities. We’re like one big family. We’ve had our exhilarating moments, that’s for sure, but as Granny Lucas would say, ‘the highs ain’t without the lows’. And we’ve had our share of both. For instance: there were many soldiers who came home after fighting in the war overseas. Some were in Germany, some in France, and some were in the Philippines. Daddy says that our boys were in many places across the ocean. Even though the war is over, there’s still a lot of sadness because of it. There were soldiers who came home without legs or arms; some didn’t come home at all.

*    *    *

Now about Granny Lucas, who, by the way, says that Miss Fiona is Bohemian. I’m not sure what that is, but since I’m trying to expand my vocabulary, I’ll look it up in the New Webster Dictionary. Mama says that’s the place to go when you don’t know the meaning of a word. So now, when I learn a new word, I can say it with boldness because I can back it up with the Webster.

Anyway, like I was saying, according to anyone who’s ever lived around these parts of the county, Granny is one of the oldest and wisest women around. Her people are French. They were hunters and explorers and some of the first families to settle in the Pine Fall Valley in the 1600s. After the Civil War, several families began to settle upon the mountain farming the flat areas. Generations of Colbert’s have continued to live there. Granny’s full name is Josette Colbert (pronounced cole-bear) Lucas, but everyone calls her Granny, and that’s how she likes it. Granny and Miss Louiza Gertrude Ellis are my two favorite old friends. I’ll tell you more about them later on.

*    *    *

My Sugar Creek Friends…

Summertime…no more homework—no bedtime curfews—just summer days of nothing but fun. Swimming, hiking, riding bikes, and playing in the barn loft are just some of the things I’ll be doing with my friends this summer.

Let me tell you about them. They’re four of the best friends a girl could have, and we stick together, because that’s what friends do. We call ourselves, The Sugar Creek Girls:

I’ll start with Lattie McKibben:

She got her name from her grandma and her great grandma, so now she’s the third generation whose name is Lattie. Her father’s family came to America from Scotland. Lattie has pretty blonde hair, so blonde that the boys call her towhead. Her eyes are pale blue like the color of the sky on a cloudless day. She has just a few freckles on her face. They start on her cheekbone and go all the way across her nose to her other cheek, kind of like brown river rocks crossing over a stream of water. So far no one teases her about them. Lattie was born with one leg shorter than the other. When she was only a year old, her parents took her to the big hospital in Little Rock for a special operation, but the doctor that operated on her leg messed it up, so now it’s sort of crooked and she walks with a limp. Her daddy’s still mad about it. Mama says he’s mad because the doctor ruined his little girl, and he’s mad at God too,