A Wedding in Apple Grove by C H Admirand Page B

her cup, Meg mouthed to please pick up the phone, but it was her sister’s turn to roll her eyes. It had been their silent way of communicating whenever one of them was on the phone with their father, who would undoubtedly be telling them what to do, when, and how.
    Grace held up her hands and walked through the same door Caitlin had. Their office on Main Street was set up shotgun style with the office at the front and their tiny kitchen behind the door at the back. Passing through the kitchen there was another door leading to the nuts and bolts of the shop, their storage area, and the parking lot.
    Meg listened as her father continued to remind her of their family’s reputation in Apple Grove until Meg had a chance to tell him, “I’m sorry, Pop, I just can’t seem to help myself.”
    His sigh of acceptance was loud and low. “Why did the Lord decide to bless me with daughters? I could have had strong, strapping sons and handed the business your great-grandfather toiled to build with his own two hands over to someone who would appreciate what they’d been given.”
    Alone in the office, Meg waited a moment before speaking; she wanted to make sure her father was finished with his morning lecture. Ever since he’d retired six months ago, he called at the same time every morning, and she answered the phone the same way, every morning. It never failed to rile him or have her smiling when she went off to the first call of the day. “Now, Pop, you know we love you and have worked just as hard as any angel of a brother would.”
    As if he sensed that she needed it, Joseph Mulcahy soothed, “I know, Meggie, it’s my temper talking. A father couldn’t have asked for better than my three darling girls.”
    â€œI’ll be heading over to Miss Trudi’s today. Grace said that she called and left a message on our machine about the sump pump in her basement again.”
    â€œYou might need to replace the switch again; that half-horse motor should be good for another couple of years.”
    â€œBut, Pop, it’s the third switch this year.”
    â€œThose pumps are workhorses; they just can’t seem to build a switch that’ll last as long. Mark my words, there’s still life in that motor.”
    â€œYes, Pop. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” She always listened to her father. No one knew as well as he did how to keep things running long after a sane person would have given up. Joseph Mulcahy would magically coax just a bit more life out of whatever he was working on, whether it be an aging refrigerator or a finicky sump pump. He had passed on his gift to his daughters: Meg had inherited his way with plumbing, Caitlin his carpentry skills, and Grace his innate charm and good business sense.
    Together the sisters had been keeping the family business going, despite Grace’s daily grumbling that she was being wasted working in Apple Grove, Ohio, when she could have gone off to Columbus and landed a job as an executive assistant. Caitlin insisted that she really wanted to build things, not repair them, but at least Cait hadn’t talked about moving away. Meg loved every minute spent working in their town to rebuild, and when that wasn’t possible, replace, whatever the good citizens of Apple Grove needed to keep their lives moving forward.
    She had never doubted that she and her sisters would grow up and learn how to be handymen. Gender had nothing to do with it; they were Mulcahys, and in their small town, their name had always been associated with the family business their great-grandfather had built and kept going through good times and bad.
    They didn’t always receive payment in monetary form; there were a few customers who bartered whatever they could, and the Mulcahys always accepted trade in exchange for whatever repair work was needed. Meg’s personal favorite was Mrs. Winter’s home-baked cherry pie. She’d gladly