Ronda Rich

Syndicated Columnist

When I was in junior high, I discovered three beautiful sisters in high school. Connie, Sharon and Vicki.

Occasionally, I had a class on the high school hall and one of the beauties would float by while I, clinging to my books, stared, star struck.

Now, keep in mind that I was homely with freckles, unmanageable reddish, wavy hair and plumper than my girlfriends. Too, I wore clothes that Mama sewed in the bedroom, her sewing machine placed against the window so she could see nature and the few cars that took our rural back road.

Here’s a shout out to Mama, though she’s in heaven now: I look back at the clothes she created and realize that I was one of the best dressed girls in school because she always stayed on top of the latest trends. I wish I had clothes that beautiful now.

The Little sisters wore the most fashionable threads and everything about each sister from hair to shoes was perfect. Here, for the first time, I will reveal a secret: when the yearbook arrived, I would stare at their pictures and wish I could be that pretty.

“Their Mama was the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on,” my Mama said one day. “Every time I saw her, I couldn’t stop looking at her.”

Their parents and my parents had long known each other — as is the way of a small town. Their Uncle Paul was co-owner of a local funeral home and, until the day that he and his business partner, Pete, died, they declared that if it hadn’t been for my Daddy and his mechanic’s garage, they’d have gone out of business quickly.

“Ralph kept that old hearse of ours runnin’,” Paul often told me. “Every time we were ready to declare it’d given up the ghost, Ralph’d get it goin’ again.”

Since I didn’t have much in the ways of looks, Mama always reassured me that “Pretty is as pretty does. If you treat people pretty, they’ll see you as pretty.”

As too many people can attest, I have failed there, too.

Later in life, the fabled beauties and I became friends. Wonderful, loving friends. In every way possible, they have encouraged me and cheered on any smidgen of success I’ve had. They are still beautiful and, importantly, their Mama taught them: pretty is as pretty does.

For instance, we were at the funeral home for the viewing of a high school friend’s mother. Tink and I were sitting on a sofa, a few feet away from the casket, when gorgeous, blonde Connie, hunkering over a store bought cake, slipped in the door.

Without looking around, she said in a tiny voice, “I don’t know where to put this cake. I’m embarrassed to bring it in here.”

I immediately piped back with “What you really oughta be embarrassed about is that it’s store bought and not home made.”

Tink gasped and she whirled around, stunned. When she saw it was me, grinning, she threw back her glistening blonde locks and laughed joyously. Holding the cake in one hand, she threw her other arm around my neck and said, “Oh, I love you!”

Her Mama and sisters got a good laugh out of the story that night as Connie and I told them. After we left, I never thought about it again.

But then… I heard through the grapevine, a month later, that a few people who overheard the comment, had labeled me a villain. I was devastated.

Close to tears, I called Connie to apologize. “Girl, that’s the best laugh we’ve had in a long time. We’re still laughing about it,” she assured me. For several minutes, she uplifted me. “You have been a blessing to our family. You have no idea.”

Mama was right: Pretty is as pretty does.

Those Little family girls are still beautiful, inside and out.

Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of “Sapelo Island: A Stella Bankwell Mystery.” Visit www. rondarich.com to sign up for her free weekly newsletter.