Christmas Cookie Mystery

by Naomi Miller

“Oh, jah. For sure, it will be a blessing if I can manage it.” Freida turned back to the customer area with a smile.

  Katie could not help but laugh at her freind's words. Freida had it exactly right. Mrs. Mueller would not be easily delayed. She had a very strict schedule that she kept—and she expected everyone to comply.

  Katie lined her tools up, tucked the instructions into the clip above her decorating table and went to work as quickly as possible, immensely grateful when she saw how simple the instructions were.

  Just when the clock in Mrs. Simpkins' office sounded the hour, Katie heard the bell over the front door clang as Freida unlocked and then opened it, admitting their most persistent and punctual customer.

  While she decorated, carefully spelling words with the thin line of frosting, Katie could vaguely hear Freida as she greeted Mrs. Mueller and mentioned the weather.

  It was a surprise indeed that her attempt at distraction was working, but Katie did not question the blessing—she just went with it, doing everything she could to hurry . . . while not rushing the design.

  Katie double-checked her spelling just as she heard Mrs. Mueller inquire about her cake. A moment later, Freida poked her head into the kitchen and gave Katie a quizzical expression.

  “Jah, it's done. Give me a moment to box it up. Danki, Freida.”

  Her only answer was another smile as Freida disappeared toward the front of the store again.

  Katie wasted no time settling the cake carefully back in the special order box it had sat in through the night, leaving the flap on the end open so that Mrs. Mueller could easily inspect it without destroying the design.

  Katie nearly stumbled when she heard Mrs. Mueller ask Freida about the store window. “Who did you get to paint the beautiful scenes on the front window?”

  Freida looked over at Katie as she rounded the corner, clearly uncertain of what to say. Katie did her best to distract Mrs. Mueller with the cake while she decided how to answer in the best possible way.

  But Katie didn't have to worry about how best to answer. Mrs. Mueller figured it out for herself after just one look at the cake Katie set down on the counter between them.

  “Katie, you painted the window scenes, didn't you dear?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Mueller, I did.”

  “You did a fine job, dear. It's wonderful. Mrs. Simpkins is blessed to have you working for her.”

  Katie felt a blush spreading across her cheeks and neck at the praise—and all she could do in return was nod.

  “You tell Mrs. Simpkins what I said now, you hear?

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll let her know”

  After choosing several loaves of bread, including two pumpkin and two zucchini, Mrs. Mueller left.

  Freida continued to wait on customers, and Katie returned to the kitchen.

  On the Sixth Day of Christmas . . .

  Gingerbread Cookies

  Ingredients:

  1/2 cup butter

  1/2 cup sugar

  1/2 cup brown sugar

  1/4 cup molasses

  1 large egg

  2 cups flour

  1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

  2 teaspoon ground ginger

  ¼ teaspoon ground cloves

  Instructions:

  1. Cream butter and brown sugar together

  2. Stir in molasses, then egg

  3. In separate bowl, mix flour with spices

  4. Stir in butter/sugar mix

  5. If mixture is too moist, add 1 tbsp or more flour

  6. Knead dough lightly, then chill for 40 minutes

  7. Shape dough using cookie cutter of your choice.

  8. Bake at 350° for 10-12 minutes

  — SEVEN —

  Mrs. Mueller was not the only person to corner Katie throughout the day about her artistic efforts. Nearly every customer who came into the Sweet Shop asked who was responsible for the exceptional . . . beautiful . . . amazing window scenes.

  It was mid-morning before the Sweet Shop emptied of customers . . . temporarily, at least.

  “Ach, it has been a verrickt morning.” Katie let out a breath as she dropped into one of the chairs in the customer area.

  “Perhaps the craziest—and busiest—day I can remember since I began working here.” Freida let out a laugh as she swept up a few crumbs from the free samples passed out to customers. “For sure and for certain, mostly because of that.” She swept a hand toward the front window.

  “Jah, and I had no idea it would draw such attention. How do you suppose everyone seems to know it was me who did it?” Katie wiped down the table in front of her, then stood and moved to the next table, carefully wiping it down.

  “Would you still have drawn it if you had known? I would have been too naerfich to do something so bold, especially if everyone knew I did it. What will your mamm and dat say? And the Bishop. . .” Freida stopped for a moment and leaned on the broom handle, looking intensely at Katie as she did.

  Katie started to answer her freind, but realized that she was not certain of the answer.

  “I. . . I don't know.”

  Freida nodded and went back to sweeping, but Katie stood there, thinking about her freind's question—and her own answer.

  Would I still have drawn it? Did I draw it to get attention? Ach, what would Dat say?

  Would Dat tell her she was being prideful and insist that she remove the scenes from the window?

  “Katie, I know what you are thinking.” Freida interrupted her thoughts. Katie realized she had been slowly wiping in the same circle over and over.

  Deliberately, she moved to the next table before answering her freind. “And what am I thinking, Freida?”

  “You are thinking the window scenes were not a gut idea. But you know, 'tis not all that different from the paintings Ida May makes and sells to the Englischers that come through town. Besides which, Mrs. Simpkins asked if you could do some Christmas decorating in the shop. It is not as if you drew it for yourself, jah?”

  Freida's words made sense—and she had the right of it.

  “Am I making too much of it?”

  Freida spoke again before Katie could say more. “Yes, you are for certain making too much of it, Katie.”

  “That is sweet of you to say, Freida, but how do I know that to be true?”

  “Simple. Because you usually stay in the kitchen as much as you can when we have customers. If you are not here to receive their praise, you know it is not about hochmut.”

  Katie thought about that for a moment. Did it make sense? Freida’s logic did make sense. Could it really be so simple?

  “Katie . . . is gut logic, jah?”

  “Jah, Freida, it is a wunderbaar gut logic. And that is just what I will do.” And since she had wiped down the last table, Katie went off to the kitchen with a smile.

  She felt like baking.

  Only three customers came into the Sweet Shop over the next two hours, but Katie remained in the kitchen, so she couldn’t hear well enough to know whether they made a comment on her window art—or not.

  She found herself singing quietly to herself as she moved around the kitchen, mixing up the usual treats. She even had time to get a head start on some of the orders their customers would be picking up over the following week as they prepared for the coming holidays.

  It was nearly eleven when Freida opened the kitchen door and popped her head through the opening.

  “Katie, Mr. O'Neal is here and he brought us lunch.”

  “Did we order lunch today?” Katie asked, even though she knew the answer was no. After all, Mamm had packed a plentiful lunch for her and Freida—probably enough for both girls to have lunch again the next day, as well.

  “He says he needs our help with something.”

  “Both of us?”

  “Jah, both of us.”

  Her curiosity piqued, Katie covered the dough she was working on and moved over to the sink to wash her hands.

  Then she followed Freida out to the customer area,
where Andrew O'Neal sat at one of their larger tables, surrounded by sandwiches, bags of assorted chips, soft drinks and several deserts Katie recognized as their own.

  She looked over at Freida, who shrugged and walked over to the table, pulled out a chair to sit down and looked back expectantly at Katie.

  “Katie, the window design, tis yours, aye?”

  Much too curious to be so easily distracted, Katie only nodded, as she moved over to the table and slowly sat down in the third chair.

  “An exceptional job that. Well done, Katie.”

  Katie was determined not to be swayed by Mr. O'Neal's flattery, well aware of his typical tactics by now. He wanted something—she was certain of it. All she could do now was figure out what.

  “Danki, Mr. O’Neal. What is this help you need from us?”

  “Katie, don't you think you should at least say danki to Mr. O'Neal for this wunderbaar meal before you start interrogating him?”

  “Nae, Freida, it's all right. Katie knows me only too well.” He laughed before going on. “Yes, dear friend. I am in need of your help. And quickly, before time runs out.”

  “I thought as much.” Katie selected a sandwich and placed it on her plate, along with some chips and one of her favorite treats.” After taking a bite, she turned her attention to Andrew. “Now, what is this all about?”

  “Ladies, I need help with selecting a gift for a “special” friend. I’ve thought about it for a while, thinking I could come up with something special, but Christmas is just a few days away—and I still have no idea of what to give this person.

  Katie and Freida both looked surprised—even shocked—at what Mr. O’Neal had said. Katie found her voice.

  "Are you kidding me! It's five days till Christmas and you haven't bought her a present yet!"

  “I know that! Don’t you think I know that?” Mr. O’Neal looked flustered for once. “I tell you, I have tried. I’ve went to more shops than I can care to think about . . . I’ve looked in catalogs and on the Internet. Nothing . . . there’s nothing suitable for someone special; at least, nothing I could give her.”

  “You’ve really tried? Honestly?”

  “Yes, I’ve really tried. Nothing seems good enough—or special enough—for such a special lady.”

  Freida looked thoughtful. “How about stationery or—“ she broke off for a moment. “Hey, I know. What are some of her hobbies? You could buy her some knitting needles . . . or yarn . . . or pattern books . . . or quilting squares. Well, you could—if you knew what her hobbies are.”

  “I have no idea what her hobbies are—or if she has any. It’s proved difficult just to get her to talk to me, except on a few rare occasions.”

  “Let me see what I can find out today and tomorrow. But Mr. O’Neal, you don’t have much time left.” Katie took another bite of her sandwich. “Why don’t we meet back here tomorrow—same time—and I’ll share whatever I’ve learned. But no matter, we’ll have to figure something out, or it’ll be too late.”

  Mr. O’Neal looked delighted at the turn of events. “Aye, that is a great idea. I’ll be back tomorrow—with lunch.”

  A moment later he added, with a grin, “And both of you can just stop this nonsense, calling me Mr. O’Neal. I’m Andrew—and ya both know it.”

  On the Seventh Day of Christmas . . .

  Holiday Snickerdoodles

  Ingredients:

  1 cup shortening

  2 eggs

  1 ½ cup sugar

  2 ¾ cup flour

  2 teaspoon cream of tartar

  1 teaspoon soda

  2 tablespoons colored sugar sprinkles

  1 teaspoon cinnamon

  Instructions:

  1. Mix together each colored sugar sprinkles and cinnamon

  2. Set aside for later

  3. Cream together shortening, eggs and sugar

  4. Add flour, cream of tartar and baking soda

  5. Roll mixture into 1-inch to 2-inch balls (depending on what size cookie you want)

  6. Roll each ball in a mixture of colored sugar sprinkles and cinnamon

  7. Bake at 350° for 10–12 minutes

  — EIGHT —

  Soon after their impromptu lunch was over, Mrs. Simpkins came in the back door of the bakery, bringing several bags with her. Katie noticed that she quickly stashed them in the closet—the same closet where Katie had found the paper bag that held three bottles of alcohol.

  When Mrs. Simpkins closed the closet door, Katie thought her boss looked a bit flustered, but otherwise seemed fine. She asked how many new orders had been placed, and if customers were picking up the orders as expected.

  Katie and Freida assured her that everything was going well, and that there were a great many more orders placed than expected, even for this time of the year.

  Freida also told her that everyone who had come into the bakery today had mentioned the beautiful, holiday scenes painted on the window—and how much pleasure it was bringing to everyone.

  When she could finally get a word in, Katie asked Mrs. Simpkins if she could leave early, to run an errand.

  Mrs. Simpkins gave her permission, so an hour before closing, Katie grabbed the basket with the lunch she had brought to work.

  Since Mr. O’Neal had brought their lunch today—and promised lunch again tomorrow, Katie decided to take the food to the Davis family.

  * * *

  Katie set down the basket her mamm had packed on the weathered, wood porch as she waited for someone to answer her knock.

  She looked around at the changes to everything; the house, the yard and the porch she stood on. Since her first visit to this little house, much work had been done.

  The boards under her feet had been replaced, re-sanded and repainted. The outer walls of the house had been sanded down and painted as well—and that alone gave the home a much-needed lift.

  She knew her bruders had helped some of the other youth from her community to do the repairs. Her mamm and their neighbors had pitched in to cook for the volunteers—and since Katie had been helping with that, she had not been to visit the Davis family recently—not since everything had been done.

  When the front door opened, it did not stick, and the young maedel who answered looked almost like a different person than the one Katie had met in July.

  “Oh, Katie. Hi.” Gwen was already pulling Katie inside; which forced Katie to interrupt her new freind so that she could turn and retrieve her basket.

  “Wait, Gwen. I need that basket.” She stepped back outside and lifted the basket from the porch where she had set it.

  “Katie, it is so good to see you!” And she rushed forward to envelop her in a hug.

  “But you didn't have to bring us anything. Your family has done so much for us already.”

  Katie waved away the maedel's objection. “Now, don't you tell me those bruders of yours will not enjoy this. Why, if they eat anywhere near as much as mine, this will disappear in no time.”

  “Well, you're right about how much those boys eat. But they haven't exactly been starving lately.” She laughed a little as she said it and turned to head in the direction Katie remembered seeing the kitchen.

  The change in Gwen was a relief to Katie. It was so gut to hear the young maedel laugh.

  She was so quiet and shy when I first met her. For sure and for certain this time has done her plenty of gut.

  Katie followed Gwen into the kitchen and was surprised to see the counters were nearly full of plates and platters filled with treats that looked simply appeditlich.

  There were cookies, pies, home-made breads, and a large plate covered with what looked like slices of several different types of cheese.

  That one must have been from one of our Englischer neighbors.

  She saw several casserole dishes; some of them were full and covered with foil or plastic wrap, while others were empty, but those were washed, and stacked neatly with other clean dishes. There was also nearly half of a ham sitting on the counter. It
was still wrapped, but there was a fog under the plastic; as if someone had just taken it out of the refrigerator.

  “Jah, I see what you mean.”

  Gwen turned with a mischievous smile on her face. “Between your neighbors and ours, we have certainly not been starving lately.” She laughed again and this time Katie joined her. With all that she had been worrying over lately, it was gut to laugh.

  Katie found that she felt less burdened when she and Gwen finally began to calm their laughter.

  “Well, now I don't know what to do with this lunch that Mamm packed.”

  “I am more than happy to take it. Even with all of this, it will not go to waste. I can promise you that.”

  “If you are sure.” Katie would certainly not want the wunderbaar meal Mamm had packed up to miss out on being enjoyed. And she did not feel even a little bothered by the idea of sharing with the Davis family. Mamm had packed the lunch to be shared—and shared it most certainly would be.

  “It will be a welcome addition to lunch. We have so many sweets, but hardly anyone thinks to bring more than that. I have made the boys eat ham for the last three meals just so they get something other than treats.”

  “I should warn you, there is a pie in here, too.” Katie laughed again as she said it—and after a second, so did Gwen.

  “Well, your mom knows how to pack a well-balanced lunch.”

  “Of course.”

  They both laughed again as Gwen opened the large basket and started pulling things out.

  Katie watched as the spread of items grew. Every time she was certain it must be the last thing, Gwen would pull another out.

  “My goodness, this just may feed us for two meals.”

  “Jah, I think that was Mamm's intention.”

  “Well, she nailed it. Wow! This is a lot of food.”

  “Jah, it certainly is. Mamm must have been thinking I would bring the extras here. You don't have to take everything out, you know.” Katie teased her.

  “I know I don't. I just figured this way, you can take the basket back with you. You won't have to wait for us to finish everything.”

  “Jah, that is gut thinking, Gwen. Danki.” After a second, she added, “Of course, it's not like I won't be seeing you in the next few days.”