by Sarah Price
“OH!” IT CAME OUT LIKE A SMALL GASP,
A TINY PUFF OF AIR.
SHE FELT HER KNEES WEAKEN
AS HIS DARK EYES MET HERS.
“IT’S YOU.”
She thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch, and, for the briefest of seconds, his eyes narrowed.
“Ja, it’s me,” he muttered in a low voice. As he stood on the other side of the counter, he placed his hands on the edge. “And I take it that’s you.”
Was he teasing her? Myrna blinked, trying to determine whether he was being sarcastic or playful. Nothing about his expression indicated either. “May . . . may I help you with something then?”
“I’ve come for some supplies, ja,” he said at last, reaching into his pocket for a folded piece of paper. “But before you help me with those, I have something I need to say.”
She swallowed.
He leveled his gaze at her. “It’s kind of you to step in to help me with my kinner. It’s an unfortunate situation for all of us.”
Unfortunate situation. What a strange choice of words, she thought. She wondered what he meant by that. Was he referring to his sister-in-law leaving, she herself helping out, or the matter of his wife dying in the first place? Perhaps a bit of all three, she decided.
“The kinner have been through a lot,” he continued, his voice softening. “Some of it preventable. But painful. Grief no parent wants their little ones to experience.”
The torn expression on his face showed evidence of his enormous compassion toward others. Myrna felt her heart break for this man. Surely God had better plans for him, she thought, to bring joy back into his life.
Also by Sarah Price
Belle: An Amish Retelling of Beauty and the Beast
Ella: An Amish Retelling of Cinderella
Sadie: An Amish Retelling of Snow White
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
The Amish Cookie Club
SARAH
PRICE
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Recipes
Teaser chapter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2019 by Price Productions, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4201-4917-3
ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4920-3 (eBook)
ISBN-10: 1-4201-4920-2 (eBook)
Chapter One
The smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls always reminded Edna Esh of her mother.
Lifting the pan toward her face, Edna shut her eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the warm steam that brushed against her cheeks as she savored the scent of freshly ground cinnamon.
In the silence of the moment, she thought back to the days of her youth. Saturdays. Those were the mornings her mother baked cinnamon rolls at her father’s farm outside of Seyberts, Indiana. Farm life was always busy, but, even though all the children were home for the day, Saturday mornings were less chaotic for her mother. No school lunches to prepare, no faces to wash, no children to hurry off to school. With her brood filling the house with laughter, Edna’s mother was always in her glory. Back then, her gift to her children was those gloriously wonderful cinnamon rolls which began every weekend like a tasty note of love.
“I’ll never understand you.” The teasing voice of her husband interrupted the moment. “Baking sweets before your friends visit so you can bake more sweets!”
Opening her eyes, Edna smiled at Elmer. For almost thirty years, he’d been her husband, partner, and—most importantly—her best friend. She watched as he stood in the doorway, kicking off his work boots—one, two . . . each landing with a loud clomp on the mudroom floor—before entering the kitchen. He didn’t seem to notice the clumps of dirt which fell from the soles. Sighing, Edna made a mental note to sweep the floor before her friends arrived.
He had already removed his hat, which had left his salt-and-pepper hair pressed flat against his head. “Seems you have those gals over more for visiting than for baking!” he teased.
“Oh now, Elmer!” Despite the truth to his statement, Edna protested. “You know I like to welcome the girls with something special to nibble on during their visit.”
Elmer shuffled his stockinged feet across the floor and peered into the pan, careful to keep his long beard from touching the baked goods. Like his wife, he, too, breathed in the aroma. “Mmm!” Teasingly, he reached a finger toward the pan. “How about I sample one?”
But Edna was quicker than he was. After twenty-nine years of marriage, she’d anticipated his attempt to taste the frosting on one of the rolls. She swooped in and shifted the pan from his grasp. “I do believe we were both standing in the same room when the doctor told you no sweets, Elmer Esh!” she said as she set it onto a rack near the stove to cool.
“Oh, pssh!” He waved his hand dismissively at her. “What do doctors know about anything anyway?”
Edna laughed, her dark, almond-shaped eyes crinkling into half-moons. She couldn’t help but look at her husband with tenderness. How hard it must be for him to give up sweets! But the doctor’s orders were quite clear: avoid sugar. Perhaps even worse than giving up desserts and treats was that Elmer had been forced to give up sugar in his coffee. While Edna didn’t mind drinking her coffee black, Elmer fussed about that almost as much as he fussed about giving up cookies and pies.
“Well, I sure do think Dr. Graham knows a spell more than you do about your heart!”
Elmer scowled. “Bah!”
“Now don’t you ‘bah’ me,” she scolde
d playfully.
He turned to the sink and began to wash his hands. “So what’re you girls making today anyway?”
She was surprised that he asked that question. Whenever her friends Mary Ropp, Wilma Schwartz, and Verna Bontrager came over, they always baked the same thing. “Why, cookies, of course!”
Twice a month, the four women gathered to bake different types of cookies for the fellowship meal that followed the Sunday worship service. They had started the tradition when Wilma’s twins, Rachel and Ella Mae, turned sixteen and began their rumschpringe. Wilma had taken quite a turn, falling into a blue mood without her youngest daughters spending their free time at home. An empty house began evolving into an empty heart.
The truth was that none of them had little ones at home anymore. The realization that this phase of motherhood had ended and a new one had begun distressed all of them, but none more so than Wilma.
It was Edna who came up with the idea to meet on the Fridays before church Sundays. She’d sat down, written each of her three best friends a letter and detailed her idea for gathering twice a month to bake cookies. After all, she had written, they needed each other for support, and what better way to provide that than meeting on a regular basis? Besides, who didn’t love cookies?
And there was no better way to give each other support than to bake together. They would fill cookie sheet after cookie sheet with freshly made dough—usually sugar or oatmeal cookies but sometimes they’d choose another equally delicious recipe—and bundle them up in storage containers to bring to their respective worship services.
All three of the women readily agreed with Edna’s plan. After all, it was a great reason not only to spend time together, but to support each other as well.
Elmer and Edna lived on an old farm that was farther from town, while the other three women lived closer to Shipshewana. Only Verna and Mary lived in the same church district, so the four of them rarely saw one another except for these two precious Fridays each month.
“No sense in trying to talk you into making those oatmeal cookies, I reckon?”
Edna laughed at her husband. “Nee, Elmer. You know that the little ones always ask for sugar cookies. It’s expected, I suppose.”
“Woe to the kinner who prefer oatmeal cookies to sugar cookies!” Elmer groaned. “Well then, I best be making myself scarce then. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of you womenfolk.” He dried his hands on a dish towel, then draped it over the sink. “You need anything from town?”
“Ja, I do!” Edna scurried over to the breakfront and opened a drawer. “Annie’s supposed to be finished with that quilt back she’s piecing for me.”
Elmer raised an eyebrow. “Another quilt? Land’s sake, Edna. You have the energy of ten men.”
She ignored the compliment. “I’m making this one for Jacob and Mary’s baby. Might you stop by Jennifer’s shop and see if Annie dropped it off? If so, give Jennifer this envelope and bring home the package.” She didn’t wait for his response as she handed him a plain white envelope. “And don’t lose that! It’s cash.”
Elmer frowned. “One time, Edna. Just one time. Will you ever let me live that down?”
She smiled and leaned over, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Never.”
“That’s what I thought.” He slid the envelope into his back pocket and then patted it as if to reassure his wife that it was secure. “Safe and sound.”
Edna watched as he crossed the room and disappeared into the bedroom. She suspected he was going to change his shirt, which was dirty from tending to the livestock that morning.
She worried about him. He was looking older and more tired as of late. Edna knew that he worked far too hard for far too little. It was increasingly difficult to make ends meet on the farm. Why, her cousin Norma’s husband had recently given up his dairy herd because there just wasn’t any money in it anymore. But Elmer insisted on continuing to raise cows, just like his father and grandfather and great-grandfather before him.
To make ends meet, Edna cooked for Englische tourists during the busy seasons—usually from May until October. Over the winter, she took a break and focused on making quilts. After all, when the weather changed, the tourists weren’t as plentiful as during the warmer months.
Still, the lack of that extra income in the wintertime meant Elmer had to work even harder. Despite enjoying her winter reprieve, Edna was glad that springtime had returned and, beginning in mid-May, she’d start hosting Englische meals again in her farmhouse on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays.
Living on a farm was always a struggle.
While Edna knew that they would be all right, she wasn’t quite so certain that their eldest son, John, would fare the same.
With three sons, and no daughters, the farm was destined to pass down to a fifth generation of Esh boys. However, only John expressed any interest in farming, even though he worked part-time at the auction house in Shipshewana. The two younger boys, Jonas and Jeremiah, weren’t settled into careers yet, although Jonas appeared to favor construction. They much preferred hanging out with their friends and traveling to different places—camping or hunting being their favorite things to do. Neither of them had yet to take his kneeling vow, either.
It was a great cause of concern for both Edna and Elmer.
The bedroom door opened, and Elmer stepped out. He wore a clean light blue shirt, and his hair was freshly combed.
“Still got my envelope?” she asked, half joking.
Elmer patted his back pocket for a second time. “Sure do.”
“Send my best to Jennifer, and if you see John in town, remind him that he’s to stop at Yoders’ for some cheese. I need it for Sunday. I promised to make my cup cheese for the fellowship meal.”
“Quilt. Cheese. Got it.” He slipped on his boots, not bothering to tie them, and grabbed his hat. “Reckon I’ll be home about four, so you’ve plenty of time to enjoy your visit with the girls.”
She gave him a warm smile. Some husbands might grumble about having women take over the kitchen twice a month to meet with friends, but not Elmer. He’d always been kind and considerate like that. Perhaps it was because he grew up with five sisters. It was the only regret that Edna ever had: not having a daughter. But God had chosen for her to be a mother of sons, and she wasn’t about to question His plan.
A few minutes later, she heard the horse and buggy as it rolled down the gravel driveway toward the main road. With the house empty again and the cinnamon rolls cooling, Edna took a quick look around to make certain everything was just so. It wouldn’t do to have even one thing out of place. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to think her house was unkempt.
* * *
It was just after twelve thirty when the black buggy rolled into the driveway. Hearing the wheels rumbling on the gravel, Edna felt that familiar surge of joy. She hurried to the window and peered outside, smiling when she saw the horse stop by the barn.
As usual, Verna had driven, stopping to pick up Mary first and then Wilma. And, as usual, the first woman to emerge from the buggy was Wilma. Her dark green dress still had flour marks on the sides, probably from baking fresh bread for her family that morning. Her white prayer kapp covered her graying hair, but a few strands had sprung free and poked out from the back of the stiff white head covering.
Quickly, Edna hurried through the kitchen door and onto the porch, eagerly waiting to greet her friends.
“Wilkum! And hurry! The cinnamon rolls are still warm from this morning!”
Wilma didn’t wait for Verna or Mary. She hurried up the walkway toward Edna. “Cinnamon buns? Why, I should’ve known better than to have a slice of pie after my noon meal!” With the other two ladies out of earshot, she leaned over and whispered, “Prepare yourself. It’s going to be another one of those afternoons.”
Edna’s eyes widened and she immediately looked over Wilma’s shoulders. “Verna?”
“Ja,” was the whispered answer.
“Oh help.”
“And this time it’s a doozy.”
Edna took a deep breath. If she had started the regular baking gatherings for support when Wilma was going through her blue spell, they had all maintained it for Verna’s sanity.
There was no more time for whispered exchanges as both Verna and Mary headed up the walkway, too close for Edna and Wilma to risk further discussion of the matter.
It always struck Edna how similar Verna and Mary looked. Today was no exception. If ever there were two long-lost twins, Verna and Mary were surely they. Of course, Mary was a year younger than Verna and was a second cousin to her rather than a sister. But they shared a similar petite stature and dark brown hair that seemed to defy aging, for neither one had any gray hairs yet.
As she neared the porch, Mary pushed her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. “Not a day too soon, let me tell you. I was counting the hours until Friday,” she said, “starting on Tuesday!”
Edna glanced at Wilma, who merely shrugged.
Verna caught her breath, a little noise escaping her pursed lips. “Oh, Mary, I never even thought to ask how Bethany’s doing. Why! I was so wrapped up in my Myrna’s latest troubles that I neglected to inquire about yours!”
“Well, I reckon you’ve got your hands full with that fiery redheaded dochder of yours,” Mary replied. “Can’t say I blame you for fretting over her.”
The downcast expression on Verna’s face spoke of her disappointment in her daughter. “That’s no excuse.”
Edna knew that she needed to take swift control of the situation or they’d have Verna or Mary—or mayhaps even both!—in tears. Between Verna’s constant need for approval and Mary’s worrying, it wasn’t unusual for someone to wind up crying.
“Kum now. Let’s sit inside. I’ve a fresh pot of coffee brewing. We can discuss what’s happened once we’ve a hot cup to dunk our cinnamon buns in!”
