“Did you just do my morning chores?” I asked.
“Knock ’em out before breakfast is what your grandpa used to say.” She grinned. “Milking’s done, and I’ve got more eggs if you need them, Ronald.”
“I could use a couple,” he said, and turned to me. “Scrambled, or fried?”
“Scrambled, please.” I sat down at the table and did a mental survey of my Christmas gift situation. I had a tea cozy for Quinn, an unfinished scarf for my mother . . . and nothing for my dad, Molly, or Tobias.
“I was looking around the place the last few days. What happened to the clump of irises that used to be near the front door?” my mother asked.
“That’s what I meant to do!” I said. “There are a whole bunch of irises by the old homestead behind Krystal Jenkins’ house. I asked Mary Jane when she stopped by the hospital, and she told me I could go dig some up.”
“I’ll bet if we get them in now, they’ll bloom this spring.”
“And I could give a few as gifts,” I said. It might not be fancy, but it was in my budget—and if I added some homemade soaps and some jams, it would make a nice basket.
“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?” she asked.
“Let’s finish breakfast and head out,” I said. “I haven’t tried out the new wheels yet anyway. Maybe we can finish our shopping in town.”
“The market’s over,” my mother reminded me.
“I know, but there are always some cute things at Fannie’s Antiques,” I said.
“Sounds like a plan,” my mother said as my dad cracked eggs in the pan.
It was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas, I thought as the scent of cooking eggs filled the warm kitchen.
Despite the festive beginning to the day—and the luxury of driving a new truck—I felt a pang of sadness as my mother and I drove past Krystal’s burned-out house.
“Poor thing,” I said.
“I’m glad the person who did it got caught,” my mother said.
I parked just out of sight of the partially blackened shell, and the two of us got out and walked over to the stone foundation.
“Who’s been digging?” my mother asked.
“Probably the same person who was digging down on my land,” I said as we returned to the truck and retrieved two shovels from the bed. “Buster Jenkins is my guess.”
“Isn’t he the one who tried to pass off counterfeit coins the other day?”
“The same one,” I said, handing her a shovel. “He was Krystal’s uncle,” I told her as we approached the clump of gray-green irises by the remains of the foundation. “See that oak over there with the weird symbol in the bark?” I pointed to a tree about ten feet from the house.
“What about it?”
“See the holes all around the bottom? I’m guessing he thought that was a clue. The story is that it was buried by a tree marked by a fleur-de-lis.”
“Well, I don’t see any markings,” my mother said.
“It was a long time ago. Who knows?”
We turned our attention from the oak and looked at the broken stone foundation. “Wow,” my mother said. “When was this house built?”
“I have no idea. Late 1800s, maybe? It could be earlier, even; I have no idea.”
“These irises must have been here ever since,” my mother said. “These plants are probably older than your grandmother would be . . . isn’t that weird?”
At the mention of Grandma Vogel, I thought again of the phone—and that whiff of lavender. “I wonder if whoever lived here brought them from wherever they came from?”
“They might be from Germany or Czechoslovakia, I suppose.”
“I think we should leave some of them here, don’t you?” she asked.
“We should probably divide them, though, so they have a bit more space.”
“I think you’re right,” she said. “I’ll go from this end if you’ll take that end,” she said, positioning herself at the far end of the clump.
Together, we dug, being careful not to cut through the rhizomes—which was challenging, because the plants were very dense—and separated the plants by hand.
“We’ll have enough for every house in Buttercup,” my mother said as I gently lined up the irises I had dug up and picked up my spade again. “Do you mind if I take some with me?”
“I hope you will,” I said. “I wonder what color they’ll be?”
“It’ll be something to look forward to,” my mother said just as my spade hit something hard. “What’s that?”
“A rock, I’m guessing.” I knelt down and used a trowel to clear the dirt away. It didn’t look like a rock.
“That looks like a jar, Lucy,” my mother said as she peered into the hole.
“Maybe someone was making sauerkraut and forgot,” I joked as we cleared the dirt away from around it. Together, we levered it out of the hole.
It wasn’t sauerkraut.
“Is that what I think it is?” my mother asked as we gaped at the dirty jar. I looked at the irises. “Fleur-de-lis,” I realized, was another word for “iris.” That’s how William had marked the treasure: not with a carving, but with flowers.
“I think we found Buster Jenkins’ treasure,” I said as the gold coins gleamed dully through dirt-caked, clouded glass.
“These are the real deal!” Fannie said two hours later as my mother, Mary Jane, and I stood at the counter in her store.
“How old are they?” I asked.
“They’re not Confederate gold, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I didn’t think so.” I turned to Mary Jane. “Remember that story you told me about the man who buried his gold under a tree and marked it with a fleur-de-lis? Buster was looking for a carving, but it turns out the man meant he marked it by planting irises.” I thought about it for a moment. “That’s what Teena meant when she told me to look under the flowers!”
“Well,” Mary Jane said, “maybe this gold didn’t launch William and Violette’s life together, but I bet we can use it to set a few lives right around here. How much do you think this is worth?” she asked Fannie.
“I’ll have to research it, but I’d guess you’re looking at a hundred thousand dollars, maybe more.”
“A hundred thousand?” I asked, letting out a low whistle. “Really?”
“Well then,” said Mary Jane. “That will go a long way toward fixing things.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She looked at Fannie. “Officially, this belongs to the property owner, right?”
“From what I understand, yes, it does.”
“Well then, it’s mine to do with as I please, right?”
“That’s the general idea.”
“I think we should split it three ways,” Mary Jane said. “A third to you, Lucy, as a finder’s fee. A third to the town—that should take care of Bessie Mae’s house, and put a new roof on the town hall besides. I’ll take a third and salt it away for my grandkids’ college education.”
“A third as a finder’s fee? That’s way too much,” I said.
She gave me a look. “I know how hard it is to start a farm from scratch. Take half to pay down your mortgage, and put the rest in a savings account for the lean years.”
“I’m still not sure I can accept it,” I said. “It’s not mine. It belongs to you.”
“Your grandmother wanted you to find it,” Mary Jane said. “That’s why Teena was telling you to look under the flowers. It’s what she would have wanted.”
“I feel guilty taking it,” I said. “Maybe we can use some of it to get Brandi some help,” I said, feeling a pang for the young woman who had died at the hands of one of her fellow parishioners. “That’s what Krystal would have wanted.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Mary Jane said, and grinned at me. “I’ll pitch in, too. Merry Christmas.”
“It certainly is now,” my mother said, beaming.
By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, I had something for
everyone, and my heart was full as we drove to the Brethren Church for the candlelit service.
The Kramers were just walking in as we arrived; Molly broke away from her family and ran over to me, her heels clopping on the pavement. “You are the best friend ever,” she said. “I hope you and your parents are still planning to come to Christmas dinner with us. Tobias said yes, too.”
“We’d love to,” I said. “I’ll bring a pie. How’s Brittany?”
“Her teachers are letting her make up everything over the break. I think she’s back on track.”
“Thank goodness,” I said. “I’m so glad.”
“Tobias is waiting for you,” she said. “He saved a pew on the right side.”
“Terrific,” I said, smiling.
“I heard Mindy’s gone back to Houston. And that Pastor Matheson’s empire came crashing down.”
“I just hope the pensioners get their money back,” I said.
“Speaking of money, it looks like Krystal still had that cashier’s check in her account. She had a handwritten will, too: once her bills are paid off, everything else goes to put her sister into rehab. Brandi’s staying with us now; she seems to be doing better now that she can talk to Brittany about her sister.” She pointed to where Brandi and Brittany were heading into the church together.
“Really?”
“It’s like Krystal knew she was in danger, somehow,” Molly said, shivering.
“Sad,” I said, thinking of the young woman whose life was cut short so early. I hoped my grandmother—wherever she was—would take care of her like Krystal had tried to take care of her sister. “But at least maybe her sister will have a chance.”
“Let’s hope so,” she said, grabbing my arm and turning to my parents. “I’m so glad your daughter is in Buttercup.”
“Me too,” my mother said as we stepped through the door of the church together into a room filled with greenery, candles—and Tobias’s welcoming smile from a pew on the right.
It was going to be a merry Christmas after all.
Dough:
1/2 cup roasted hazelnuts
1/2 cup almond meal
2 3/4 cups sifted all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon ginger
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon cloves
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1/4 teaspoon cardamom
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup tightly packed chopped candied orange rind
1/4 cup tightly packed chopped crystallized ginger
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
3/4 cup dark brown sugar
1 cup honey
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
Glaze:
3 cups confectioners’ sugar
1 tablespoon kirsch, rum, or vanilla extract
3 – 4 tablespoons warm water
Combine hazelnuts, almond meal, flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, powdered ginger, nutmeg, cloves, allspice, cardamom, and salt in a medium-sized bowl. Put the candied orange rind and crystallized ginger into a food processor along with 1 cup of the dry ingredient mixture and pulse until very finely chopped. Add the remaining dry ingredients and pulse to combine.
In a large bowl, cream butter with brown sugar at medium speed, then add honey and beat until smooth. Beat in eggs and vanilla to combine, then add dry ingredients by the heaping spoonful and beat at a very low speed until combined (a paddle attachment on a standing mixer is ideal for this). Scrape sides and bottom of bowl and beat again until evenly combined.
Line a half-sheet pan (13” x 8”) with parchment paper, extending paper a few inches over the short sides. Lightly spray the unlined sides of the pan with nonstick cooking spray. Spread the dough into a thin, even layer and bake in the center of the oven about 25 minutes, until surface is dimpled and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. The cake should be springy but firm. Cool on a rack.
While the cake is cooling, whisk confectioners’ sugar with kirsch, vanilla extract, or rum, and add enough water to make a thin but spreadable glaze. Spread glaze on just-warm cake and let cool completely. When cool, slide the cake (with parchment) from the pan onto a cutting board and cut into bars.
Ideally, leave the Lebkuchen in an airtight container at room temperature for at least one day before serving to let the flavors meld. It will keep up to two weeks.
1 package of yeast
1/4 cup warm water
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup butter
2 teaspoons salt
2 eggs
5 1/2 – 6 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup warm milk
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1/4 teaspoon mace
1 cup light raisins
1/2 cup nuts (Quinn likes pecans), chopped
1 egg yolk, beaten
Dissolve yeast in warm water. While yeast is dissolving, cream sugar, butter, and salt in a large bowl. Beat in eggs, then one cup of flour. When the mixture is smooth, beat in milk, lemon zest, mace, and the yeast mixture, then stir in as much flour as you can with a spoon (you’ll add the rest later). Stir in raisins and nuts and turn dough out onto a floured board.
Knead in enough of the remaining flour to make a fairly soft dough that is smooth and elastic: this should take 3 to 5 minutes. Place the dough in a lightly greased bowl, turning once to grease the entire surface of the dough, then cover and let rise in a warm place until doubled.
When dough is ready, divide the dough into two equal sections. Divide one section of the dough into fourths (this will be the bottom braid): cover and let rest 10 minutes. While the first section is resting, divide the remaining dough into five sections, then cover and set it aside.
On a lightly floured surface, form each of the first four sections into 16”-long ropes. On a greased baking sheet, arrange the four ropes 1” apart. Beginning in the middle of the ropes, braid the dough ropes toward each end (you’ll braid first one half of the ropes, and then the other). To braid the four ropes, overlap the center two ropes to form an “X,” then take the outside left rope and cross over the closest middle rope. Then, take the outside right rope and cross it under the closest middle rope. Repeat braiding until you reach the end, then pinch the ends together and tuck them under. Turn the baking sheet and repeat the process to braid the opposite end. When the dough is braided, gently pull the width of braid out slightly. Then, on a separate pan or board, form the remaining five sections into 16”-long ropes. Braid three of the ropes together, then brush the four-strand braid with water and center the second braid on top; gently pull the width of top braid outward. Twist the remaining two ropes of dough together and brush the top braid with water, then place the twist on top of the second braid.
Cover the shaped dough and let rise till nearly double. While dough is rising, preheat oven to 350 degrees F. When dough has almost doubled, brush surface of the shaped dough with egg yolk and bake in oven for 35 to 40 minutes.
1 (750 ml) bottle of dry red wine
1 orange, sliced into rounds
1/4 cup brandy (optional)
1/4 cup honey or sugar
8 whole cloves
2 cinnamon sticks
2 star anise
3 cardamom pods
Optional garnish: citrus slices (orange, lemon, and/or lime), extra cinnamon sticks, or extra star anise
Combine all ingredients in a nonaluminum saucepan, and bring to a simmer (not a boil) over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to medium-low, and let the wine simmer for at least 15 minutes or up to 3 hours. Pour wine through a strainer and serve warm with garnishes as desired.
8 cups chopped or coarsely ground peeled pears (about 5 1/2 pounds)
4 cups sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
Combine all ingredients in a large, thick saucepan or Dutch oven. Simmer, uncovered, for 1 1/2 to 2 hours until jam sets (see below), stirring occasionally. Stir more frequently as the mixture thickens.
When jam has set, remove from heat and skim off foam. Carefully ladle into sterilized, hot half-pint jars, leaving 1/4” headspace. Remove air bubbles with a sterilized knife or spatula, then wipe rims and adjust lids. Process jars for 10 minutes in a boiling-water canner (Lucy uses a rack placed in a big stock pot). Yield: 6 half-pints.
How to tell if jam is set:
Put a plate in the freezer for about fifteen minutes. When jam has thickened and seems like it might be ready, put a spoonful of hot jam on the plate, then push your finger through it. If the surface wrinkles and the jam doesn’t flood back in to fill the gap, the jam has set. If it’s not ready, turn the burner under the pan back on, simmer for five minutes, and test again.
2 tablespoons softened unsalted butter
2 cups light brown sugar
1 cup sugar
1 cup half-and-half
1 pinch salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup chopped pecans
32 ounces bittersweet chocolate or 32 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped
3/4 cup chocolate sprinkles or finely chopped pecans
Coat inside of medium metal bowl with 1/2 teaspoon butter, then place remaining butter in the same bowl and set aside.
In a medium saucepan, combine sugars, half-and-half, and salt. Stir over medium-low heat until sugars are almost dissolved, frequently brushing down sides of pan with a wet pastry brush to capture sugar crystals (about 12 to 15 minutes). Increase heat to medium and continue to stir until it comes to boil, occasionally brushing down sides of pan (about 10 minutes). Attach candy thermometer and boil syrup without stirring until candy thermometer registers 234 degrees F (about 16 minutes); caramel will bubble vigorously in pan.
Fatal Frost (Dewberry Farm Mysteries Book 2) Page 24
