Smicksburg Tales 1,2 & 3 (Amish Knitting Circle, Amish Friends Knitting Circle & Amish Knit Lit Cirlce ~ Complete Series: 888 pages for Granny Weaver Lovers and 30+ Amish Recipes

by Karen Anna Vogel

  I cast all these women I dearly love on you.

  In Jesus name,

  Amen.

  ~*~

  Thank you following Granny and her knitting circle. In the last episode, we’ll see many changes come to the women in the group:

  I leave my dear reader with a recipe for Pumpkin Whoopee Pies. Enjoy!

  Pumpkin Whoopie Pie

  1 c. Crisco or oil

  1 c. pumpkin

  1 tsp. cinnamon

  1 tsp. baking powder

  1 tsp. baking soda

  ½ tsp. salt

  1 egg

  1 c. brown sugar

  2 c. flour

  Mix together Crisco, pumpkin, sugar and egg. Beat well. Sift dry ingredients and fold in. Beat and drop by teaspoon full on greased cookie sheet. Bake at 350 degrees. Take two cookies and spread with filling, holding them together.

  Whoopie Pie Filling

  2 egg whites

  2 t vanilla

  4 T flour

  4 T milk

  4 c. powdered sugar

  1 c. Crisco

  Beat egg whites until stiff. Add other ingredients. Spread between cookies and enjoy.

  If you’d like to have a simple pumpkin cookie, don’t sandwich together with filling. You may add nuts or raisin to the cookie recipe for a more filling cookie.

  EPISODE 8

  Autumn Changes

  Granny ran to the window and pulled it shut. The late autumn winds had blown over the chicory wildflower bouquet the girls had placed on her table. Colleen and Lavina quickly got paper towels to wipe up the water that poured from the canning jar used for a vase. “Danki, my girls,” Granny said. As she watched Colleen collect water off the floor, she was seeing something from the past; Madeline, Colleen’s mamm, in Amish clothes. She observed that Colleen look pretty in her new mauve dress and black apron. But Colleen could stray from the Amish, too. Was Hezekiah setting his cap on a woman he may be unequally yoked with? Surely not, Granny hoped, since Hezekiah had waited for so long to find the one he loved.

  “I can see why the Amish always wear aprons,” Colleen said, beaming. “Always work to do, jah?”

  “How do you like wearing Amish clothes?” Lavina asked. “You used to wear such bright colors. Do you miss it?”

  Colleen shook her head. “No, it’s actually easier. I have five dresses and aprons. Not much to pick from, so I can get ready in no time.” She went back over to the counter to roll out more pie crusts. “I do miss the girls at Forget-Me-Not, though. So does Aurora…she starts Amish school next week.”

  Granny sensed concern in Colleen’s tone. “And is Aurora looking forward to going to school? Dressed plain and all?”

  “She misses her pants, and does complain a bit too much. But Emma, I mean, Grandma, is so good with her and gets her smiling again.” Colleen peeled the waxed paper from the top of the dough and flipped it into the pie plate. “I don’t see how my mother could ever leave the Amish…”

  “She fell for your dad, an Englisher. And in a way, you’re following in her footsteps,” Granny said, measuring flour to make more dough.

  Colleen spun around. “I am nothing like my mother,” she snapped.

  Lavina went over to put a hand on Colleen’s shoulder. “Granny just means you both fell for someone outside your…people. Your mamm and an Englisher, and you an Amish fella.”

  “Ach, I’m sorry Colleen, if you misunderstood. Having both parents on drugs, being neglected as you’ve been, well, we all know you’re a fine mamm.” Though Colleen turned to her, nodded to accept her apology, Granny noticed something she didn’t like: bitterness and unforgiveness. That may be harder for Colleen to conquer than living plain. Surely Jeb would address the issue while she went through baptismal classes.

  Nathan came in the side door, and locked his eyes on Lavina. She turned and gave him a knowing look. He wanted to take a walk…again. Granny cleared her throat. “Nathan, it’s not time for the noon meal yet.”

  “I know. Just taking a break. Looks like yinz need one, too.”

  Granny plopped white flour into the large stainless steel bowl. “Nathan, we’re having fun making pies. And we won’t be taking a break until the pies are done, jah?”

  Defeat registered in Nathan’s forlorn eyes. Granny had to stifle a laugh. He was like her dog, Jack, always wanting to be next to her when she was outside. But being the bishop’s wife, she knew more than she wanted. Jeb wanted Nathan and Lavina to wait until February so they’d know each other for a full year, before being married. Granny remembered how they met on her seventieth birthday party, Nathan coming down from Montana to surprise her. When introduced to Lavina, he was taken with her immediately. How things had changed. Granny was appalled that Nathan would want to court a girl who had kinner out of wedlock. How judgmental she’d been. Now she knew Lavina’s story. Now she knew the real Lavina, and she was her choice for her beloved grandson.

  Granny heard Nathan make his exit out the side door and she went back to making dough. Another strong wind rattled the house, and Granny looked out the window. Red, yellow, and orange leaves cascaded from the trees in the back woods, leaving bare branches once again. How she loved autumn, but she couldn’t preserve it in a canning jar; no, winter was coming and she’d try to see the good in it. The treasures of the snow, as was written in the Book of Job.

  “We’ll talk at dinner about our situation, jah?” Lavina asked. “Nathan’s determined to have a wedding next month.”

  Granny closed her eyes as she kneaded the dough. Lord, your will be done. And if Jeb’s being stubborn, show him.

  ~*~

  Suzy sat spinning yarn, and wished she could do it all day, non-stop. How she loved to see the fluffy wool spin together making strong yarn. She thought of the knitting circle, and warmth filled her heart. Women were stronger when spun together, like Granny always said. Teaching the Wednesday night class spun them all closer, but it was getting too large.

  Fannie’s mom had been coming again last week, and she saw her smile for the first time. Maryann and her daughter, Becca, came to the last circle, too. It was heartwarming to see a mother and daughter doing something together, as much as they’d resisted knitting with needles and not looms. And Maryann looked the picture of health, and the women at the circle were confident she’d beaten breast cancer, for sure. But still, the five year wait to be considered cancer-free must have been unnerving to Maryann. The knitting circle encouraged her to come, since the craft was good for the nerves. And to think that Maryann wanted to make prayer shawls for cancer patients would help her as much as the recipient.

  This was Suzy’s ministry the Lord gave her. The gift of art and knitting. Seeing people learn this craft and share it with others. Everyone had their place in the world, and Suzy knew her knitting shop was where she was to be. She glanced over at Mollie, lying on her little brown cushion. As usual, she needed to stare with her hand on her heart. Was she breathing? After a few seconds, she called the dog’s name. No response. Deep down, she knew. Her little Mollie was gone. Suzy’s body shook from deep within, no matter how much she didn’t want to believe what she was seeing. She called to her dog again, but the little thing didn’t move.

  “Dave!” She cried out for her husband, but then realized her was at work. She needed someone to be with her. Suzy ran to the phone and called Janice. When she picked up, Suzy couldn’t even talk, just sob. Janice said she’d be right over.

  ~*~

  Granny shielded her eyes from the sun that peaked through the clouds. When the Baptist church van came to a stop in her driveway, Janice’s face told her something tragic had happened. She ran down off the porch and met Janice as she made her way to her. “What happened?”

  Janice swiped a runaway tear, then pulled out her handkerchief, and wiped her eyes. “Mollie’s gone.”

  Granny embraced Janice, wondering how Suzy was doing if the death of the little dog affected Janice so much. She didn’t understand the bond the English had with
animals. It was as if they were real people. Jack slept in the barn and ate regular dog food bought at the feed store in bulk, not fancy little containers she’d seen at Punxsy-Mart. The food looked good enough for humans to eat.

  Janice pulled away and stood tall. “I know she wasn’t mine, but that little dog was by Suzy’s side during hard times. My side, too. And how she helped Ginny Rowland after her mother passed away. It was like she was a human trapped in a dog body.”

  “Now, now,” Granny said as she rubbed the side of Janice’s arm. “Let’s just get her another dog.”

  “Too soon,” Janice said in a hollow, monotone voice. “She needs to grieve Mollie’s loss.”

  “Ach, Janice. We need to move forward. I saw a little dog at the pet store in Punxsy. I wonder if it’s still there.”

  Janice scratched the side of her cheek. “I don’t think Suzy’s up to it.”

  Colleen talked and giggled with Lavina as they brought pies wrapped in aluminum foil out to the van. But when they saw Janice, they froze. “Janice, what’s wrong? Are you still upset with me?” Colleen asked. “I thought we’d talked and there was –”

  “Mollie died, and my dear Suzy is a wreck. Can’t even spin her wool.” Fresh tears sprang from Janice’s eyes, and once again, she raised her handkerchief to blot her tears.

  “It hurts to see a friend in pain, jah?” Lavina asked. “And the closer we get the more pain….”

  Janice peeked up at Lavina. “Exactly. I’ve never seen Suzy cry so. It ripped my heart out.”

  Granny looked at Lavina in admiration. What a sensitive girl. Janice was hurting because her friend was hurting, and she wondered why Lavina picked up on Janice’s feelings so easily. Was it that Lavina had seen more heartache than was normal for her eighteen years? She hoped the dinner with Lavina and Nathan tonight didn’t cause more pain in her life…

  ~*~

  Granny urged her horse forward, eager to catch Marge at home. The woman worked so much on their little farm along with being a nurse to homebound patients; no wonder she was burnt out. The wind beat her face, along with a few stray leaves. Jenny, the little scientist, had told her that all the splendors of fall, all the reds, yellows, and oranges in the leaves, were their true colors, after the green chlorophyll drained out. She thought people were like that; when drained, their true colors came out. Drained of themselves and putting others first; what a beautiful sight. Her knitting girls were all an array of colors, she mused, all looking to one another’s needs.

  She spied Marge’s red car and Joe fixing wire fencing so none of their prized turkeys could escape. Granny waved, and with shoulders hunched, Joe waved back. “Marge’s in the big house,” he yelled. ”We’re getting it ready for the buyers.” Granny nodded and wondered who these new buyers were. Ruth and Luke had decided to stay at their place so their little Micah and new boppli on the way would live by their grandparents. To think that Luke only wanted to do it for Ruth made Granny’s heart glad, once again. It was a sure sign of a healed and happy marriage: trying to bless your spouse more than being blessed.

  Soon Marge appeared, a red bandana hiding her red hair. “Hi Granny. Still painting. Come on in.”

  Granny shook her head. “You’re pregnant and do too much. Why are you painting?”

  Marge went into the small living room and dipped a paintbrush into a bucket of white paint. “The Amish need white walls, right?”

  “Nee, just earth toned, according to our Ordnung. You’ve seen blue or green walls in Amish homes, jah?”

  “Well, I think white walls look clean.”

  Granny never thought of fall colors being used in their homes. She was instantly drawn to the crimson-colored walls in the new doctor in town’s office. Ach, she’d been Amish all her life, yet never questioned such things. The white paint Marge put on the walls hid every blemish, and she agreed, white looked clean. “Marge, can you drive me up to Punxsy?”

  “What for? We were up there a few days ago.”

  “Jah, when we took those poor kittens up to the shelter. And remember that little black dog?”

  “The Pomeranian? Most likely it’s gone. They’re an expensive dog.”

  “Suzy’s dog died,” Granny said.

  Marge spun around, cupped her hands over her cheeks, not thinking that a loaded paintbrush was now leaning on her red bandana. “Oh, that’s horrible news.”

  “It’s natural. Mollie was fifteen years old, and I think it’s time for a new dog. That little black one we saw…”

  Marge’s eyes softened. “Granny, you are so sweet.” She made her way to Granny with open arms. “I just want to squeeze the goodness out of you.”

  Granny put a hand up. “Not covered in paint.”

  Marge pursed her lips, and to Granny’s shock, they began to quiver. “Wish I was as good as you, for real. Joe doesn’t really want to leave this place, and I feel I’ve let him down.”

  Granny stepped onto clear plastic drop cloth, dodging pools of white paint, taking a seat in a rocker. “Marge, when I first met you, I told you it was hard to live off the grind, remember?”

  Marge grinned. “I remember you saying that. ‘Off-the-grind’. In a way, you sure were right. It is more than drudgery than I ever thought.”

  “Drudgery? Such a strong word.”

  “I know. Joe says I can be a drama queen. Let’s just say it’s too hard for me.”

  “Your expectations were too high. How could they ever be met?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Granny leaned her head back on the rocker. “‘Say not thou, What is the cause that the former days were better than these? For thou dost not enquire wisely concerning this.’”

  Marge cocked her head back as if hit in the face. “What? You lost me on this one.”

  “It’s in the Bible. Ecclesiastes 7:10. It warns to not look back to those old-fashioned days you talk about. All generations have their problems.”

  Marge arched an eyebrow, and then rushed into her kitchen, bringing back a book. “I need to look that up in The Message. Can’t understand the KJV for the life of me.” She flipped through the Bible as fervently as the sale items at Punxsy-Mart, looking for a ‘find’ and then sighed. “Where is Ecclesiastes?”

  “It’s right after Proverbs.”

  Marge looked up, cheeks turning pink. “Thanks.” She skimmed through the book a few seconds, and then held it close to her face. “Don’t have my reading glasses, but here goes. ‘Don't always be asking, ‘Where are the good old days?’ Wise folks don't ask questions like that.’” Marge slowly turned and looked out the window. “Little House on the Prairie…the good old pioneer days.” She struck her forehead with the palm of her hand, leaving a white blotch of paint. “Oh, I’ve been such a fool.”

  Granny leaned forward. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Lots of English think we live trouble free, like Laura Ingalls. I read the book, and it’s wunderbar. We need stories that make us really think about what’s important. Laura found out it was family and community, jah? And you did, too?”

  Marge went to Granny and collapsed at her feet, now getting paint on her jeans. “Am I being hasty?”

  “Hasty? I don’t know. You’ve worked hard to raise all those turkeys. Aren’t you going to sell them next month to the English for Thanksgiving?”

  “Joe teased me for naming rabbits and getting too attached. Guess who named some of those turkeys? Now, Joe’s stomach turns when he thinks of people coming to pick one to slaughter. We’re such failures at farming; it’s almost comical.”

  Granny knew she needed to get some fresh air, since the paint fumes were giving her a headache. “How about you clean up and we talk on the way to Punxsy. I’ll treat you to a pumpkin ice-cream shake.”

  Marge licked her lips. “Yum. Hey, that’s not fair, bribing me with ice cream.” She shifted. “Don’t you think it’s too soon for Suzy to have a new dog?”

  Granny swatted at the air. “It’s a dog who died, not a person. Suzy will love h
aving a new pet.” As Marge stood there contemplating what to do, Granny sighed. “Okay, a pumpkin ice cream shake and pumpkin pie.”

  Marge cupped her mouth. “And you’re a respectable Amish woman! Bribing me with pie, too?”

  “Ach, Marge, you have a white mustache now. Paint all over you.”

  Marge gasped. “Really? I best get washed up so we can go. But I’m telling your bishop on you.” She winked. “You’re not supposed to prey on people’s weaknesses or bribe. I can taste the pumpkin now.”

  “I’m not bribing,” Granny offered, but Marge had run out of earshot already, lunging up the stairs, climbing two steps at a time. Preying on another’s weakness? Surely not!

  ~*~

  Ella swallowed hard, forcing herself not to cry. Seeing Ruth and Fannie packing her dishes into boxes, wrapping each one in newspaper for padding, made fear run through her. What if she was lonely in New York? What if she didn’t make goot friends? Ella continued to fold the cloth diapers, when another fear invaded her mind. What if she never got over being homesick? She’d known many an Amish woman who had to move and always missed Smicksburg, never adapting to their new home. If I had a car, it wouldn’t be so bad. As this thought rushed at her, Ella felt overwhelmed. She’d never once in her whole life felt deprived with a horse and buggy. What was wrong with her?

  “What’s wrong, Ella?” Fannie asked. “You look pale.”

  Ella sat in the rocker near her. “My mind isn’t at peace. Are we doing the right thing?”

  Ruth picked up a petit China cup. “Need some tea? Chamomile for the nerves?”

  She shook her head. “The oddest thing happened this morning. The smell of tea made me sick. My nerves are completely unraveled.”

  Fannie nudged Ruth. “Morning sickness?”

  “What?” Ella blurted. “I’m barren. It’s my stomach doing flip-flops at the thought of leaving Smicksburg…and my Gmay…and my knitting circle friends.”

  Fannie stood up and pat her ever growing stomach. “Have you been snippy?”

  Ella closed her eyes. Fannie got such notions. “The twins can be a handful, but I try to keep an even temper.”