An Amish Cookie Club Christmas

by Sarah Price

  Despite being disappointed, Mary was relieved that nothing was wrong with Edna or her family. It wouldn’t be the same if Edna wasn’t able to join the group, though.

  And then it dawned on Mary that Edna hadn’t explained why. Perhaps something was wrong with one of Edna’s family members.

  “Such unexpected news. Has . . . has something happened?” Mary asked, the first to speak. She knew better than to inquire further. Some Amish people were private about illnesses or problems. Even though Edna was one of her best friends, she wasn’t going to pry if her friend didn’t want to share more information.

  Opening her eyes, Edna shook her head and exhaled. “Well, I needn’t tell you about the problems with dairy prices.” Her eyes scanned the table.

  “It’s hurting a lot of the farmers for certain,” Verna said. “Why, even Ezekiel’s looking to raise beef cattle in the spring to supplement the loss of dairy income.”

  Edna nodded. “Exactly. Remember my cousin Norma? Her husband gave up his dairy herd completely.”

  Mary clucked her tongue and shook her head. It was such a terrible thing, so many farmers having to leave the farm in order to provide for their families. Some days, she was thankful that her own husband, Abram Ropp, had never farmed at all. At least their small family didn’t have to change their lifestyle so late in life to avoid struggling.

  “And you all know that John’s been working at the auction haus and I’ve been catering noon meals to the Englische a few days a week,” Edna continued. “But it’s just not enough, so I’ve extended my business throughout the holidays and added more days.”

  Verna gasped and Wilma made a noise of disapproval.

  Mary, too, felt surprised. She knew how hard Edna worked during the spring and summer months. Normally she shut down her business after September so that she could enjoy the autumn season, so full of canning and quilting bees as well as weddings, before the holiday season.

  “And I’m booked,” Edna admitted with a sigh. “Overbooked, to be exact. I have people coming every Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday until right before Christmas. And some of the parties are thirty or more people.”

  Wilma made a face, her cheeks squishing upward so that her eyes became narrow slits. “My word, Edna! Times might be tough, but I can’t believe they’re that tough. Might as well open a restaurant with such a busy schedule!”

  Verna shot Wilma a look of reproach before she turned her attention toward Edna. “You can’t do that on your own, Edna. You’re going to need some help.”

  It wasn’t the first time that the small group had recommended it was time for Edna to hire help. But Edna had been fighting doing so for a long time. “I agree,” Mary said. “You’ll be plumb worn out if you don’t hire someone.”

  “That’s what John said.” Edna rested her elbow on the table and her chin against her hand. “Between setup, cooking, serving, and cleaning, it’s such a commitment. Whomever could I possibly ask at such late notice?”

  For a moment, no one spoke.

  Mary held her breath and suspected that Verna was doing the same. Undoubtedly, she, too, knew what was coming.

  “Well now,” Wilma began slowly, her lips pursed and her cheeks becoming flush with excitement. She appeared to speak in a hesitant manner, as if mulling over an idea, but Mary knew that Wilma’s brain had kicked into high gear. “I suppose I could spare Rachel and Ella Mae for the next few weeks.”

  Mary stared at the table, deliberately avoiding any eye contact with Verna or Edna. Why on earth had Edna opened herself up to Wilma in such a manner? Surely, she hadn’t been thinking.

  “Oh.” Edna caught her breath. “I . . . well, that’s a kind offer, Wilma, but I couldn’t—”

  Immediately, Wilma became animated. She leaned forward and reached out to cover Edna’s hand with her own. “It would do my girls a world of good to help you,” she said, her voice quivering with excitement. “They’d learn so much. And, of course, my Rachel is quite the cook.”

  Inwardly, Mary groaned. She knew that Rachel was anything but a good cook. In fact, Wilma’s daughters might learn a lot from Edna, but at whose expense? Edna’s, or her customers’? As for Wilma’s comment about the girls helping Edna, Mary knew that they’d be more trouble than help. After all, Rachel and Ella Mae were renowned for being quarrelsome and difficult when together.

  Sighing, Mary knew that there was only one way to rescue her friend from being forced to accept Wilma’s offer.

  “Oh, Wilma, that’s so kind of you,” Mary started. “But I think Edna might need someone more experienced in the kitchen.”

  “Experienced?” Wilma bristled at the remark as if Mary had personally insulted her daughters. “Like who?”

  Looking at Edna, Mary smiled. “Like me.”

  Silence filled the room and every pair of eyes stared at her. Mary tried to act nonchalant, but she caught the look of gratitude in Edna’s expression.

  “Do you mean that, Mary?” she asked.

  With only Bethany to care for, Mary wasn’t as busy as she once had been. And while she wasn’t necessarily looking for work, she knew that it wouldn’t hurt her to help her friend. Besides, Bethany was almost twenty years old now. She could certainly take care of the house chores.

  “I do, Edna.” She looked down at her crocheting, noticing that she’d skipped a back loop. Quickly, she unfurled it and began crocheting at that spot again. “Why, it might be fun to meet some new people and listen to their stories. I’ve never spent much time around Englischers—”

  Wilma gave a short laugh.

  “—and we’d have a good time working together anyway.”

  For what felt like a long moment, Edna remained contemplative. She stared at the wall and her brows knit together. Mary wondered what she was thinking. Perhaps she didn’t want her help. Had she assumed too much in offering to lend a hand?

  “Well, Mary,” Edna said at last, “if you really think you’d like to get me through the holidays, I sure would appreciate it, especially if you could start next week. That’s when it’s going to begin getting busy.”

  Mary breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But talk it over with Abram first and let me know,” Edna said, her shoulders relaxing a little as her attention returned to her own crocheting. “My feelings won’t be hurt if he thinks it would be too much.” She looked up and peered at Mary. “With all of your own chores and all.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Mary noticed that Wilma frowned and focused on her knitting, her needles moving fast and furious. Surely, she was upset that her offer had been refused, but who could blame Edna? Those two daughters of Wilma’s did nothing more than argue and bicker, constantly trying to outdo each other.

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be fine with it,” Mary replied. “Bethany can surely cover everything that needs to be done at home anyway.” She glanced up. “But I’ll ask him just the same and let you know. Why, I can even ask Bethany to help by baking bread for you.”

  Wilma clucked her tongue in annoyance.

  But Edna ignored Wilma’s reaction and beamed in Mary’s direction. Clearly that idea pleased Edna tremendously. “Oh, Mary, that would be such a big time-saver for me. And she always has been a great baker, hasn’t she?”

  The compliment made Mary beam. Not only would she enjoy spending time with Edna, it would do a world of good for Bethany to take on more responsibility at home.

  Chapter Three

  Bethany opened the oven and leaned down so that she could inhale the scent of freshly baked apple pies. She had baked eight of them for church service and—oh!—how that smell warmed her insides. If her mother was known for baking cookies, Bethany was known for baking pies. And bread. Baking just came naturally to her, and it was something she enjoyed doing, even if she rarely stuck around for the fellowship hour after worship.

  “My word!” Her mother bustled through the door, a large box in her arms. She set it down on the kitchen table before she reached up to unpin
her shawl. “Smells like autumn in here, for sure and certain.”

  Bethany shut the oven door. “Nothing says autumn like apple pie, don’t you agree, Maem?”

  Her mother smiled at her. “Indeed, Dochder. But it’s almost winter now.”

  “Not for another five weeks,” Bethany said. “December twenty-first, ja?”

  Mary laughed. “Right you are. But it sure is starting to feel like winter. Why, Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away.”

  Glancing at the box, Bethany frowned. “What’s all that?” She stepped forward and peered at the items crammed inside it. “Flour? Sugar? Yeast?” A frown creased her forehead. “We’ve plenty of these dry goods in our pantry, Maem. Why’d you buy more?”

  Mary sighed. “I’ll be helping Edna Esh until the holidays are over.”

  Now that was curious news, but it didn’t explain the extra goods. “Oh?” She started unpacking the box. “Helping her with what?”

  “Cooking for her Englische visitors.” Her mother sighed and sat down at the table. “She’s overbooked and now has people coming four days a week! In a row, too. She can’t do that alone, so . . .”

  Bethany cocked her head at her mother. “You offered to help.”

  Her mother nodded. “I offered to help.”

  “You don’t look happy about it.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind helping her,” her mother admitted. “I always enjoy Edna’s company.”

  “But?”

  Mary frowned. “But what?”

  “Something is still bothering you,” Bethany said. Her mother might not complain out loud too often, but she had never been one to hide her true emotions. “I can tell.”

  Her mother gave a small smile. “You know me too well, Bethany.” She reached out and touched the bag of flour that Bethany had laid on the tabletop. “I just wish I didn’t have to help so often. That’s an awful lot of time away from home, and I do have my own chores.”

  Bethany swallowed. Surely her mother wasn’t going to suggest that she help Edna, too. Just the thought of it made Bethany’s chest feel tight and her heart race. She held her breath, waiting for her mother’s next words.

  “But I made the offer and now I must follow through,” Mary continued. “Otherwise, Wilma will be sending Rachel and Ella Mae to help her.” She glanced at Bethany. “And we both know how that would turn out.”

  Bethany’s breath came out in a soft whoosh, an unsuppressed indication of her relief that her mother hadn’t suggested she help one or two of the days each week. “While you’re helping her, I’ll do your house chores, Maem.”

  Her mother gave her a pleased look. “Danke, Bethany. I never doubted that for a moment, but it sure is nice to hear you offer.” With a quick gesture toward the box, Mary continued. “She told me to start next Wednesday and, if you don’t mind, mayhaps you could help by baking six extra loaves of bread next Tuesday for me to take to her. I know how much you love baking . . .”

  The sentence remained unfinished, but Bethany could complete her mother’s thought: . . . and hate to leave the house.

  Bethany couldn’t remember when her reluctance to socialize or leave home had begun. When she was younger, school and church were the only two places she went. Voluntarily, anyway. As she grew older, she avoided youth gatherings, and the two times her mother sent her to the market, Bethany had full-blown panic attacks. Her chest would feel constricted and her breath would come in short, shallow gulps.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to have friends or socialize; it was just that she was afraid of people. Strangers, in particular.

  Shyness plagued her to the point of physical illness.

  “Oh, Maem!” Bethany felt as if a weight fell from her shoulders. Her mother understood her so well! “Baking bread would make me feel so helpful to Edna!”

  Her mother gave her a reassuring smile. Bethany should’ve had more faith in her mother not to overcommit her. As usual, her mother had found a way for Bethany to help without forcing her to do something she dreaded: interact with strangers.

  “I thought you’d agree,” Mary said. “Poor Edna. She has over twenty-four women coming for a meal this Wednesday and another twenty on Thursday.”

  Bethany frowned. “That’s an awful lot of people. Just to enjoy the noon meal?”

  Her mother held up a finger. “Nee, Bethany. To enjoy the noon meal in an Amish home.”

  “Are our homes so different from theirs?” Bethany asked. She knew very little about Englischers. Despite her family living close to town, Bethany didn’t have much cause to interact with non-Amish people.

  Her mother surprised her, however, by responding, “Mayhaps our homes are different.”

  Bethany couldn’t imagine what, exactly, would make Englische homes different. Whenever they rode to church or visiting other family members, they drove past many Englische homes. From the outside looking in, they certainly appeared the same. In fact, the house that they lived in used to be an Englische home. Her parents had moved into it shortly after they married, removing the electricity and converting everything to propane like other Amish houses.

  “They are?” Bethany asked. “How so?”

  Mary gave a soft smile, but there was a look of sorrow in her eyes. “I can’t explain it, Bethany. I don’t know that many Englischers, but I suspect there is something lacking in their world that draws so many of them to ours.”

  A sigh escaped Bethany’s lips. She’d never understood why so many non-Amish held a fascination and curiosity about the Amish. Tourists came from all over the country to Shipshewana, to visit Amish Acres and attend the Round Theater, to patronize the shops in town, and, increasingly, to enjoy a meal in an Amish home.

  It hadn’t been the first time that Bethany had wondered if Englischers thought it would be any different from dining in their own homes. Suddenly it dawned on her that maybe her mother was right. Even worse, maybe Englischers didn’t dine in their own homes.

  Often after the fellowship hour following worship, the older Amish women sat around the tables, nursing cups of coffee. They loved to gossip, a pastime that neither Mary nor Bethany participated in. However, Bethany sometimes sat beside her mother and listened to the stories. How could she help but be naturally curious? Sometimes the women shared news about their Englische neighbors, and on more than one occasion, someone would comment about the busy life of Englischers, how many of them put work before family.

  Perhaps that was what was so different about the Englische and the Amish: Amish people always put God first and family second. After that, they focused on work, friends, and community—not always in that order.

  Bethany simply could not imagine living any other way. She prayed silently, thanking God for all of the gifts He had given her—including being born into an Amish family—as she unpacked the box of goods that she’d need in order to bake bread for Edna on Tuesday.

  Chapter Four

  The following Wednesday, a large group of women filled Edna’s kitchen, with both their physical presence and their noise. They talked among one another, laughing loudly from time to time. And they couldn’t seem to get enough of her food. The desserts in particular.

  “Do we have enough?” Mary whispered to Edna in Pennsylvania Dutch so that no one could understand her.

  “I don’t know,” Edna whispered back. She hadn’t realized how she’d grown immune to being around the Englische tourists until she’d seen Mary’s reaction to them. Now, as she watched the women through the eyes of her friend, Edna realized just how different the Amish were from the Englische.

  Mary frowned. “Why, I’ve never seen so many pies just disappear like that!”

  Edna glanced at the two long tables that John and Elmer had set up in the kitchen the previous evening. Each table sat twelve ladies, and both were filled.

  The women had arrived at twelve and were scheduled to leave at two o’clock. Two hours. The longest one hundred and twenty minutes of Edna’s life, it seemed. This was the first group
to visit Edna’s since she had started working with Destination Amish, that new tour company out of Sugar Creek, Ohio. It was also the largest group that Edna had ever served in her house, but, according to her schedule, even larger groups were coming in the weeks to come.

  Now more than ever, Edna was beyond thankful for Mary’s offer to help. She’d never have been able to handle such a large group on her own. Besides, just as Mary had predicted, it was more enjoyable to work alongside someone else.

  “I sure hope you’re charging them enough to cover your expenses,” Mary teased.

  Edna laughed. “If they keep eating so many pies, I’ll have to rethink my prices, that’s for sure and certain!”

  Hurrying back to the section of the room where the guests sat, Edna scanned the tables. She’d baked six apple pies the day before, and only four pieces were left.

  “Anyone for more pie?” she asked, hoping the answer was “no.” Otherwise, she’d have nothing left to serve her husband and sons after their evening meal.

  “My word!” one woman declared as she leaned back. “I don’t think I could eat another bite.”

  Several other women nodded their heads in agreement.

  Edna smiled and reached down to take the remaining pie plates away. As she set them on the counter, placing the empty plates in the sink and three that still had pieces of pie onto the counter, she glanced out the window.

  The large tour bus looked so strange to her. She hated seeing it there, blocking her view of the barn and side paddock. Less than five weeks left, she reminded herself. Then there would be no more serving meals to strangers until the springtime. Her life would be hers again and she could enjoy the rest of the Christmas holiday in peace.

  As the guests sat around the table, some drinking coffee while others preferred tea, they talked about their children and grandchildren. Edna caught snippets of the conversation as she cleared one table while Mary did the same for the other.

  “Richard’s planning a vacation in California next April so we can visit our son . . .”