Leona's Christmas Bucket List by Fay Risner

I have one more Christmas book to share. This one is on Amazon, kindle, Barnes and Noble and nook and smashwords. We’re always hearing the phrase bucket list, but I hadn’t thought about making one until I was in Walmart one day. The store had just changed the soap dispensers to hand activation in the bathroom. I was looking for a button or lever, not paying any attention to the lady next to me until I noticed her hands were soapy. I asked how she got the soap. She said just wave my hand under the dispenser. It worked. She laughed and told me I could erase that off my bucket list. She left and I found myself with bigger worries. I’m studying myself in the mirror wondering what made her think I needed a bucket list. Ideas began to turn into a story which was helped along by a newspaper article about a woman and her doll. The winter's pace poem waa a Christmas writing by nephew Shane Herman and I asked him if I could use it in my book. It fit perfectly.

synopsis When Leona Krebsbach found out just before Thanksgiving she didn't have long to live, she took charge of her life like she had always done since the doctor thought she might die in a month. She bought a small spiral notepad and titled it Christmas Bucket List. On each page of the notepad, Leona listed something she needed to get done while she still had time. Details like her funeral headed the list. She didn't want to leave anything for her daughters to have to worry about after she was gone. She kept her illness a secret until after Thanksgiving when she had all but one thing completed on her bucket list. Finally, she was as ready to die as she was ever going to get. She called her daughters and invited them to a tea party. Now was the time to tell them. At her age with a long life behind her, Leona Krebsbach wished she felt better prepared mentally for the end. She should have been ready to go, because she would be with her beloved Clarence. If only she had managed to atone for that one regretful time that happened so many years ago. If that didn't weigh on her, she knew her mind set would be different, but she couldn't change the past. Even if she wanted to, she didn't have enough time. She reasoned her bucket list wasn't designed to take care of that one regret unless a miracle happened to change Leona's Christmas Bucket List. RRA Winter's Pace By Shane D. Herman The summer air and springtime flowers have quickly been replaced By that time of year more cold and frigid A kind of arctic place The ice nips at your fingers and bites at your toes As falling snowflakes kiss at your face So light up the tree and hang all the stockings And drape all the holiday lace As Christmas approaches with unbridled cheer And the people shopping make haste It is when friends and family come together as one That makes this a season to embrace So from me and mine to you and yours And everyone else in the holiday race I invite you all to take in the moment As we all move at a Winter's Pace. Chapter 1 Goose feather size snowflakes glittered in the street lamp's golden glow, floating lazily like crystalline down. The ground outside the basement window of Limestone City, Minnesota's United Methodist Church turned white in a hurry. The scene made Leona Krebsbach imagine angels in Heaven with a wing shedding problem. Suddenly, the elderly woman felt light headed. She leaned her thin frame against the window sill for support and frowned. Please not now. The sinking feeling brought annoyance with it. Here in church of all places. Why couldn't this wait to happen until she was home? Why did she have to be bothered while she wanted to enjoy the winter view? Leona knew full well the weak spell made her face head on, that after years of watching similar scenes, this would be the last time she'd see a first snowfall. She wouldn't stand at this basement window ever again, gazing out at the dead grass between the church and the parsonage as the ground turned white. Out of all the snowfalls in a winter, she aways favored this first quiet, slow snowfall of the season. Quiet except for the banging of the lanyard against the flagpole in the post office yard across the street. Heavy nostalgia built as agonizingly as any pain might in her chest. At least, she hoped that was the cause of the unwanted pressure. With all the twinges she'd had lately, she couldn't be sure these days if she needed to brace herself for the end right away or not. So far the twinges had been false alarms. When the feeling passed, Leona sighed deeply and straightened back up. She took a deep breath and tried to bolster herself to face the fact she had to get ready for far worse moments yet to come. She had already decided she didn't have any intention of immediately taking to her sick bed and going quietly from this world. Not as long as she had the energy left to keep up her winter's pace. No telling how long she would have stood at the window, mesmerized by the gently falling snow, if Pastor Jim Lockwood hadn’t cleared his throat softly. Slowly, Leona turned to face him. The minister gave her a warm smile. He probably wondered why she hadn't left yet so he could lock the church basement exit door and go back home. The rest of the bible study group had cleared out some time ago. Leona admired the dark haired, dark eyed young minister. He was just like the son she'd wanted to give her husband, Clarence, and couldn't. She wished Jim Lockwood could grow old as pastor of this church while her grandchildren needed guidance, but she knew that didn’t usually happen. After a few years, ministers always got the call to go far away to another church. They moved out of the lives of the parishioners that had grown fond of them, leaving the congregation to have to get used to another minister. At her age, Leona knew she was a fine one to talk about getting used to changes. She figured out a long time ago she shouldn't mind changes in everyone else's life if the changes were for the better. In fact, she always looked forward with excitement to the new changes she made in her own life over the years. Like the time when she went back to school at the community college to learn to use a computer so she'd be able to carry a conversation with her grandchildren. She had to learn about the digital age after her grandchildren said her typewriter was as extinct as dinosaurs. These days when she made herself think about the changes ahead of her she wished time could stand still. She knew that was an impossible thing to ask the Lord to do for her, but she still wished just for a short time she didn’t have to face the inevitable. Putting off telling everyone that needed to know wasn't going to make a difference. She was pretty sure if she kept her illness a secret that wouldn't stop her death from happening. That would be a cruel thing to do to her family. She had to suck in how she felt and get up the courage to tell everyone that mattered in her life her days on earth were numbered. The twinges she'd felt lately were just a warning signal to prepare her. Her disclosure better be soon. At her age with a long life behind her, she admonished herself that she should feel better prepared for the end than she did. If only she had managed to atone for that one time she regretted so many years ago. If not for that moment in time, she knew her mind set would be different, but she couldn't change the past no matter how much she would like to do it. No bucket list was designed to take care of a tall order like that one, especially on such short notice like the one she'd been given. Leona gave the minister a wan smile. “You been standing there long?” “Didn’t want to sneak up on you and startle you while you were deep in thought,” he said as he crossed the room to look out the window with her. “You looked very pensive. Are you thinking about anything in particular?” “Several things. Life for one,” Leona said. “I was thinking how the seasons are like my life. I remember with fondness the spring time of my youth with loving parents and siblings. In the summer of my life, I married a wonderful man and raised two great daughters. Sharing the years of fall with a loving husband, that left me too soon, gave me many memories to keep me warm in the winter of my life. I've lived a long time and have been truly blessed thanks to God.” Pastor Jim put a hand on Leona's back as he stared at the snow. “You always manage to have a parable or story to fit the moment. Beautiful outside, isn’t it? God designed nature to paint everything white in time for the holidays. If only the snow covered landscape could stay pristine all winter instead of turning a dirty brown.” Leona chuckled. “I know exactly what you mean, but no way can we criticize the dust that blows in from the fields. That dirty farm land is what makes the income for farmers and businesses around here. Not unless you’re willing to make due with smaller collection plates.” “Smaller collections are a given this time of year anyway. Especially with the way the economy is now. The whole community has had to learn to make do, but we must keep praying that times will get better soon.” Pastor Jim gave Leona a sincere look. “I'm sure you know how to make do better than my generation. You had experiences in your life with tougher times then the rest of us will ever know. Times when you had to make do.” Leona sighed. “I expect that’s right. Make do and do without sometimes, too. That's something younger people today have no idea how it was. If the same thing happened to them, I fear they wouldn't know how to cope with the struggle. During the depression in the thirties, I saved everything, even broken items just in case I had a use for them or needed parts off the junk for later on. Clarence and I were savers just like the Krebsbachs before him and my family before me, the Palmers. My daughters would tell you I still save too many useless things even now when I shouldn't worry about finances. That's why my house has so many cluttered closets, and the outbuildings still hold things that Clarence couldn't bear to throw away. When I was first married, Clarence and I didn’t have money to buy writing paper so I could keep in touch with my parents. They were just two counties over, but we didn't have time to go see them as much as I would have liked. Sometimes, it was a matter of not having enough money in the budget to buy gas for the car. I wrote my mother as often as I could. I made do by tearing pages out of old Sears and Roebuck catalogs. I’d write my letters on the margin. Even then, I still had to sell enough eggs to pay for the envelopes and stamps.” “I’m sure your parents were happy to hear how Clarence and you were getting along no matter what your message was written on,” Pastor Jim assured her. “In those days, faith in the Lord, a good husband, loving family and friends put our struggles into perspective. I always felt rich in ways that counted. That rosy outlook is what kept Clarence and me going and looking forward hopefully to a promising future. That outlook paid off as you can see,” Leona told him. “Well put. I'm working on a Thanksgiving sermon to emphasize that very thing, wise lady. We should all learn to count our blessings just like you had to do in hard times, and I'm sure you still do now. When days are difficult, we have to learn to look forward to better days. Once a lesson is learned, we don't soon forget it, do we? My parents saved many things just like you did. No one knows how to save these days, and we do need to learn to recycle more than we do. I hear all the time that this nation is a country of wasteful people.” “Clarence always said you can look in the review mirror and lament the past. Or, learn from hardships faced by others, meaning our parents, and do a better job in your life time,” Leona said sagely. Pastor Jim nodded agreement. “A wise man, your Clarence. If you don’t mind, I'd like to quote you.” “I don't mind.” “Have a good attendance at bible study today?” He asked. “Yes.” Leona fiddled with the straps on her black purse. Assuming she was nervous about the drive home, Pastor Jim cautioned, “Drive carefully going back to the farm. Doesn’t take long for a wet snow like this one to make the roads slick. With night coming on, black ice is hard to see when it forms on the salt brined pavements.” Leona glanced out the window. The snow hadn't let up. If anything the flakes were coming down faster. “I’m a safe driver. I've had long years of winter driving practice to prove it.” She clutched her purse to her waist and turned to face the minister. “Pastor, I’m not ready to leave yet. I've been waiting for you to show up, because I have something I need to talk to you about.” “You sound serious. Now we must be going to get to the real reason you were so pensive when I came in. Let’s sit down.” Pastor Jim took her elbow and led her over to the black folding chairs lined up around one of the long white tables. He pulled out two chairs and held onto one until Leona eased into it. Leona plopped her purse and bible onto the table. As Pastor Jim sat down, she shifted the chair to face him. She had to look him in the eyes so she could use his strength to get her words out. “I need to tell you this will be my last time leading bible studies.” “What? Th -- this is so sudden. I hate to hear you want to stop. What will we do without you?” He blurted out, flustered. “Don’t worry.” Leona patted his hand reassuringly. “I’m not leaving you in the lurch. I took the liberty of asking Becky Smallwood to take my place. I thought I would make my leaving easier on you if I help you find someone else.” “Thank you for thinking about me. Becky’s okay, but just the same no one can take your place. You've been the best teacher for the job for so many years,” Pastor Jim said adamantly. “Besides, I’ll miss talking to you on Wednesday nights.” “I appreciate that. I know I’ve been as predictable as this snow, showing up here for years. Don't worry. Becky will be a fine teacher. She is very knowledgeable about the bible and a fast learner.” Leona licked her lips, mustering up the courage to continue. “Things have to change from time to time. That’s just the way life is. Sometimes, we aren’t given a choice so we have to make the best of it.” “Did someone say you can’t lead bible study anymore? Tell me who it is. I’ll have a talk with that person right away. I don't want you to stop teaching,” demanded Pastor Jim. “Actually, I was talking about you in regard to your accepting this change. You're right though. Someone did let me know I had to stop teaching bible study classes.” Leona paused, giving the minister an amused look. “I wager you talk to that someone every day, Pastor. Just the same, no amount of your pleading or praying will change the fact that I have to quit. What I need to tell you now is the hardest part, the reason why I'm quitting.” Looking into her sad, brown eyes, Pastor Jim's brow furled. “I’m not going to like this, am I?” “Probably not. Don't feel bad though. I’ve had trouble facing this myself so I know how you will feel when you hear my news. It's time to start talking about this problem out loud so I picked you to be the first. I want to practice on you. I hope you don't mind. I need to face this dilemma I have head on, but it has been hard taking the first steps. So in order to help me stay motivated, I've made a bucket list.” “A bucket list,” Pastor Jim echoed. “Yes, I have many details I have to take care of right away. Actually, I don't have much time to do get them done you see. One of the first details on the list is now taken care of, finding my replacement for bible studies.” “Making a list to remind you to get things done for the holidays is fine, but calling this list a bucket list might be a poor choice of words,” Pastor Jim reproached. Leona gave him a doleful look. “No, I used the right words.” “What’s wrong?” Pastor Jim croaked. “I’m going to die soon. I have liver cancer,” Leone said bluntly. The young man combed his hand through his hair and fixated on the floor. “I've felt something was wrong for a while now. You’ve lost weight, and your complexion is pale. I hated to bring it up. Knowing how efficient you are, I prayed you were on top of the situation and going to the doctor.” “Your prayers must have worked. I did get checked out. The doctor said there wasn't anything that could be done for me. You see I didn’t have much warning. Apparently, I'd had the cancer for some time and didn't know it. The doctor said I have only a short time left to live.” Leona rifled through her purse and brought out a small spiral notepad with Christmas decorations scrawled over the cover. “So just to show you I'm not joking, this is my bucket list, and I have to get the list completed as quickly as I can. Actually, I'm calling this a Christmas Bucket List, because that might be my deadline,” she said with dry humor. Pastor Jim combed his shaky fingers through his dark hair again. “I want to do anything I can to help you. Is there some of that list I can take care of to help you complete it?” Leona flipped through the notepad pages. “On page two of my bucket list is get details out of the way for my funeral to take the burden of details off my two daughters. Of course, I want to ask you if you will conduct the funeral service here.” The minister took her hand. “That’s a given, dear friend.” “Good. Now for scriptures, since I've lived in the country my whole life I've always been partial to the twenty-third psalm. You can pick the rest of the scriptures you want to fit into the service. The two songs I want the choir to sing are Amazing Grace and How Great Thou Art. If my girls have a hymn they like, they can add their favorites to make them feel better if they want to do that.” “All right. Done,” Pastor Jim said briskly as if they were planning details for a soup supper. While she read the items aloud, Leona was busy checking off the details in her notepad. “I was going to ask Becky Smallwood to sing a solo, but I didn’t have the heart to heap bible study duties on her and burden her with my demise and performing at my funeral all at the same time. So maybe she could lead the choir.” “What did you have in mind for her to sing just in case?” “Becky nails any song she sings. How about The Wind Beneath My Wings?” Leona asked. “I think everyone likes that one.” “That would be a super choice and fitting for you. Please allow me to work on these details in this bucket list of yours,” Pastor Jim insisted. “All right. I still have to contact the pallbearers I decided on to make sure they are prepared when Arlene calls them. I’ve already been to the funeral home, made arrangements there for the visitation and settled the bill. The casket I picked out is very pretty. It's dark pink with roses on both sides the handles.” Leona stopped to catch her breath. “You have been very thorough, I see. Not that I'm surprised. This is just the way you tackle everything you have always set out to do. Head on,” Pastor Jim said softly. “Yes, I’ve managed my life the way I wanted until now. I don’t see any reason to leave the details of my funeral for my family to have to do,” Leona assured him. “Besides, there’s some comfort in knowing how my life will end, and what will happen at my funeral.” “Not many people have your courage to face the end, planning like this, dear lady,” Pastor Jim said admiringly. “Well, it took some doing to get to this point. I’ve reasoned with myself about dying. You see, I've done my best to live a decent life. At least for the most part, I think my family will be proud of the way I lived. I think I know where I’m headed, and that's a comfort,” Leona said, pointing a finger toward the ceiling. “Carrying out my final details for my daughters so they won't have to gives me peace of mind.” “I can vouch for the honorable way you have lived your life. I'm as sure as you are that you will go to Heaven. I've always admired your self control that allows you to take charge of any task. Even at such a difficult time in your life as this one. You have the presence of mind to make your final plans by yourself, and do whatever else needs to be done. You always handle adversity head on, because you're a very strong woman,” Pastor Jim complimented. She cocked her head to the side. “I think the modern term the grandchildren and my daughters use for me is control freak. I've always put myself in charge, and I figure on doing that until the end so I know everything is done right to my satisfaction and goes smoothly.” “When it concerns the end of your life, no matter what anyone would say I will stand with you on this. I think you’re entitled to run the show the way you want it,” he joked with a weak smile. “Thank you,” Leona said as she reached over and patted his arm. “Somehow I just knew you would be on my side.” Pastor Jim looked worried. “Always, dear lady. This is upsetting to me to say the least. How is your family taking the news?” With averted eyes, Leona said, “They don't know yet.” “What! Your daughters need to be told. You should do that soon, before they hear the news from someone else,” Pastor Jim cautioned. “I will. So far the people that know, I told to keep this to themselves until I've had time to tell my family. I'm dreading that so much, but I plan to tell them right after Thanksgiving is over. Arlene will want to smother me with kindness or boss me around. Diane will be a basket case that we'll all have to take care of. So why spoil the last holiday we'll have together for the rest of the family,” Leona explained. Pastor Jim nodded. “I understand that, but you've been their rock for all these years. This will seem like a sudden blow to your daughters and hard for the whole family to absorb for a while. I guess you will not be able to come to church soon. Where will I find you for visits? The farm?” “No, my health will decline fast. I’ll need medical care very soon, and I don't want to burden my daughters and their families. Right after Thanksgiving, I’m moving into The Willows, a hospice house on the outskirts of town. Come there to see me whenever you have time.” Pastor Jim took a deep breath before he spoke. “Can I borrow your bible? I didn’t realize there would be a need to bring mine with me from the parsonage just to lock the church door.” Leona handed her worn thin bible to him. “Let’s pray,” he said, already bowing his head. She glanced out the window. The wind moaned a wailing cry as it whipped around the building, churning the snow into a furious haze. She needed to head for home right away. All she left home with was her handbag, and a prayer that this winter day would go well. She wasn't sure that would be enough to guarantee her a safe return home the way the storm had intensified. Other winters, she had always put an emergency supply kit in the car, but she hadn't gone to the bother this time. “I appreciate the prayer, but you know you don’t have to pray for me right this minute. I’ve accepted what is coming, and I certainly do expect you to be by my side to bolster me later on when I weaken,” Leona insisted. Gripping her bible in his hands, Pastor Jim said, “And I will be very glad to be there anytime you need me, dear lady. Just bear with me this once. I'm not only praying for you. I have to pray for strength for me so that I will be able to help you. I'm not going to be able to take your news too well until I get used to it,” he said, his eyes a misty blur. Leona laid a frail, blue veined hand on the pastor’s strong one. She said with a touch of humor, “Can you make it a short one, Pastor? I need to head for home soon. Like you said the roads will be slick. You see I can’t die in a car wreck today. I haven’t finished all the arrangements for my funeral yet, and I still have to complete the rest of my bucket list.” A few minutes later, Leona turned off the tree lined street and drove down Main Street. She noticed the last minute shopper hustle that always went on the day before Thanksgiving. Almost every parking place had a vehicle in it. That wouldn't change now until after Christmas shopping was over. Loretta Abbas hustled along the sidewalk, her arms loaded with bags. She stopped by her car and looked up as Leona drove by. Loretta fumbled with her car door, got it opened, set the bags on the back seat and managed to wave at Leona all in a heartbeat. Loretta was probably in a hurry to get home before dark, too. Seeing the woman was a reminder that Leona needed to call her. She wanted Loretta to head up a coat and clothes drive from one year to the next for the Indian Settlement. If Loretta turned her down, maybe the woman would be kind enough to find someone that did have time to volunteer. Suddenly, Leona felt maudlin about not being able enjoy the Christmas holiday. She had always looked forward to Arlene and Diane's yearly visit right after Thanksgiving. They spent a day with her, putting up the tree and decorating the house just like they did when they were children. Leona relished buying just the right gift for each member of the family and baking Christmas cut out cookies with the grandchildren. She made a large amount of fudge and divinity so the girls could take a box home. After a few failed attempts over the years, Arlene and Diane gave up trying to make candy. They told her they would rather enjoy the candy she made. The effort Leona put forth to make the holiday special for her girls and their families when they came home had always been a labor of love. After this, the girls and their families would have to make due with special memories from this Thanksgiving. She wouldn't be doing anything about Christmas except taking care of her bucket list if it wasn't done by then. Suddenly, Leona realized she was coming up to the grocery store parking lot. If she was going to make pumpkin pies, she needed more milk and eggs. Leona stepped on the brakes and fishtailed. She negotiated the turn into the parking lot and realized the lot was full of cars. Near the entry door, Leona spotted an empty handicap parking spot. She shouldn't park there. She wasn't legally able to, but she considered this an exception. She had to be careful. Falling on the slick concrete and breaking a hip wouldn't enhance her Thanksgiving plans. Luckily, Leona found one shopping cart left in the corral. She grabbed it and took off for the milk and egg section. By staying in the middle of the aisles, she dodged past the other shoppers, lingering along the sides. There weren't too many jugs of milk left. Leona put one in her cart. She thought better of that and picked up another. Her grandchildren drank milk. She was reaching for an egg carton when someone tapped her shoulder. Leona turned and found her son-in-law, Steve, grinning at her. “Fancy meeting you here, Leona.” “I guess. Looks like most of the town is in here right now. I was lucky to find one shopping cart not in use.” Steve nodded agreement. “Me, too. So about ready for the big day tomorrow?” “You bet and looking forward to every minute of it,” Leona assured him. “I thought you might be.” Steve turned serious. “Leona, how you feeling these days?” Leona questioned sharply, “Where did that come from?” “My secretary said she saw you coming out of Dr. Crane's office last week.” Steve shrugged. “Arlene hasn't mention you not feeling well so I thought I should ask.” Leona fumbled around with the egg carton, trying to find just the right place for it in the cart. “Leona, are you stalling?” “I might be,” Leona said stiffly. Steve came along side her cart so he could see her face. “There is something wrong, isn't there?” “Steve, you're a dear to worry about me. I plan on talking to Arlene and Diane right after Thanksgiving about my doctor visit. Can you keep what your gossiping secretary saw to yourself until then?” Steve grinned. “Sure.” “Promise me. I know how hard it is to keep from telling Arlene something like this, but this is important to me,” Leona implored. “All right, I promise, but only until after Thanksgiving. I might break my promise if Arlene doesn't get an explanation from you soon,” Steve said earnestly. “Now aren't you the hard taskmaster,” Leona teased. Steve shrugged. “I'm just concerned about you. Is there anything I can do for you until you talk to Arlene?” “Just enjoy tomorrow with me,” Leona said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I'll handle the rest in my own good time.” “Fine, but like I said make it soon. You're right. I don't like keeping secrets from Arlene. You know, driving isn't great tonight. Out in the country it has to be hard to see where you're going. You want me to take you home? We could leave your car in the parking lot, and Jason could drive it out tomorrow as we come,” Steve suggested. “Certainly not. If it's hard driving now, then you would have to come back to town by yourself. It will probably be even worse after dark. I don't want to have to worry about you making it home. I'll be careful. This isn't my first experience at driving on slick roads you know,” Leona chided. “Now I best get to the checkout lines. Might be a long wait for my turn. See you in the morning.”

Christmas is coming and winter will be upon us soon. We will be wanting to spend more time inside, trying to find something to occupy us on a snowy day or long evenings when the days are shorter. If you are a fan of Amish stories you might like this one - Christmas Traditions. What better Christmas gifts to get someone you think might have everything than a book or a gift certificate for a download of an ebook of their choice. Books are great gifts for residents at nursing homes, too. I have given away quite a few of my books to residents. I've written some holiday books and thought I might share them with you. You can find them on smashwords.com. Nook and Barnes and Nobel, Amazon and kindle plus other sites you can Google.

It's funny what triggers thoughts for me that turn into a book. My first Amish book was a Christmas story. I bought a box of Christmas cards to send out and studied the picture. It was a couple in a sleigh on a snowy day pulling up in front of a house that didn't have electricity. The house looked Amish to me. So I'm thinking why would a couple visit an Amish house on Christmas day? That couple turned into one woman out on her own in a horse drawn sleigh to visit the Yoder farm in my story, and the story evolved from there. It was selling that book that made me realize there was a market for Amish books. That's what spurred me on to write my Nurse Hal Among The Amish series. When I started hearing from readers about Christmas Traditions, they said they wanted another book about Margaret Goodman Yoder so they would know what happened to her. Since I was knee deep in Nurse Hallie Lindstrom Lapp's story I decided to move Margaret to Iowa. By making her a good friend to Nurse Hal, it helped Nurse Hal, an Englisher, adjust to Amish life easier. Margaret and Hallie had a lot in common. I enjoyed hearing the comments when the readers realized Margaret Goodman was living by Nurse Hal. They said it was like getting reacquainted with an old friend. I was glad that I came up with a solution for the readers and Margaret Goodman future. So enjoy the first chapter of Christmas Traditions – An Amish Love Story. Synopsis Fay Risner brings readers the story of an Amish man and a once Amish woman. Follow the twists and turns in their lives while they make each other miserable. At the same time they try to carry out their Christmas Traditions for the little boy they both love. Levi Yoder threatens to make this Margaret's last visit. A visit which proves to be very different from all the others. A terrifying fire sets a girl's dress on fire during the Amish Christmas school program, and Margaret struggles to save a girl that falls into an icy creek. If that isn't enough excitement, a Yoder cow nearly kills Margaret. While forced to nurse Margaret back to health, Levi rethinks his buried feelings for this woman he once loved. Chapter 1 That Monday afternoon, Margaret Goodman’s destination seemed forever away even though the Yoder farm was only seven miles from Brightwell, Pennsylvania. She was traveling alone so she was thankful for the tranquil, winter conditions. If a snowstorm had threatened before she left town, she wouldn’t have been brave enough to make the trip on her own. Watching the pristine countryside slide by her bright red sleigh helped just a little to soothe her frayed nerves. She slid under the snow laced trees that loomed over the packed road. In the swift breeze, weighed down branches swayed like stick skeletons, dancing a jig which let loose snowy clumps on her. Drifted, white mounds rolled across the pastures, making a colorful contrast with the black and red cattle milling about brown, frazzled hay stacks. Along the way, the recent snowstorm turned homesteads, set against the dark blue sky, into scenes lovely enough to paint on Christmas cards. The Pennsylvania countryside really was beautiful in the winter. Not that Margaret was in any mood to enjoy what she slid by. In her heart, she knew she couldn’t appreciate anything around her until she managed to live through this coming week and escape back to Brightwell. The road was invisible, covered with packed snow rutted with sleigh runners and buggy tracks. If it hadn’t been for the rows of snow capped, cedar fence posts on either side of her, she’d have felt like she was on a great adventure, blazing her own trail across the frozen tundra. She knew all the beauty that surrounded her would have put anyone else in a festive mood for Christmas coming Monday next, but not her. She bounced around somber thoughts about what dreaded incidents could happen from one day to the next in the week ahead of her. When the time came, Margaret planned to muster up the strength to pretend to be joyful. She wouldn’t bother to do that until after she stopped the sleigh in front of the Yoder house. Just thinking about it, her mood turned despairing to say the least. She felt unsettled and anxious. The winter scenery couldn’t change the turmoil that churned inside her. She wasn’t sure anything would. Like bad tasting medicine, she had to accept whatever happened in the next few days and handle each situation the best she could. The freezing breeze whipped her dark brown, curly hair away from her head, causing a chill to run through her. Margaret felt goose bumps pop up on her legs. She huddled down in the seat, holding the reins in one hand long enough to tug her walnut dyed, wool lap robe up higher. That done, she went back to worrying. She was a day later than usual. Would it matter to any of them at the Yoder farm that she hadn’t arrived on Sunday afternoon? Had any of the Yoders worried about why she hadn’t shown up yet? When she did arrive, would the fact that she was late make Levi Yoder’s opinion of her worse than it already was? She'd waited until that morning to prepare for the journey. Rushing to gather everything she wanted to take, she packed the sleigh at the last minute in haste. Now way down the road, she had the feeling she might have forgotten something. She did a mental check list. Christmas gifts covered the back seat, a large, wicker basket full of food sat next to her and beside her feet was her clothes stuffed, tan, tapestry valise. She’d hidden Faith’s journal under the sleigh seat out of Levi’s sight until she could give it to his son, Luke. This year that diary was what she had to remember to pack above all other things. If she forgot anything else she’d meant to bring it was certainly too late now. She would have to make due without whatever it was. She couldn’t help arriving late, and she wasn’t about to offer an explanation. Her private life wasn’t up for discussion. Nothing she said would do any good anyway as far as Levi Yoder was concerned. She just hoped what plans Levi, his father, Jeremiah, and son, Luke, made to celebrate Christmas, for Luke’s sake, didn’t include something she would regret missing. Unlike the hustle and bustle in town, the quiet countryside embraced peacefulness. The only sounds were made by her red sleigh and the four white stocking hooves on her black horse, Pie Face. The runners crunched, slicing through the ice crusted snow. The sleigh bells jingled in time to the horse’s steamy, labored snorts and rhythmic tromp as he moved at a fast pace. In the last mile, Margaret whipped the horse to hurry him to race the sinking sun. The words, Please let me get to the farm before dark, played over and over in her head like an out of tune song. Nightfall was one more reason for her to worry over her late start. She told herself she'd feel less anxious when she finally spotted a column of light, gray smoke spiraling up above the Yoder hickory and mulberry grove. The tree lined lane was just ahead to the right. Margaret pulled back on the reins, bringing Pie Face to a walk. She entered the shaded lane, traveling under the entwined glittery white, soft snow covered branches that made a shaded tunnel. Half way down the lane, a rabbit darted out of his nest in the drifted snow and zigzagged past the horse. Startled, Pie Face shied sideways. Margaret pulled back on the reins and brought the horse to a stop. She could feel her heart racing. She took a deep, calming breath and flicked the reins over Pie Face’s back. No time to panic now. She was almost to the house. Margaret tossed away the worry about dark over taking her like so many empty pea pods when she finally came into view of the large, two story, snow capped, farm house, but she still had plenty more worries to take its place. Pulling back on the reins, she stopped the horse by the split rail fence that surrounded the yard. Luke’s brown and white beagle, Moses, bounced off the porch and down the path. He stood on his hind legs and looked in the sleigh while he woofed a high pitched greeting. “Hello, Moses. How have you been?” Margaret answered back. “Woof, woof.” The beagle wagged his tail with such speed that his chubby backend swayed. Bouncing off the sleigh, he took off in a run. He circled the sleigh while he did a sniffing inspection. “So you’re happy to see me. That’s encouraging.” Margaret said under her breath. She looked up at the house roof. The stone chimney chugged pale gray, smoke plumbs that floated higher and higher into the sky, turning into hard to see thin wisps. A sudden change in the wind brought a down draft drifting toward her that smelled of hickory wood. Someone had recently stoked the fire. The two story, farm house, with peeling, white paint and sun bleached wood, had a grossdawdi haus built on the east side. The addition was added for Levi’s father, Jeremiah, when Levi married Margaret’s sister, Faith. The outhouse, smokehouse, chicken house, and pig pen were ahead of her. The large, red barn complete with granary and root cellar stood off to the left. Levi Yoder, tall, muscular and handsome, stalked through the deep snow toward her from the woodpile by the barnyard split rail fence. He carried an armload of lengthy fire wood propped on his shoulder. Even though she fought with herself not to feel hopeful, her heart raced faster at the sight of him. As Levi came closer, his rugged features were just like she imagined in her thoughts and dreams over the last year. A lump formed in her throat as she watched the sinking, fiery sun behind his back create rosy streaks in his straw colored hair where it curled on his coat collar. As Levi walked close enough for Margaret to get a good look at his face, any growing excitement she felt spiraled backward to dread again. It only took a quick glimpse to make her tense up. Any sparse drop of hope she’d had that Levi would welcome her this time faded as fast as the dimming daylight. Any brief thought that the man might be worried because she was a day late, she could discard like dirty wash water out the back door just from watching his foreboding posture as he marched at her. She tried to hold back the mounting anguish that wanted to creep onto her face. She should have known better than to expect any change in that strong willed man. Nothing about him ever changed. She had to face it. He never would change. At that moment, his piercing eyes and high boned cheeks above his bushy, blond beard appeared to be chiseled by a stonemason. The scowl on his face, Margaret knew for sure, even if he never said so out loud, had been brought on by her arrival. In all these years, her presence always had the same affect on Levi Yoder. Why did she ever hope that he would change in a year’s time? That man ever changing his opinions on anyone or anything was never going to happen. The wood Levi carried was too long to go into the cookstove. He must be ready to prepare the fireplace in the meeting room. Would it have hurt him to warm the room up before I arrived, ran through Margaret’s mind. The meeting room was only used on a Sunday once in a blue moon when it was the Yoders turn to have church. Just for her, the room was opened more days in a row the once a year she visited. However, she’d arrived a day late. Maybe Levi hoped she wouldn’t show up at all. This year of all the years would be the one that he definitely wouldn’t want to face her. He probably hoped she’d changed her mind about going through with her plan concerning the journal. In that case, he might have reasoned that she’d decide to skip her appearance at the Yoder farm this year if the journal had been her initial reason for the visit. There would be no need for him to bother going through the chore of opening up the meeting room that he only did begrudgingly for her. Well, Levi was wrong. It made her blood boil to think, in all the years they had known each other, that man never understood her concern had always been for what was best for Luke. Anything she tried to do to improve the situation between Levi and her wasn’t enough to make him want to try to get along with her. Quickly, Margaret glanced around to see if Jeremiah or Luke were coming to greet her. She didn’t want to start out this visit with only Levi’s cold, reluctant help and snappish greeting. She’d mentally tried to prepare herself for what could happen at the Yoder farm, but Margaret realized while that fair haired man strode toward her, she needed more time to steel herself for the strife to come. Although in the back of her mind, she already knew she had no real way to prepare for the clashes between Levi and herself. Like always, she’d do her best to stand up to the man and hope her bluff worked. As she watched Levi approach, she felt like prey stalked by a lion. In the next week, it was going to take all the courage and bravo she could muster to keep from being eaten alive by this angry, sullen man. Levi’s father, Jeremiah, stood in the barn door. His bent back was to her. Locks of gray hair peeked out from under his black, flat crowned, big brimmed hat. With a touch of panic, Margaret wondered where the boy was. She didn’t make the effort to travel this far one time a year in the dead of winter, Levi allowed her, for any other reason than to see Luke. Especially not this time when she had to make the trip from town without her husband, Harry. Particularly this year when this visit was more important than all the other trips. Because if Levi remembered she was bringing the journal to Luke, he’d be against her showing up. She knew he'd fight her every step of the way, and she was determined to come anyway. “Aunt Margaret, you are here!” The boy shouted from the kitchen doorway. He dropped the empty water pail and the egg bucket in order to wave at her. Making a leap off the porch, Luke ignored the clatter behind him. He was long gone by the time the buckets shot off the porch and pitched noiselessly into the snow piled by the path. With Moses right behind him, the boy sprinted through the gate hole so fast his wide brimmed hat flew from his head. It landed in the drift at the base of the yard fence. He was so excited he didn’t realize he had lost his hat, but Moses did. He halted long enough to sniff Luke’s hat, before he scampered over to bounce off the sleigh. In his haste, Luke’s mop of yellow hair, the color of corn kernels, flapped away from his ears. He skidded to a halt by the sleigh and jumped up and down. Excitement gleamed in the boy’s glittering, blue eyes. “Wilkcom! It’s so late in the afternoon, and you didn’t come yesterday. You might not be coming, I feared. Hurry up and get down.” Margaret put her hand on her chest to slow her thudding heart. It was such a comfort to see this boy, a younger version of Levi. She just had to look into his smiling face to know that he very much wanted her here. Bolstered by his greeting, Margaret teased, “Sorry I’m late, Luke. You need not have worried. I’ve never missed being here for Christmas yet, have I?” “Not ever, Aunt Margaret,” Luke stated with zeal. Feeling a little more sure of herself, Margaret laughed at the child’s enthusiasm while she tossed the lap robe aside. She drew her red cape tighter around her shoulders and pulled her trapped, freeze dried tresses out on top of the cape. Gathering up her dark brown, wool skirt in one hand, she held the other hand out to the boy. “Please, Luke, help me down. My legs and feet are so stiff and numb from the cold, I may have trouble walking.” The frozen snow crunched under the weight of her stinging toes. The tingle in her chilled feet contrasted drastically with the sudden heat that bored into her back from Levi’s eyes. Margaret twisted to look through the steamy vapors rising above the horse’s back. The man watched the exchange between his son and her, but no way could she make out what he was thinking. His face was as blank as a freshly, washed blackboard. “Hello, Levi.” Her husky voice sounded mechanical to her ears as she looked into the man’s cold as ice, unwavering, blue eyes. She turned back to see Luke’s worried expression. He glanced at his father and back at her. At least in front of the boy, she had to make a stab at being civil to Levi for this precious child’s sake. Besides the week would seem a terminally, long visit if she let Levi get to her at the very beginning of her stay. She smiled down at Luke and patted his head to reassure him. Levi must have thought the same thing as he watched his son. “Wilcom, Margaret Goodman. Best get inside and warm up,” he said, his tone quietly clipped. Margaret glanced over her shoulder. If Levi’s short pretense at an invitation hadn’t been remote enough, his face, emotionally frigid as this winter day, told her she was not really welcome in his home but tolerated for his son’s sake. Margaret concentrated on the boy. That always took away the sting of Levi’s words. She pointed to the wicker basket on the sleigh seat. “Luke, please carry that inside for me. I’m ready to warm up and have a cup of tea right now.” Margaret forced cheerfulness into her voice. “First, let me give you a proper hello. You’ve grown so much. You must be a foot taller than last year.” She drew Luke to her, engulfing him in an enthusiastic, bear hug. “Only four inches,” corrected the boy. “All out of tea,” Levi put forth shortly. He looked straight ahead as he marched past Luke and her. “Figured that. That’s one of the things I brought with me in the basket,” Margaret shot back at Levi’s ramrod, straight back as she trailed after him. Setting the basket down, Luke picked up his hat. He beat it against his leg to rid it of snow and put it back on. Margaret paused to look back at the western sky while she waited for the boy. The sun had slipped half way below the horizon, creating long, red fingers across the sky. In the fading daylight, the old man still leaned in the barn door, but he faced the house now. No doubt watching with interest the underlying discord between Levi and her. She could imagine that he might not want to be any closer than the barn during their initial meeting. “Jeremiah Yoder, come in out of the cold if you have time. Have a cup of tea with me,” she hailed, beckoning to him with a wave of her hand. Moses stopped his inspection of the sleigh when he heard Margaret’s voice. The dog caught up to her and whined for attention as he sniffed at her skirt. She reached down and patted his head before she turned and trudged with Luke on the snow packed path toward the house. Behind her, she heard the chickens squawk in alarm. Jeremiah must have scattered the flock as he walked across the barnyard. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to ease away some of the tension that had built up in her all day. She was so very thankful that Jeremiah chose to come when she called. He never liked to take sides between Levi and her. Just the same, Margaret needed that old man to be near her at first as a buffer until she had time to get use to the chilliness that radiated off Levi. It had always helped bolster her spirit to know that Jeremiah liked her to visit almost as much as Luke did. Jeremiah did his best to respect his son’s wishes and Amish law when he was at the Plain people gatherings, but in the privacy of his own home, he wasn’t afraid to show how much he thought of her.

Christmas With Hover Hill - Holiday book by Fay Risner

November is here, and holiday books are in the stores. I have one I thought might interests readers. The title is Christmas With Hover Hill. Set in small town Iowa, this book is humorous, romantic and even a little weird with the presences of an obnoxious house servant named Hover Hill. Look in Amazon and Barnes and Noble for the paperback in regular and large print, and kindle, nook and smashwords for the ebook. Here is the synopsis for the book Elizabeth Winston grew up not caring about Christmas. This Christmas is going to be much worse than the holidays she and her brother, Scott, shared with her divorced parents. Her former boyfriend, Steven Mitchell, showed up to pester her about renewing their relationship now that his marriage has ended and Elizabeth vows that is not going to happen. Elizabeth always looks forward to sharing Christmas with her brother, Scott, but he says he won't be able to spend Christmas with her this year. He has a business trip. His present for her is an expensive and obnoxious robot house man by the name of Hover Hill that he says will make life easier for his sister. Just her luck to be stuck with a mechanical man to share the holidays with. To make matters worse, Elizabeth is fit to be tied when she figures out the robot was planted by ex-boyfriend Steven Mitchell to brainwash her into taking him back. Her brother, Scott, betrayed her when he helped Steven by saying the robot was his gift. She's so mad at both men she slips out of town, taking Steven's expensive robot with her and leaving her old life behind only to walk into a new set of problems. She just wanted to hide out for six months, but that isn't easy in small Wickenburg, Iowa. Gossip about her flies faster than the rumors that come out of the Silver Dollar Tavern. Susie, at the Maidrite Diner, bragged to her customers she got a good look at the handsome man that Elizabeth is shacking up with. The minster's wife complained local farmer, Bud Carter, hasn't been to church for a month of Sundays. She wondered what his problem was. Holly, from the Antique Store, said the reason why is Bud's spending more time at the pretty newcomer's house than he is his place. The grocery store checker said Elizabeth acts nervous like she's hiding out from someone. If Steven Mitchell or her brother comes to town looking for her, with all the attention Elizabeth is getting now, she fears all they have to do is ask, and they can get directions from anyone in town to the old Carter house before she makes it through Christmas With Hover Hill. My husband and I were at the Kalona, Iowa salebarn one time during a carriage auction, and I spotted the Cinderella coach I used on the cover of this book. I would never have believed that such a thing existed, but there it was. I never knew the story behind that carriage but have always been on the lookout for book cover pictures. Most of the time, I don't know what book I will use the picture on until much later. When I was writing Christmas with Hover Hill and cynical Elizabeth Winston tells handsome farmer, Bud Carter, she doesn't believe in fairy tale romances, it made perfect sense to me that the Cinderella coach was the perfect cover for the story. Of course, I added the bows to make the coach festive for the holiday when it plays a part in the story.

Sideways Cat

Just one of many animal stories I have used in my Nurse Hal Among The Amish series. If I had paraskevidekatriaphobia, a word I can't pronounce, which happens on Friday the 13th during a full moon, I'd have sent Harold to shut the chickens up Friday night. Weather man says it will be 30 years before Friday the 13th and a full moon happen on the same night. So it is a circumstance so rare we rarely hear of anyone who had bad luck. I'm just glad I didn't miss the pleasant, late summer evening which reminds me how much I love living where we do. Sideways cat was waiting on the back door step as usual to escort me to the chicken house. I didn't bother to tell her I found my way there and back all last week without her when she took off on vacation. I'd wondered what she was up to and supposed she was looking for better living conditions than a barn and plenty of cat food handy. Since she's back, I suspect she found we are the only ones in the neighborhood that doesn't have dogs. Besides, the cat food buffet is open all the time in our barn. It was a cool 65 degrees and no wind at seven forty five. In the middle of June, I had to wait until nine twenty. I imagine the farmers started the saying going to bed with the chickens back in the day when they worked from dawn to dusk without the aid of headlights. At dusk, it's bedtime for chickens no matter what a clock says, and at daylight, the roosters are crowing let us out. For some reason, that night Odd Man roosted under the bench on the front porch. He may have had a narrow escape from a raccoon or possum, or he has paraskevidekatriaphobia and was just playing it safe by hiding. The peaceful quiet clued me in that I no longer heard the deafening buzz o f locusts. I'm not missing the demise of those fortune tellers of cold weather. What I did notice was the peeper frogs, that sing in a high pitch choir each spring to tell us warm weather is coming, have now moved from the pine tree grove into the hayfield. I don't know what they are trying to tell us about fall. I understand these inch and a half frogs can be heard from a mile away. I believe it, and the song is not nearly as pretty when the tiny frog is giving a distress call by our upstairs bedroom door in the middle of the night, but that's another story. Sideways cat stopped to get a drink out of the chicken trough while I shut the hen house door. Being an escort for me must be thirsty work. She watched me come toward her and went through the gate hole ahead of me, headed for the house. To the west, the sun had disappeared over the fiery horizon, and to the east, peeking over the corn field was the amber full moon that kept the night lit for all the chicken predators. We passed under the butternut tree just as a sparrow let out a loud cheep and rustled leaves as it settled down to roost. I'm thinking it was a sparrow anyway. All the pretty song birds have migrated already. Sideways cat twisted her neck, turned her head over as only she can do and stared into the tree with her tail twitching, but she kept going. Once we reached the back door, her job was done. She turned and headed back to the tree, thinking she might get a snack on her night hunt now that the sparrow was in his roosting stupor. She has learned her lesson. This is a safer hunt than the ones in the ditches or on the road. Why do I call her Sideways Cat. It's because her head, cocked sideways, is always in front of my left foot and her back end is in front of my right foot. Harold thought maybe on one of her night hunts a couple of years ago she was hit by a car. I'm never sure which direction to go around her so she doesn't trip me. It's safer to let her she lead and I follow.

Odd Man Out Rooster

Odd Man Out--We hatch our chickens each year, plus we never weed out any older hens so we have grandmothers and great grandmothers. Not real productive, but fun to watch when they fly out of the hen house and spread out to look for bugs. Since we never know when we'll lose a chicken to a predator, our practice is to save two roosters with the pullets and put the rest in the freezer. By having two roosters when the wild critters roam, we have a fifty-fifty chance one survives the summer to produce chicks. Last spring, we caught the pullets and two roosters in the chicken room in our hay loft and put them in the hen house. Every two years we change roosters to ensure good hatches. A few weeks later, I'm doing chores and enjoying a nearby rooster crow Good Morning. After a closer look, I spotted the crower, a small chicken which I thought was a pullet. I'm thinking I never heard of a pullet that crows. Oh, no, it's a rooster. We didn't need an extra rooster. Two usually battle out their territories, select their girlfriends and go their separate ways. I debated catching Odd Man Out, but the other two roosters didn't mind him so why should I. What a difference a year makes. By this spring the cocky little bird filled out some. The other roosters must have just realized he wasn't a pullet. He had the nerve to woe some of the hens away from the larger roosters. It didn't go over well for him when the roosters ganged up on him. After some rough cock fights which Odd Man didn't win, he still refused to give up his rights to procreate. The other two roosters punished him by banning him from the chicken house at roost time. So Odd Man has learned his place around here. Even though his life is in danger at night, he sleeps in the barn. He even convinced one hen to feel sorry for him and join him. Each morning, he crows loudly while it's safe to boast to his competitors that he's still here. It's easy to be brave when the other roosters are shut in the hen house while this place is his domain. His hen follows behind him on a bug hunt, waiting for his Come Here cluck. All that bravado fades the minute the chicken door opens. Odd Man hides in the barn. As soon as he thinks it's safe he sneaks into the hen house to eat corn. The roosters usually are on watch for him and chase Odd Man from the chicken yard. Like the chicken house, it's evidently off limits. The rest of the day he and his hen hides out in the front yard like in a game of hide and seek, he repeatedly crows, “Find me if you can.” The story you just read is true. Some day, I might need a story to add to my farm scenes in my Amish books. This one will be filed away for future use.

You Have Got To Love Adalheida Wasser

I'm in the editing process for my next Nurse Hal Among The Amish book in the series. Often something that has happened on my acreage appears in one of my Amish books as a problem for Nurse Hallie Lindstrom Lapp. The book I am working on now You Got To Love Adalheida Wasser has two such problems. One middle ways of the book is about a billy goat Nurse Hal bought which butts down a new water hydrant Hal's Amish husband has just hooked up. He is gone to the salebarn, but the bishop comes to visit and offers to fix the hydrant for Hal. Those of you that read my posts on Facebook will recognize a post I made about this time last year about the Sweet Potato Thief in my basement. I saved all the comments and tips on how to catch the rat which kept outsmarting me. So the first chapter of this book will look familiar to many of you that knew my story about the rat. If you were one of the contributors whether it be advice or a comment, see if you can pick out your part in this chapter.

Chapter One “Ach! This is awful,” Hallie Lapp grumbled to herself. She placed her hands on her hips and stared in the sweet potato bin in the basement. Not believing what she saw, she picked up one of the large sweet potatoes and examined the gnawed hole middle ways of the potato. She fingered several more in the bin that looked just like the one missing a good-sized chunk out of it. “What could have happened to ruin these nice sweet potatoes? Maybe I should show this one to John. He might know.” Hal hurried up the basement stairs, out the mud room door and around the side of the house. Usually, she'd have enjoyed the country sounds: her rooster crowing, and the baas, moos, and neighs coming from the pasture. Hal liked to listen to the trill of the red wing blackbird, the coo of mourning doves and the croaking of pheasants. Right now she wasn't in any mood to take pleasure in anything. She needed to find her husband. Last she knew, John was going to repair the pig pen. From the agitated sounds of squealing pigs, she figured he was still at it. She yelled, “John, John, where are you?” The black-haired, bearded man raised his head above the wooden boards on the pig pen fence he was repairing. “Over here.” He placed his elbows on the top board and leaned against the fence, waiting for Hal to get to him. Holding her prayer cap on top her carrot red curls, Hal rushed to him. Their young children, Redbird, Beth and Johnnie stopped a game of tag to find out what was happening. Their mother seemed really worked up. Hal thrust the sweet potato out for John to see. “What could have made this big hole?” John took the damaged potato and inspected it. “Looks like a rat ate on it to me. Where did you have it?” “In the basement with the rest of what's left of the crop we raised. I went down to get a few to fix for lunch and found three with holes in them just like this one.” What John said finally sunk in. Hal moaned. “Surely, we don't have a rat in the basement?” The children looked at each other. The girls' faces expressed fright. Johnnie grinned. John nodded. “Jah, looks like we do. Rats love sweet potatoes.” “We can't let all those good sweet potatoes get wasted by a rat. What can we do?” Hal asked desperately. John climbed over the fence and handed the potato back to his wife. “I'll get you a live trap out of the tool shed to put in the basement. Move the rest of the sweet potatoes upstairs to the mudroom until you catch the rat.” Hal trailed along behind John, wondering how it had became her problem to catch the destructive rodent. The children followed behind them to find out about the live trap. John went into the tool shed and came out with a small live trap just big enough for a full-grown rat. He showed Hal how to hold the door open and pull out the trigger hooked to the flap at the back of the cage and slip it under the door. “Toss a small chunk of sweet potato to the back of the trap for bait. When the rat goes in for the bait, he will step on the flap, and the trap door snaps shut.” “All recht, I will give this trap a try,” Hal grumbled, taking the trap by the handle. Johnnie reached for her free hand and focused on his father. “I can help Mama.” “That would be really great. Denki, Johnnie,” Hal declared. The three children followed Hal down the basement steps, searching the basement floor for movement. The girls hoped they wouldn't run into the rat, and Johnnie was hoping he'd at least get a glimpse of the speedy creature. Once Hal had the trap set, she asked the children to carry the remaining sweet potatoes upstairs and lay them in a cardboard box in the mud room. While the children helped her by doing that, Hal started lunch. After the children rescued the sweet potatoes, Beth set the table. Redbird peeled the damaged sweet potatoes to boiled for lunch. Now that he wasn't needed, Johnnie went outside to see if he could help his father. The next morning, Hal eased down the basement steps to check the trap. In the loud voice she used to talk to Able Keffhoppre at church, she called repeatedly, “Mr. Rat, I'm coming. If you're still in here get out of my sight. Please do that for me.” Before she reached the bottom step, she heard faint skittering noises travel across the basement floor. The same noises ended up behind a row of canned peaches on one of the shelves across the room. She squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her lips together to keep from screaming until the noises ceased. After the room had been quiet a few seconds, Hal opened her eyes and searched the dimly lit basement, listening intently. She sighed, wishing the basement had lights. She shook her head. Face it, Hallie, the small basement windows has worked for what I've done until now. She'd never had to worry about dodging out of the way of a rat before. No amount of light would be enough if she came face to face with that rat again. The rat's hiding place was behind the jars. She knew that. We aren't going to eat another jar of canned peaches until that rat is out of here. She edged slowly closer to the sweet potato bin and peered in. The trap was still set but without some of the bait. The piece of sweet potato was missing except for a scattering of peeling crumbs. What irked Hal was the square of stale cornbread was still in the trap. The rat didn't touch it. She couldn't understand why the rat didn't like her cornbread. He shouldn't be so particular. Hal went back upstairs. She picked up a small sweet potato tuber from the box and cut it in half. She laid one half in the refrigerator for later bait and silently prayed she wouldn't need it. With the chunk in hand, Hal eased back down the steps, her voice raised to get the rat's attention. “I am coming Rat. Get out of my sight fast. Please!” Though the basement was eerily quiet, she took little comfort in that fact. Even thought the rat stayed hid, she was still in the same space as the rodent. To her way of thinking that was still way too close for her comfort. Hal threw the chunk inside the trap, aiming for it to land at the back beside the stale cornbread. The chunk landed on the flap and threw the trap shut with a loud clunk. Hal took hold of the trap and lifted the front up so the bait rolled to the back behind the flap and reset the trigger. Now that was done. No way was she going to wait around to see what happened next. She didn't want to be around when the rat came back. She hurried up the steps and made sure the basement door shut tightly. A morning later, Hal made her way to the basement to make the daily check of the live trap. She conversed with the unseen rat on the way down. “Here I come, Rat. I'm coming down the steps right now. Stay hid.” Instead of skittering sounds, she heard strange clicking noises coming from the sweet potato bin. She froze halfway down and tried to make sense out of what she heard. Hal decided there was no way to know until she looked at the trap. She clamped her right hand over her mouth as she eased over to the bin and peered in. A healthy, beady-eyed rat, the size of a small kitten, bit the metal cage bars with his sharp teeth. He took one look at her and went ballistic. He tramped over the piece of stale cornbread which he was still refusing to eat and raced back to the front. The rodent hesitated just long enough to bite cage bars as he raced. Hal cringed as she stared at the panicked rat. Now what was she supposed to do? John was busy cleaning out the hay mow for haying season. Johnnie was too little to carry the cage up the stairs with that strong rat bouncing around in it. She figured the girls would refuse if she asked them to help her. Hal couldn't say she blamed them. She didn't want to get close enough to the cage to carry it either, but she didn't have a choice. She caught the nasty creature so she had to get him out of the basement. She assumed that was what John would say if she asked him to come get the trap. One thing was for sure and certain. If John had other ideas, she wasn't going to be the one to kill that rat. Hal picked the cage up by the handle and held it away from her, afraid the rat might bite her through the cage bars if she let the cage brush against her skirt. She hustled back to the stairs, wanting to get the rat out of the house as fast as she could. It was unnerving how the rat squealed as loud as a mad sow, trying to say, “Let me out of here.” A step at a time, Hal eased up the open steps, balancing the trap on each step as the rat made his laps back and forth. The rat could have easily overbalanced her when he lunged one way and then the other, slamming into each end of the trap. For sure, she didn't want to fall down to the basement floor, especially with the occupied trap falling along with her. The rat might end up on top of her. No way could she stand that happening. As much as she hated being near the rodent, Hal suddenly felt pleased with herself for catching the sweet potato thief. Soon the rat would be out of the house and wait until she showed John she caught the rat by herself. That pleased feeling didn't last long. Three steps from the basement door, Hal set the trap on the step. The rat made another lap and lunged at the trap door. The door popped off the trap and sailed through dark space behind the basement steps. Following the trap door, the rat took a ten-foot nose dive to the floor. The square of hard-as-a-rock cornbread sailed after the rat. It was so dark below the stairs, Hal couldn't see his landing if she had watched. She didn't, because she was too busy screaming as she scrambled to get up the last three steps, gripping the empty trap. Hal slammed the basement door shut and propped herself against it to keep from collapsing. Fudge! Why did that trap door have to break? She stared at the empty trap. That piece of rock-hard cornbread followed the rat as he fell. Was it too much to hope the cornbread knocked the noisy creature unconscious? Not that she had any intention of going back to the basement to find out. John burst through the back door, and the children rushed through the front door. They all converged on Hal at the same time. “Are you all recht?” John asked, grabbing Hal by the shoulders. “You are so white,” Redbird noticed. “Mama is shaking,” Beth said, taking Hal's hand. “She's sick,” Johnnie guessed, puckering up to cry in concern for his mother. Hal shook her head. “I am fine, kinner.” Her hand shook as she held the trap out to John. John face held a dead pan expression as he took the trap. “Where's the door?” “In the basement with the rat,” Hal wheezed. “Your old trap broke when the rat hit the door.” John's eyes twinkled as he tried to keep a straight face. “It was a new trap.” “Well, it's not anymore,” Hal proclaimed. “Blame that old rat for it breaking. Not me.” “Where is the rat?” John asked, glancing around them. Hal swallowed hard to keep from crying. “How in the world should I know. He ran away.” “I'm sorry the rat got away,” Johnnie said sympathetically. Hal hugged Johnnie. “So am I. Believe me I really am. Right now I'm thanking my lucky stars I didn't have the trap door turned more toward me when the door came off. I was almost to the top of the basement steps. There wasn't room for that awful rat and me together on those steps. Thank goodness, the rat flew out into the air and plopped to the basement floor. John, is there any chance that the rat died when it hit the cement?” Hal asked hopefully. John turned to his son. “I do not think so. Johnnie, you want to go down and look under the stairs to see?” “Sure enough, Daed,” Johnnie said enthusiastically. Hal moved slowly away from the door, hoping that her shaky legs would hold her up. “I will bring you another trap which is a little bigger and better made than this one,” John said, trying to appease Hal. “Fine! I will set the larger trap with a piece of cornbread, a chunk of sweet potato and a stale marshmallow for dessert.” Hal rubbed her forehead with a trembling hand. “Would it be too much to ask for the rat to find his exit hole and go back outside so I wouldn't have to catch him again?” John's lips quivered, suppressing grin. “Jah, I am afraid so, Hal.” The thud of Johnnie's feet hurrying up the wooden steps preceded him in the doorway. He looked disappointed. “I did not see the rat. Just this piece of cornbread and crumbs.” He held his hand out with the cornbread in it. John turned to face his son. “Reckon we better go find Mama that trap before we eat dinner.” The trap John handed Hal was larger but made of a lighter weight metal. After lunch, Hal threw the bait, sweet potato chuck, the stale cornbread and a hard marshmallow, to the back of the trap and carried it to the basement. In her hurry, she forgot to warn the rat she was on her way down, but her footsteps were enough noise to alert the rat she was invading his territory. His skittering was loud until he ducked behind the peach jars. Silence as far as Hal was concerned was a blessing. As quick as she could, set set the trap and hurried to the safety of upstairs. The travails of Hal and the rat goes most of the way through the book which is really about an elderly woman known as the Wise Woman, and then the billy takes out her husband's new hydrant. More later when I have the book completed and for sale.

The Grieving Widder Woman-book 11-Amazing Gracie Mystery Series by Fay Risner

Once again American's Miss Marple, Gracie Evans is running down clues to a mystery - Locked Rock, Iowa's town drunk's disappearance. She has the help of her two coharts – Melinda Applegate and Madeline Patterford. Gracie doesn't sit and knit like Miss Marple. Instead, she rocks and dozes while she dwells on the mystery at hand. Join Gracie Evans in solving this latest mystery – book 11 – in the series Amazing Gracie Mystery – set in a small town in Iowa in the early 1900's. Amazon link for paperback and ebook https://www.amazon.com/s?k=The+Grieving+Widder+Woman&i=stripbooks&ref=nb_sb_noss Barnes and Noble for paperback and ebook https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/The+Grieving+Widder+Woman?_requestid=5629674 smashwords.com https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/927289 The Grieving Widder Woman was my entry in the National Novel Writing Contest in November 2018. Synopsis for the book According to the gossips, they haven't seen Florence Moffatt's husband, the town drunk, staggering home in the wee hours of the morning for days.. They ask Florence where Elmer is. Florence says he's away on business which makes Gracie Evans scoff that Elmer never worked a day in his life. One day Florence shows up at the Bible Study group in black widow weeds and announces Elmer passed away in Cedar Rapids. She's going to bring him home in a rented wagon. Women frown when Florence says her friend, Preston Terrell, is going on the trip with her. When asked what caused Elmer's death, she gives anyone who asks a different story. When she arrives back in Locked Rock in a week's time, an expensive, walnut casket trimmed in gold is in the back of the wagon. The town turns out to help Widder Moffatt mourn at a nice funeral for good for nothing Elmer Moffatt. From then on, Gracie and her friends see Florence spending her spare time by Elmer's grave, crying and praying. Gracie wonders what Florence's problem is and decides to find out. How could the Widder Moffatt be confused about how Elmer died? Florence should be so glad to be rid of him that she shouldn't have to play the part of The Grieving Widder Woman. Here is the first chapter of the book Chapter One Gracie Evans pushed a hastily placed hairpin securely into her braided ring crowning the top of her head as she slipped into her chair at the kitchen table for breakfast. She noted to herself it was way too quiet in the room. That made her worry something was wrong. She scanned the rest of the Moser Mansion residents at the table who had showed up ahead of her. Molly Moser Lang, owner of the mansion, seemed to be in a world of her own. Deep in thought, she had her elbow on the table and her fist under her chin as she ran a finger over the red and white checkerboard tablecloth. Molly had taken to wearing her honey shaded hair in a bun on the back of her neck instead of loose and shoulder length. A sign she was feeling more like a matron than a young woman. Molly was a pretty woman inside and out. Gracie knew that would never change with age. Orie Lang, Miss Molly's husband, had the Locked Rock Weekly Review stuck in front of his face. Gracie wondered if it wasn't time the man gave up and started using reading glasses. He was about Molly's age and good-looking, with a mop of black hair. Gracie figured it wouldn't do any good for her to say anything to him about his vision. If anyone brought up reading spectacles Gracie could just hear him say what did he need glasses for when he was a farmer. He would wind up getting them broke. A few years back, Agnes Barnes, the housekeeper, took Pearlbee Washington's place as the cook when the dear old soul passed away. She mumbled to herself as she plopped two skillets on the wood cook stove to cook sausage patties and eggs. Gracie could hear the pop and crackling of burning wood from clear across the room. By the time she broke eggs in one of the skillets, the lard was hot. Gracie heard the loud sizzle when the eggs hit the skillet bottom. A pop of flying lard landed on the back of Agnes's right hand. As she rubbed her hand with her apron, the middle-aged, dowdy woman snap to herself, “The nerve. I should say.” Gracie wondered why now of all mornings after fixing eggs and sausage cakes for years did the unexpected pop of hot lard seem so vexing to the woman. The work counter across from the stove was white with flour from Agnes's biscuit making. The pan of biscuits was in the oven. Gracie already knew that because she heard the oven door on the stove slam shut just before she entered the kitchen. She figured the wood cook stove's oven door had slipped from Agnes's hand. Now it crossed her mind she figured wrong. As Gracie studied the Moser Mansion's Rest Home For Women's housekeeper's face, she realized something was in the wind. Agnes was usually an easy-going gossip, but not this morning. She was wound up as tightly as the busted mainspring in Gracie's father's railroad pocket watch. Her silver streaked, brown hair was frizzled. Agnes looked like she had walked to work in a stiff wind and forgot to comb her hair before any of them came to breakfast. “Where is Malachi this morning?” Gracie asked Molly. “Agnes says he has already eaten breakfast and went outside to work in the garden and mow the yard,” Molly answered. “Reckon it's better for him to work in the cool morning air. Besides, as slow as he's getting, it takes longer for him to get anything done.” Shuffling feet behind her made Gracie twist in her chair. “Morning, Melinda,” she greeted cheerfully, hoping for at least one resident who would be cheerful right back. After all, Melinda Applegate was usually the glass half full type of person. Her greeting was followed by Miss Molly and Agnes greeting Melinda. Mr. Orie crumpled the newspaper onto his lap as he said good morning to both of them. Melinda said a meek, “Good morning, everyone” By that time, Gracie was focused on Orie. She frowned as the newspaper filled with creases and disappeared from view. It was no wonder the news was hard to read by the time she got a hold of Locked Rock, Iowa's weekly newspaper. Lately it had been full of creases, and now she knew exactly who was to blame. Not wanting to dwell on the crumbled newspaper for fear she might offend Orie out loud, Gracie focused on Melinda's serious face. “Your feet any better?” The curly, blue-white-haired woman shuffled over to her chair and eased into it. She smoothed the wrinkles out of her black skirt before she placed her red checkered napkin on her lap. Melinda gave a tug on the top end and stretched the napkin up over the lace ruffles on her white blouse as she talked. “No, Gracie, my feet are not better so that I can tell anyway. Though I don't believe they're as puffy as yesterday. Dr. Carter said it might take a few days. I'm suppose to stay off my feet to notice a difference.” Melinda frowned as she thought about the fuzzy blue house shoes she had been shuffling around in. “And I should wear sensible shoes which I don't have. Even my dressy shoes are too tight.” Molly smiled weakly, knowing how much Melinda valued her neatly dressed appearance. “If Dr. Carter's recommendations are going to help you soon, then you best do what he says until your feet aren't swollen anymore.” “Oh, I will, but if I see anyone coming besides all of you, I'm going to my room and hide until the company leaves. I don't want them to see me in these sloppy house shoes,” Melinda declared. Behind them, Madeline Patterford entered the room. “Oh brother, Melinda, just wear longer skirts if you have them so you can tuck your feet out of sight and be comfortable in those house shoes. Bad feet are no fun. Besides, you can't go for our exercise walk with your feet swollen and hurting.” Melinda looked very thoughtful. “Tucking my feet in under my skirt might work. As for walking, as much as I enjoy our walks, you and Gracie will have to go without me until my feet get better.” Orie slid his cup over to the edge of the table. “Agnes, when you have time bring me another round of coffee? My cup went dry.” “Sure thing, Mr. Orie. Right away.” Agnes picked up a couple of potholders from a stack on the corner of the work counter. She reached over the sizzling sausage cakes to the back of the stove and grabbed the large blue and white granite coffee pot by the handle. It was time to fill all the cups. Agnes scurried to the table. Her hand shook badly as she tipped the pot down over Gracie's cup so she put her left hand over her right one to ease the shaking. Gracie wondered if she should scoot her chair back from the table in case Agnes spilled. By the time Agnes moved on to Orie's cup, Gracie caught Molly's eye and nodded at Agnes's shaking hands. Molly, alerted that something was wrong, frowned as she watched Agnes move on around to fill her cup, then Madeline and Melinda's cups. “Agnes, dear, are you feeling all right this morning?” Molly tried to sound casual. Agnes shrugged. “Just rushing a little more than usual this morning I reckon. For some reason I feel like I'm behind.” “Take your time, Agnes. We aren't in any hurry,” Molly assured her. The cook beelined it back to the cook stove to dish up breakfast, mumbling huffily, “There ain't anything wrong with me, I should say.” Gracie's eyebrows raised at Molly as Agnes made three trips to set the filled, trembling plates in front of each of them. The younger woman shrugged her shoulders and dismissed Agnes's cranky disposition. She didn't want to pry too much into the woman's business. “Well, what have you ladies got planned for your day?” “Reckon this morning I'll get some fresh air on the porch like usual,” Gracie said. “Me, too,” agreed Melinda followed by Madeline nodding her agreement. Molly said, “ Miss Melinda, I'll have Orie bring a footstool out to the porch for you to put your feet on. I suggest you use it for a few days to keep your feet up like the doctor wanted and see if that helps the swelling. If not we better go to Jackson's Dress shop and find you a pair of shoes that feel right on your feet.” “All right,” Melinda agreed quietly. “This afternoon is the Bible Study Group's meeting at the church,” Gracie announced. “Are you going, Miss Molly?” Molly's hand went to her cheek. “Oh my, yes. Thank you so much for mentioning the meeting. I had completely forgotten today is Wednesday. Fine thing, the most important meeting for me not to forget about when I'm the chairwoman this year.” “Are you ready for the meeting, dear?” Melinda asked. “Yes, I do have my agenda ready. The discussion is when to have the cemetery clean up day before Decoration Day and we need to organize the picnic on the holiday. Guess I better be at this meeting since I want clean up day to be well-organized and the Decoration Day picnic as well. Last year, I felt the organizing has something left to be desired. The Bible verse I picked and Bible reading pertains to our working to spruce up the Locked Rock cemetery.” “Good. Since we're all going, we can walk to the church together after lunch,” Madeline offered. “Reckon we could,” Gracie agreed. Looking gloomy, Melinda gave a loud sigh. “I think with the way my feet feel I better stay home, Miss Molly.” “Oh, my, no need for that. You shouldn't be walking to the church so I'll have Malachi hitch up the horse to the buggy and bring it around. We can all ride to the church,” Molly offered. Gracie scooted her chair back. The legs screeched loudly on the black and white checker board floor. “For now, I'm headed to the front porch if you ladies want to join me. Mr. Orie, are you done with the newspaper?” “Sure, I am. Here you be, Miss Gracie.” Orie handed the crumpled newspaper across the table to her. As the three elderly women walked out of the kitchen, Gracie heard Molly's instructions to Agnes about what to fix the twins and Shana for breakfast. Next, Molly headed to the stairs with the intention of getting the Lang's adopted, teenage daughter, Shana up. She could help the five-year-old twins, Jenny Nora and Jessie Ned, get dressed to keep them from dawdling while Molly made the beds. If left on their own, the twins would wake up with nothing but playing on their minds. The women had settled in their rockers too late to see Marshal Bullock come out of his house across the street and head for his office downtown. His wife, Sara, was bent over the flower bed in front of the house, pulling weeds out of her marigolds. When she heard the mansion porch door bang shut she straightened up, turned around and waved at the women. With her hand shading her eyes, she looked up at the climbing sun and decided it was time to go to work at the switchboard in her house. Gracie watching the neighborhood and read the newspaper. From the back yard came some screaming. A boy's yell, “It's my ball. You can't play with it.” A girl's high pitched, angry scream, “Mama!” Melinda said, “What is going on in back?” Gracie looked over the gold rimmed reading glasses on her nose. “The twins are awake. Need I say more?” Melinda just shook her head. Later that morning, Agnes emerged from the mansion's front door on her way home to cook her husband an early lunch before she came back to serve the mansion residents an oven-baked beef roast, potato and carrot lunch. “See you later, ladies,” Agnes said hurriedly, not looking either direction as she crossed the porch to the steps. “Not so fast. Agnes. Stop right there, and tell us what is your problem this morning?” Gracie barked, folding the newspaper and laying it on her lap. Agnes froze to the spot and gripped her hands together to keep them from shaking. She said over her shoulder, “Nothing worth bothering your head about Gracie Evans.” “So there is something wrong.” Melinda used a hushed tone. “I - I said it wasn't anything to worry about, didn't I?” Agnes sputtered as she turned to face them with tears in her eyes. “Oh, brother! We're all your friends, after all. Please tell us what is wrong. Maybe we can help you,” Madeline said kindly. “There is nothing anyone can do as far as I can see,” Agnes began. “Unless one of you have a remedy for getting this town shut of Elmer Moffatt.” Gracie leaned forward in her rocker. “What has that old drunkard, Elmer Moffatt, done this time?” “More times than not in the wee hours of the morning the awful man walks home before daylight,” Agnes shared. “So? The man spends his whole night at the Silver Slipper Saloon downtown, drinking and gambling. He's done that way as long as I've known him,” Gracie said dismissively. “I know he has, but that always made him his wife's worry or whoever else he disturbed while at the saloon. Not mine,” Agnes spit at her. “How is Elmer suddenly your problem?” Madeline inquired. “Lately Elmer is headed home as I'm headed to work instead of going home earlier. He weaves from side to side so I can't figure out which way to go out around him. I think he does it on purpose. He cackles like he's being funny and belches loudly.” Agnes shuttered. “For sure a crude man he is. I don't know how his wife, Florence, stands him.” “Last time I sat by him in church, Elmer smelled like he hadn't had a bath in ages,” Melinda offered. “I had to breathe through my handkerchief during the whole sermon. It was that awful.” “I don't remember Elmer coming to church.” Gracie twisted in her chair to level a look at Melinda. “I think that was probably the last time I remember him at church on Sunday. I think the congregation gave him a hard time so he gave up coming,” Melinda told her. Agnes wrung her hands together. “I'm telling you, ladies, I don't know how much longer I'm going to come to work before daylight with that man on the streets. I'll just have to move your meals down an hour to try to avoid him.” “That might work,” Melinda agreed. “Mr. Moffatt wouldn't be expecting the change in your routine.” Gracie slapped the arm of her rocker. “Well, it won't work for me. I've always eaten my breakfast early. Don't figure on stopping now.” Agnes ran her shaky fingers through her flighty hair as she pleaded, “Then help me figure out a way to keep Elmer Moffatt away from me. Sometimes he gets a weird look in his eyes and winks at me. Why, it's like the old drunk is flirting with me, of all people.” “That is hard to believe,” Gracie said dryly. Melinda gave her a hard look and turned her focus back to Agnes. “Dear, I don't blame you for being so very upset. Can't you take a different path to work?” Madeline clapped. “Good idea, Melinda.” Agnes grunted. “I thought it would be except I tried that, and I swear Elmer waited to see which block I took to come here so he made sure to meet me.” Melinda put her hand to her chest. “Oh dear, this is awful.” Madeline sat up straight in her rocker. “I have an idea. Tell Mr. Orie about this. Ask him to come get you and bring you to the mansion in the buggy for a few days until Elmer Moffatt gets tired of playing his little games.” Agnes's eyes rolled from side to side as she gave the idea some thought. “That might work. Well, I better hurry home. If I'm much later, I won't have my husband's lunch on the table and back here by the noon meal.” The women watched Agnes hustled down the walk and through the yard gate. Melinda gave a sigh as she removed her slippered feet from the tapestry covered footstool. “What's the sigh for?” Gracie asked. “I have a problem, too,” Melinda lamented as she held her legs up and stared at her puffy feet in the fuzzy blue slippers. “I can't go to the Bible Study meeting in these awful house shoes. I'll just have to stay home.” “Surely we can think of something to help you out,” Madeline said. “Think, Gracie. What can we do?” “Why ask me? I don't have any fashion sense. I'd mostly likely wear the house shoes and be hanged with what the others think of it as long as my feet felt better,” Gracie declared. “No surprise there. We guessed that about your fashion sense a long time ago when all you ever wear is tan blouses and brown cotton skirts,” Madeline snipped. Her face suddenly brightened. “I know what to do. My feet are a little bigger than yours, Melinda. How about you borrow a pair of my shoes to wear until you get a pair of your own?” Melinda frowned. “I hate to put you out that way.” “It's not putting me out. I have plenty of shoes. When we go in to eat lunch, I'll go to my bedroom and get a pair for you to wear,” insisted Madeline. When Agnes talked to Molly and Orie at lunchtime about her dilemma, they were all for helping her. They didn't want their breakfast routine messed up any more than Gracie did. The next morning at dawn, Orie drove Agnes passed the Moffatt house. Agnes kept a watchful eye on the fading darkness around the buggy. She grabbed Orie's hand and pointed at the staggering man. Just now at the end of the block, Elmer weaved his way home. He stopped and leaned on Alvina Wisecup's picket fence while he watched his intended victim ride by him. First surprise twisted his drunken face, then he belched and laughed a sinister cackle as if the joke was on him. Once the buggy past him, Agnes couldn't resist a glance back. Elmer staggered on toward his yard gate, and it rankled Agnes even more that he was still cackling to himself. “Mr. Orie, that awful man acts like this is all a joke to him. Do you think bringing me to work is going to keep Elmer Moffatt away from me?” “I sure hope so. We'll give this a week and see what happens. If Elmer doesn't change his ways, I'll have a talk with him, and if that fails, I'll have Marshal Bullock talk to him. I doubt that Elmer would like to go to jail.” Agnes settled back on the buggy seat. “I should say. I feel better with you on my side.” I hope readers enjoy my latest cozy mystery. Here are the links to find the book and ebook.

Besides reading books and writing books, quilt making has been my past time during this long and snow filled winter in Central Iowa. In keeping with my other quilts my comforters have a story put with them for the couple who receives my comforters. The tops were put together last winter and laid back to finish this winter so I was able to tie out three different tops. The first comforter was large blocks with butterflies and the other two were five inch blocks set in a color pattern to make them distinctive. The square and butterfly quilt

HISTORY OF Comforters In American Colonial times most women were busy spinning, weaving and making clothing. Meanwhile women of the wealthier classes prided themselves on their fine quilting of whole cloth quilts with fine needlework which required no piecing. Quilts made during the early 1800s were not constructed of pieced blocks but instead whole cloth quilts and medallion quilts. Pioneer quilts made in North America and through the 1900's had worn-out blankets or older quilts as the internal batting layer, quilted between new layers of fabric and thereby extending the usefulness of old material. A comforter's only difference from the quilt is padding. They were usually filled with feathers, wool, polyester or silk-based material. Comforters were easy to wash and hung on the clothesline to dry maybe once during spring cleaning. Also, large pieces of material cost money and anything that could be used for another use was never thrown away. With all the work a pioneer woman had to do during the day, she didn't have time to piece fancy quilts. Material came from the box of less faded pieces on ragged clothing. Perhaps a good size square in a comforter would have been the back of a man's shirt or a woman's dress skirt. Forget about trying to piece tiny butterflies on a comforter like that which was all hand sewn. To hold the top, middle and bottom together, hand spun yarn from their sheep flock was used to tie the comforter layers. I like the idea of putting a story with a quilt and my name and quilt date on a back lower corner. This is a long enduring piece of bedding that can be handed down through the ages. By the time the third or fourth generation gets a quilt like that they haven't a clue how the quilt or comforter came to be made or who made it. For me, Fay Risner, this was a quick top to sew on the machine. In 2018, I saw a quilt like it on Facebook made by a friend. Seeing her quilt gave me the idea the knit I had saved from my mother's supply of woven rug material would work in such a top. I picked out the earth tones and cut out foot squares. Once I laid a row of blocks on the bed across and length wise I measured from block to block to find out how wide the strips had to be to make the comforter at full size. My friend put stars in the joined corners of the strips, but appliquéing small stars wouldn't have been a fast project since I'd have to sew around every point slowly. So I used butterflies which is one of my favorite objects to use in quilts anyway. That was a way to use small cotton scarps of material to brighten up the comforter's earth tones, and I could appliqué the antennas with black thread as I sewed the body onto the wings. Simple, easy and fast. Knit stretches so quilting it by hand to the backing wasn't as easy as quilting on cotton layers. My stitches weren't all neat and the same size on the back which doesn't make this a ribbon winning quilt. This quilt is definitely a comforter – designed to keep you warm on cold winter nights. One that will be long lasting for many years to come. I consider this handmade comforter a labor of love. While you use this comforter think of me. Now here is the next two comforters which share the history of the comforter story.