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.

Merry Christmas To One and All

The Overly Friendly Holiday Mouse T'was a cold winter's night close to Christmas when we Risners nestled down in our recliners. Harold watching television, and me stitching on my Grandmother's Fan quilt spread in hills and valleys on my lap and cascading over my feet to the floor. Mid evening the quiet was broken when Harold spotted a mouse flash from the dining room into the living room. The furry speed demon ducked under the couch but not for long. For half an hour, Harold insisted on giving me a play by play of the mouse's marathon as he crisscrossed the room, looking for a suitable nest for the long winter night. On the mouse's next sprint, Harold announced the four legged racer dashed under the couch. After that nothing but silence which meant Harold didn't see the mouse anymore or was interested in television or he dozed off. I concentrated on my stitches. It was the dark movement on the quilt above my knee that made me glanced up. The MOUSE peeked over the bunched quilt at me. His beady, glittering, tiny eyes stared into my startled, wide eyes. My thought was now was when Harold should have given me a mouse alert. Remember me. I'm the one that didn't make a sound as the rat, AKA Sweet Potato Thief, propelled himself toward the live trap door, busted the door and catapulted to the basement floor. Mice have the opposite affect on me, especially one in my lap. I screamed at the top of my lungs. The mouse took my not too subtle hint and in the wink of an eye scampered over my feet and down the quilt. Now I had Harold's attention. His recliner came up with a clatter. “Are you having a heart attack?” I shot out of my recliner and frantically shook the quilt while I watched around my feet. “I don't know. I might be. Let me take my pulse, and I'll get back to you on that. The mouse was in my lap, walking all over my quilt with his dirty feet and staring at me.” “I didn't see him,” Harold said as if this was no big deal. “Of course not. You had to be awake to see him. Next time I will shoo him your direction so he can sit in your lap,” I offered. The rest of the evening as I kept a watchful eye, I made sure my quilt was piled high in my lap instead of dragging on the floor. As I quilted my problem solving skills began forming in my mind. Obviously, I didn't have enough sticky traps statically placed. I'd buy more. For a few minutes, I contemplated placing the traps all around my recliner for protection from lap mice. Maybe I could make a small sign with an arrow on it, pointing to Harold's recliner, signifying that way to the mouse's next race track. Nah, extra sticky traps were a bad idea! No way would that work. I'd be the one to get stuck in the sticky traps. Besides, I was hoping that mouse wasn't dumb enough to try scaling Mount Quilt again after the reception I gave him. So I did what I thought was the logical thing by surrounding the couch with sticky traps and hoped we didn't have company. UPDATE: I'm happy to announce in this house not a creature is stirring except the two large ones in their recliners wishing all of you Merry Christmas and a Happy, Healthy, Varmint Free 2019.

Seventy Year Old Dresden Plate Quilt Top

Finished a special project. This was a quilt top made by Harold's Aunt Gladys in Arkansas years ago. She put it together when she was first married from the better pieces of clothing in the rag box when every scrap of material was saved for use. Gladys sewed the print pieces on her treadle sewing machine and the white pieces were from feed sack muslin - cut and sewed by hand to fit around the circle called the Dresden Plate. This might have been when Uncle Elmer was in the Korean War fighting with the marines. Gladys was a young bride in her early twenties, milking close to a dozen cows by hand twice a day. I can imagine her on lonely nights sitting under a single light bulb that hung down from the ceiling working to piece this quilt and many others while she worried and waited for her husband to come back from the war. I quilted the top to the back and know the 70 or plus year old quilt to be fragile. Even covered up a couple of mouse holes with some of my own scraps. So this quilt will never be used but will be on display in my living room as soon as I find a quilt rack. So knowing the hard work and sacrifices women make in time of war I felt that Aunt Gladys deserves the credit for this quilt. On the back is her name and the year 1950 which is just a guess to date the quilt. Thank you for your service Elmer Powell and Thank you Aunt Gladys for your strength to keep the home fires burning for two long years.

A bit of history on the Grandmother’s Fan quilt: This pattern first appeared in print in a Ladies Art Company catalog of 1897. Prior to that, fans were common motifs in late nineteenth century crazy quilts. Their popularity likely was due to the fad for decorating in the Japanese style, which was prompted by Americans' exposure to Japanese art at the 1876 Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia. By the 1930s, fans were standard favorites for quilt patterns which is understandable. The fan is made from scraps left over from making clothes or less faded pieces cut out of clothes in the rag box before the rest of the garment was turned into dish clothes and dust rags. The 1930s quilts patterns quilting came about during the depression when with brilliant thrift the women used to create useful, beautiful quilts from what they had.  Many of us have seen these quilts on our elderly relatives beds. The Great Depression of the 1930s was the longest and most severe economic crisis in American history. It impacted jobs, standards of living, well-being and many areas of American popular culture. It also created a sense of connectedness among those who experienced the period. Passed on orally in many families, the experience of life in hard times has become part of the common heritage of millions of Americans.

This is my version of the Fan quilt. The piece in the middle is a dresser scarf much older than the quilt top. I got two of these dresser scarves at a yard sale and realized they were some elderly woman's treasures. They had been stored in an wooden dresser and had the distinctive scent of oak permeating through them. The material was muslin from a feed sack or flour sack. In the scarves beginnings they had been used and washed often. I knew this because some of the embroidery thread had washed away. It was amazing to see the pattern still imprinted on the material. I replaced pieces of roses and leaves. The crocheted border was still as neat as the day the woman finished crocheting it. In the beginning of the fan quilt, a fan design was quilted in the white piece of the block. I got my pattern from an old quilting magazine given to me by my aunt. With that pattern was a quilting design of a rose with two leaves. I am planning on using that design so that it matches the roses on the scarf. If all goes well the finished quilt will be my entry at the fair next year.

Stealers of Our Children Need to Be Caught

Please keep an eye out for this young lady at the gas stations around you. She has been kidnapped and missing for two weeks from Brooklyn Iowa. She was last seen last week in a car headed south from Carney, Mo. north of Kansas City. In small towns in the midwest where everyone knows everyone else people feel safe to go jogging alone or not to lock the doors after dark. Mollie was taken in the night. There seems to be a pattern of missing kids in this area. Two months ago a young man was taken near Laport City, Iowa. No clue to where he is. Six years ago there were two young girls, cousins, riding their bikes in July and they were taken. Six months later their bodies was found in a wooded reserve. Over the years I have heard reports of a white van cruising near kids and trying to get their attention. Don't know if it is the same devious people or not, but please watch for Mollie and call the police.