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An Amish Kitchen
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An Amish Kitchen
KELLY LONG
AMY CLIPSTON
BETH WISEMAN
© 2012 by Elizabeth Wiseman Mackey, Kelly Long, and Amy Clipston
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.
Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Long, Kelly.
An Amish kitchen / Kelly Long, Amy Clipston, Beth Wiseman.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-4016-8567-6 (trade paper)
1. Amish—Fiction. 2. Kitchens—Fiction. 3. Christian fiction, American.
4. Love stories, American. I. Clipston, Amy. II. Wiseman, Beth, 1962– III.
Title.
PS3612.O497A83 2012
813'.6—dc23
2012033925
Printed in the United States of America
12 13 14 15 16 QG 5 4 3 2 1
Kelly – For my Gram
Amy – For Stacey
Beth – To Janet Murphy, with love and thanks
Contents
Glossary
“A TASTE OF FAITH” BY KELLY LONG
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“A SPOONFUL OF LOVE” BY AMY CLIPSTON
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“A RECIPE FOR HOPE” BY BETH WISEMAN
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Reading Group Guides
Amish Recipes
GROS SMUDER ZOOK’S ROSE PETAL TEA
GRANOLA
BREAD
SOFT PRETZELS
MOIST BANANA BREAD
SHOOFLY CUPCAKES
PUMPKIN WHOOPIE PIES
APPLE ROLL-UPS
SCHNITZEL BEANS
APPLE PUDDING
GERMAN POTATO PANCAKES
CHILLY DAY SOUP
DUTCH COUNTRY MEAT LOAF
PEACH STRUDEL
AMISH CHICKEN AND CORN SOUP
CREAMED CELERY
RACHEL’S BOILED COOKIES
AMISH HAYSTACKS
ROSEMARY AND EVE’S CHICKEN IN A CLOUD
SOUR CREAM PANCAKES
CRUNCHY POTATO BALLS
ZUCCHINI CASSEROLE
QUILTERS SALAD
ROSEMARY’S APPLE CRUMB PIE
ROSEMARY’S TOMATO PIE
AMISH WINTER SOUP RECIPE
ROSEMARY’S KAFFI CAKE
GERMAN BREAKFAST SKILLET
SOUR CREAM FRUIT DIP
HAM AND CHEESE STRATA
PEACH SWEET POTATOES
GLOSSARY
ab im kopp – off in the head, crazy
ach – oh
aenti – aunt
appeditlich – delicious
ausleger – undertaker
bauch – stomach
boppli – baby
bruder – brother
The Budget – a weekly newspaper serving Amish and Mennonite communities everywhere
buss – kiss
buwe – boy
daadi – grandfather
daed – dad
danki – thank you
dat – dad
Derr Herr – God
dochder – daughter
dumm – dumb
dummkopp – dunce
Englisch – non-Amish person
fater – father
fraa – wife
freind – friend
freinden – friends
fremm – strange
froh – happy
gegisch – silly
Gern gschehne – You’re welcome
Gott – God
grandkinner – grandchildren
grank – sick
guder mariye – good morning
gut – good
gut nacht – good night
hatt – hard
haus – house
hiya – hello
Ich liebe dich – I love you
kaffi – coffee
kapp – prayer covering or cap
kichlin – cookies
kind – child
kinner – children or grandchildren
kumme – come
lieb – love
maed – young women, girls
maedel – girl
mamm – mom
mammi – grandmother
mei – my
mudder – mother
narrisch – crazy
nee – no
Ordnung – the written and unwritten rules of the Amish; the understood behavior by which the Amish are expected to live, passed down from generation to generation. Most Amish know the rules by heart.
rumschpringe – running-around period when a teenager turns sixteen years old
schee – pretty
schtupp – family room
schweschder – sister
sei se gut – pl
ease
sohn – son
Was iss letz? – What’s wrong?
wedder – weather
Wie bischt? – How are you?
Wie geht’s – How do you do? or Good day!
willkumm – welcome
wunderbaar – wonderful
ya – yes
A Taste of Faith
* * *
KELLY LONG
* * *
June 25
To: Henry Fisher
Paradise, Pa.
Dear Bruder Henry,
It seems that Fater has taken a turn lately, and the doctors at the hospital say they are worried about his breathing and heart condition. He’s home now, using some oxygen. He asks after all of you often, even when he’s poorly, and I thought you might like the chance to visit with him. You know that I love the kinner, but we’ve had a hard time even keeping the twins quiet so Fater can rest. I wondered if you and Martha might come for a visit alone, and perhaps Abram can tend to the young ones and the farm. I long to hear from you and would be glad to see you both. Matthias says “Hello” and “Kumme on with you.”
Your loving sister,
Elizabeth
CHAPTER ONE
JULY 3
Paradise, Pennsylvania
THE LIGHT OF THE WANING SUMMER DAY FILTERED through the unadorned glass and played amid the profusion of plants in coffee cans that lined the windowsills. Twenty-year-old Fern Zook liked the way her silhouette blended and appeared to lengthen with the multitude of shadowy leaves and stems as she stretched to make sure each container took a few drops from the watering pot.
She reached a tender fingertip to the face of a pansy and murmured to the plants, as was her custom. “If only a man could be grown among you all. It would be much easier than trying to find one in Paradise. But then, God made man in a garden, so maybe . . .” She closed her eyes and indulged in her favorite fantasy . . . that of a tall, dark, handsome man, someone with a frame large enough to find her generous curves . . . interesting, instead of unappealing. Someone who—
“Hiya! Anyone in there?”
Fern spun from the plants to see the materialization of her reverie standing outside the kitchen screen door. She blinked when he hollered again.
“Can’t you hear? I’ve got a sick little girl here!”
Fern sighed. It was Abram Fisher, the twenty-three-year-old eldest son of her grandmother’s next-door neighbors. Tall and handsome, ya. He was broad-shouldered and lean-hipped, and his tousled chestnut-brown hair brushed overly long at the collar of his dark-blue shirt, which matched the color of his eyes. Darkly brooding and big, for certain. She’d passed Abram solemn and sure at church and seen him working in the fields, his strong forearms straining at some task or another, his large hands easily managing a team of four horses behind the plow. And apparently those same hands could cradle a little girl with abject tenderness as he was doing now with his sister, Mary. But Fern doubted he even knew she was alive; he certainly had never paid attention to her growing up. And now he was a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor, married to the land, who’d never given her a passing word until this moment.
“Hey!”
“I’m coming,” she said in a calm voice and went to open the door. As he brushed past her, carrying Mary, his elbow grazed her dress, setting her heart to miss a curious beat.
Forcing her mind to the matter at hand, Fern assessed the red face of the fretful child. Sunburn . . . but not sunstroke, not by the way the child was moving about and fussing. Fern breathed a sound of relief when she laid her hand against the little red forehead and felt for a moment, sliding her hand gently to the sides and back of the child’s neck. She could tell there was no fever, just the external heat from the sun exposure.
“Let’s take off her kapp. A lot of heat escapes through the head, and she needs to cool down.” And so do you, Abram Fisher . . .
The man was positively radiating tension from his big body. She was used to dealing with anxious parents, but not upset older brothers who looked like they could be models in an Englisch magazine.
She searched out the pins holding the prayer kapp on the tightly braided mass of brown hair and then threaded her fingers through the braids.
“That feels gut.” Mary half-smiled.
“I’m glad.” Fern peered down into the child’s face, then looked back up to catch Abram’s eyes. “Didn’t she have her sunbonnet on?”
His blue eyes, which she fancied could make a girl forget herself if she wasn’t careful, were as cold as the sea and met hers with a suppressed fury. “Nee,” he snapped. “I thought that it wouldn’t hurt to let her play in the creek with the boys a bit. She had her dress off and just her underclothes on. I was wrong, all right?”
“Ya, you were,” Fern murmured. The man certainly had an easily aroused temper. She turned from the table. “Well, it’s not sunstroke. She’s moving around fine, and I can feel no fever. I’ll brew some tea.”
He blew out a breath of what could only be disgust. “Nee, thanks. I have no time for tea.”
Fern flushed. “Not to drink,” she said patiently. “The tannin is a soother to the skin; it will help the burn cool and heal it faster.”
“Ach,” he grunted. “All right then.”
She turned away and went to gather tea leaves to brew; it would take a few minutes and then have to cool. She had no idea what they’d talk about while they waited. She fussed at the stove awhile, then went back to lean over Mary, deciding that ignoring Abram might be the best course of action. She wasn’t adept at talking to men unless it concerned her work and their immediate ailments.
“Would you like a peppermint stick?” she asked the little girl.
Mary’s smile brightened her red face. “Ya.”
“Me too!” An excited boy’s face appeared at the screen door, and Fern had to laugh.
“I think you have company,” she remarked, going to open the door. A mass of boys tumbled in, and she didn’t miss Abram’s faint groan.
“Matthew, I told you to keep the kinner at the house.”
Fern waved an airy hand in Abram’s direction. “Ach, it’s fine. They were probably interested in their baby sister, right?” Her grin took in the group with ease. Children, she could deal with.
“We was worried about Mary,” the smallest boy announced.
“Of course you were,” she said, handing candy from a glass jar to eager hands. “Let’s see, we’ve got John, Luke, Mark, and Matthew, right?”
The boys nodded tousled and damp heads, and Fern turned with a diffident stance to Abram. “Would you like a sweet?” She held the jar out to him and was surprised when he accepted with a brief nod, reaching long, tanned fingers into the glass to take out the candy. She couldn’t help but notice when his white teeth took a decisive snap of the stick, and the sugar that was meant to be leisurely enjoyed was gone in two bites.
“Some things are better when they’re savored,” she said, watching him.
He grinned at her in what she considered to be a sarcastic fashion. “So they are—but not candy . . . or anything else that flits across a woman’s mind.”
Fern frowned. She didn’t like his dismissive attitude about a woman’s thoughts. Her lips framed a retort when Matthew spoke up, a solemn expression in the brown eyes behind his glasses.
“A woman’s mind is just as gut as a man’s, Abram. I believe that Fern wanted to tell you to slow down and taste things in life, right?”
Abram wanted to roll his eyes at Matthew, but the boy was thirteen, sensitive, and overly gut at studying; he needed a gentle hand. And, of course, he was absolutely right about what Fern had wanted. Fern . . . what a ridiculous nickname . . .
He recalled that her true name was Deborah, not that he’d ever thought about it, though they’d grown up beside each other. He eyed her covertly now as she put a gentle hand on Matthew’s shoulder and bent to praise him for his insight. The gentle curves of her body were appealing to the eye, he decided, but she
was probably as pushy as a mule about what she wanted and when she wanted it. He felt a simmer of emotions cross his mind and had to haul himself back to attention.
“Abram!” Mark shrilled his name.
“What?” he snapped, looking everywhere but at Fern Zook.
“We’re going out on the porch like Fern said . . . three times now!” His younger brother poked him in the bauch to emphasize his words, and Abram slid his hands to his hips.
“Well, go on with the lot of you, then. I’m coming.”
“Neeeee . . . you are staying here to help put the tea towels on Mary.” Mark got one last poke in, then scurried behind Luke and hit the door. The boys piled out, and Abram had to look at Fern then.
She was laughing, a bright smile on her rosy lips. “You must have your hands full with your parents gone for the month.”
He frowned. “Ya, they’re a bunch.” He found himself wondering if the soft curves of her shoulders would fill the palms of his hands. What was wrong with him? He must be addled in the head from the heat himself. He kept his voice level, then turned to the couch to bend over Mary, who held up her arms for him. He buried his face in the baby-soft curve of her neck, then kissed her hot cheek.
He straightened and avoided Fern’s observant green eyes. “All right, what do we do?”
Mary spoke up. “Why do they call you Fern?”
Fern smiled. “It was what my mother called me, because as a baby I loved the outdoors so much. I guess I tried to chew on a fern one day, and somehow it became my name.”
Mary giggled, and Abram had to admit that Fern was a good healer, capable as she was of distracting a patient in pain . . . in spite of her silly name.
CHAPTER TWO
“WHO WAS HERE?”
Fern looked up from gathering damp tea towels when her aged mammi came into the room, leaning heavily on her cane.
“Ach, the Fisher kinner. Little Mary has a sunburn.”
“Did Abram bring her?”
Fern suppressed a sigh. If there was one thing her grandmother wanted more than to see her trained in the arts of herbal healing, it was to get her married. She’d remarked on Abram Fisher as a possible candidate on more than one occasion.