Christmas Eve. Hallowed in every conceivable dwelling for over two-thousand years: in a stable, in hovels crowded with the poor of the earth, mansions of the rich, wherever the Baby is longed for, expectantly awaited. Wherever and whenever humanity prayed for true peace and true brotherhood, the Baby King could surely bring that to our poor suffering masses.

Amish youngie sing their hearts out on Christmas Eve. Old hymns, contemporary ballads, and modern carols. All over North America Amish young people pile onto sleighs that they have kept ready in their barns all year, waiting for this holy night.

Christmas Eve. Candles are burning in the windows where families are waiting to be courted by the sleigh-loads of happy youth. The next generation. These souls are the Amish Church’s hope and prayer for the future. These sleighs represent a hard fought-for battle to live out what they believe. Their ancestors were martyred for those beliefs. They were driven across countries and continents in their search for a place of peace where they could continue their beloved way of life. And they have managed to do just that, in spite of Father Time pushing toward the world’s greedy grab for prosperity, power and domination. For millennia the good fight has been fought. The troops are gathering now once more, teaching what they would live and die for to their heirs, some of whom understand the epic spiritual battle being waged, while others are oblivious, so they must fight on, bringing all back into the fold, into the Amish Church.

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Release Date: December 3, 2024
Genre: Amish Romance

~ A White Satin Romance ~

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Excerpt

Chapter 1: Kaffi Soup

“Mamm! MAMM!” The shouting could be heard throughout the whole house.

“Maaaaammm!”

“What is it, for heaven’s sake?” Veronica called back from the kitchen sink. She wasn’t sure yet where it was coming from, but she had a good guess who it was. She could hear the old wooden stairs creaking as little feet bounded down them.

“Let’s make Dat Shoo-fly bief for supper. Okay?” four-year-old-soon-to-be-five Rose called as she ran into the kitchen and stood barefoot in front of Veronica in her muslin nightie buttoned up to her chin, batting with her hands at her waist-length brown hairs covering one eye and most of the other one also.

“And corn noodle soup, too,” she said from behind the curtain of hairs that she hadn’t tamed yet. “Pleeeeeease,” she begged then, her hands tightly clasped in front of her as if in prayer.

“Oh, my goodness, daumling. Your Dat will get absolutely geblumpt if we keep making him pies every day,” she said.

“Oh, but we need to keep him happy, eh?” the little girl asked. “And you promised to teach me how to make it,” she said, reminding Veronica of this fact that was as good as a binding legal contract in her little mind.

“Well, we’ll see,” Veronica said, taking in the little hands. “I have to make breakfast first. Then we’ll see what we have to do today, that is if that meets with your highness’ approval,” Veronica explained.

“You have your chores before you eat, don’t forget. Open their pen on the hinklehaus and scatter the chicken feed first. Then bring in all the eggs. There should be plenty today. Take your basket when you go. Go and get dressed and I’ll do your hairs first,” she added. With a nod of her head, and content that her prayer would be answered, the little sprite turned and was gone.

 

* * *

 

It had been six months since the wedding. My, but what a fine wedding it was, too. Maybe a bit grander than her first marriage even to Amos. Everyone was genuinely glad for Veronica and Henry, especially after all the hardship both had been through, first losing her tiny preemie baby and then Amos being killed in a buggy accident hardly a year later. That old guy driving the car was nearing his nineties, for goodness’ sake. He never should have driven that big fancy car at all. He ran one stop sign. Just the one, but that’s all it takes.

Henry had not escaped tragedy either. He and his young wife couldn’t have been happier as they expected their first baby. No one could have imagined the complications that arose leading to her death. Little Rose survived the ordeal, though that seemed insignificant consolation to the bereft father.

Veronica had already been up for two hours. She was dressed in her favorite sage green tract, with her kitchen apron over that.She’d begun making a matching dress for Rose out of the same cotton-polyester cloth. Just enough polyester that she didn’t have to iron it every time she washed it. Hanging on the clotheslines whipped all the wrinkles right out of it. It was also cooler in the summer months. The heavier fabrics were more suited for cold weather, worn over thermals or a wool slip.

Her white starched bonnet was already pinned in place over her tight, dark brown bun. She, too, was barefoot. Your feet toughen up when you only wear shoes for church or town trips. It also helps keep the floors clean if you aren’t dragging in all sorts of dirt on your shoes every time you come into the house. You didn’t worry as much about putting toddlers down to graze on the floors either. Hopefully the number of germs from the barns will be reduced there, too. Mind you, a certain amount of exposure to some germs builds up one’s immunity to the environment.

The children loved being barefoot for the greater part of the year. If there wasn’t frost on the ground, you’d find them barefoot, even in church or at school. There was the added benefit of saving literally tons of money on shoes for growing children. Stubbed toes and scraped knees were their lot no matter what they were or weren’t wearing on their growing feet.

 

* * *

 

Veronica continued crumbling the day-old Southern Gal Biscuits into three bowls. Any bread would do. She saved all the crusts and heels of the bread in a bowl in the warming oven on the wood stove to dry out. There was so much you could do with old bread. Bread puddings, a binder for meatloaf, a fondu supper, breakfast mosch, a thickener for soups, herbie croutons for salads or Haystack suppers. The list went on. If you were out of bread or biscuits, you could always use crushed Saltine crackers for the breakfast kind. Homemade grapenuts would work too. Rose claimed that they should try popcorn in it sometime.

Veronica moved the scalded camel milk away from the hottest side of the wood stove. She measured out three tablespoons of instant coffee into the pan and stirred that into the hot milk, careful not to let it boil and burn. She stopped then, spoon frozen between the bowls and the coffee canister and closed her eyes to breathe in the rich coffee smell. Veronica loved this time of day. So silent, waiting for all the earth to awaken once again which it did every single day without fail. How did God do that, anyway? Would the ritual ever cease? In Eternity perhaps?

Looking back to what she’d been doing, she measured out three tablespoons of raw honey—brown sugar would do, too—stirred it in gently, and it was ready to pour over biscuits or bread or crackers. Adding a spritz of almond or vanilla extract or a dash of cinnamon is optional.

She had discovered camel milk only a couple of years ago. It is the perfect solution for those with lactose intolerance. An Amish fellow in Missouri has a herd of camels that he milks and sends it all over the country. A mama camel will only let down her milk if her calf is in the pen with her, Veronica had read.

The sun was just coming up and peeking into the kitchen windows. Veronica reached up above the table, cranked down the wick on the mantle lamp that was hanging from a chain in the beam above and blew the flame out.

 

Thriftiness is part of Amish culture. With large families we have learned to be frugal and to make the most out of the household items we have. Whether it’s food, clothing, furniture, or bedding, Amish culture teaches a person not to be wasteful.

~ Amish advice

 

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