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~ Romance for the Ages

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Tag Archives: award winning author Mary Ellis

Mary Ellis Talks Acknowledgements on Wednesday Writers

03 Wednesday Aug 2016

Posted by Catherine Castle in books, Romance, Wednesday Writers

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acknowledgements, award winning author Mary Ellis, books, inspirational romantic suspense, Magnolia Moonlight, Wednesday Writers guest authors

 

 

 

Magnolia MoonlightToday Wednesday Writers welcomes back Mary Ellis, who is asking an intriguing question today: Do you ever read the acknowledgments for a book? I know I do . . . sometimes. So let’s hear what Mary has to say about the acknowledgements in her book Magnolia Moonlight and why she thinks they’re important.

Do You Ever Read the Acknowledgments for a Book?

 

When you pick up a book at your local bookstore or library, or download it to your electronic device, do you ever read the acknowledgment page? These are the people who helped the author create the story. They answered questions or provided background detail so that the fiction would be based in reality. Here are four of my acknowledgements for Magnolia Moonlight. They tell a story in themselves….

Special thanks to Captain T. McGehee of the Natchez Police Department. Never have I been treated so warmly while interviewing a very busy professional. My honorary officer’s badge hangs proudly over my writing desk. Thanks also to the Cleveland FBI agents who willingly share their knowledge with local mystery writers.

Honorary police badge

Honorary police badge

 

My story involves a former police detective who now works for a PI firm. She’s forced to interact often with her former boss, a man she was once in love with. Even though I didn’t have an appointment, Captain McGehee invited me into his office and answered my police procedural questions for over an hour. I was amazed how procedures differ greatly from state to state.

 

 

Thanks to the Grand Hotel of Natchez for the wonderful hospitality. What a lovely historic gem on the banks of the Mississippi River. 

When you stay in a historic hotel that treats guests like family, your research is bound to go smoothly.

Thanks to Johnny “Vegas” Sturwold, executive host at Belterra Casino and Resort, for assisting me with the game of Texas Hold’em and with poker room procedures. Although the Golden Magnolia Casino is a figment of my imagination, I’d also like to thank the Hollywood Casino of Bay St. Louis, MS, who graciously and patiently answered many of my questions.

As you might have guessed, my subplot involves gambling. When Isabelle spots her former husband going into a casino, she figures he must have succumbed to his gambling addiction. Isabelle and Nate make it their business to get Craig back on the straight-and-narrow, despite being on their honeymoon. Craig loves to play high-stakes poker—a game I formerly knew nothing about.

2015-09-22 14.50.42Thanks to the helpful guides inside the Bay St. Louis Historic Depot and the Alice Moseley Folk Art Museum. I’m also very grateful to Nicki Moon of the Bay Town Bed and Breakfast, who shared firsthand stories of riding out Hurricane Katrina, including hanging onto a tree for dear life. Thanks also to the naturalists at Gulf Shores National Seashore in Ocean Springs and on Ship Island, smack in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico.

When my PI’s aren’t following Crag around, they enjoy life in a charming beach town. Since my B&B hostess rode out Hurricane Katrina in a tree, I was able to pepper my fiction with real-life experiences. After you read Magnolia Moonlight, please let me know if my research enhanced my fictional story.

Magnolia Moonlight

 

Blurb: When a local Baptist preacher takes his own life, his congregation is quick to believe rumors, but his widow is certain his death was no suicide. When Price Investigations scratch beneath the surface, they discover Reverend Dean was a victim, not a thief. The two new partners uncover an elaborate pyramid to bilk millions from unsuspecting non-profits, thousands of miles from the small town of Natchez where no one is whom they appear to be.

 

About the Author:

Mary Ellis low res fullMary Ellis has written twenty novels. Her latest, Magnolia Moonlight, is part of a mystery series, Secrets of the South. Before “retiring” to write full-time, Mary taught school and worked as a sales rep for Hershey Chocolate. She enjoys gardening, bicycling and swimming, and lives in Ohio with her husband, dog and cat. Sunset in Old Savannah will release in early 2017.

 

contact links: www.maryellis.net or www.facebook.com/Mary-Ellis/Author

buy links: CBD:  Amazon: Barnes & Noble

Want to read more about Mary Ellis? Just type in her name in the search function to see other posts by her.

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Mary Ellis and What Happened on Beale Street on Wednesday Writers

27 Wednesday Apr 2016

Posted by Catherine Castle in books, Wednesday Writers

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award winning author Mary Ellis, Catherine Castle Wednesday Writers series, inspirational romantic suspense

 

 

 

What Happened on Beale StreetToday on Wednesday Writers, award-winning author Mary Ellis is introducing us to her newest mystery series, Secrets of the South, and specifically the second book in this series, What Happened on Beale Street, an inspirational romantic suspense. But before we get to her excerpt, she’s going to tell us a bit about how she developed the setting for the book.

 

 

 

 

Thanks, Catherine.

Barbeque on Beale

Barbeque on Beale

Location, location, location…those are the watch words when selecting investment real estate, a vacation destination, or a good place to retire. Mystery writers know that setting is also crucial to a story. For my latest romantic suspense, What Happened on Beale Street, I chose the opulent Peabody Hotel in downtown Memphis. When two detectives arrived to investigate the death of a friend, they chose a hotel in the heart of the blues music scene. I visited the Peabody several times and stayed once during research. Although I renamed the Peabody to the Carlton since I liberally changed details to suit the story, this historic landmark offered inspiration on many levels. Their hundred-plus years in business have produced plenty of intriguing vignettes, and sparked my fictional subplot about hidden jewels, missing for fifty years. While a guest at the Peabody I took the concierge’s tour and learned plenty about the fountain, a veritable masterpiece in marble.

 

Peabody Duck Master

Peabody Duck Master

But truly the Peabody’s premier attraction is their resident ducks, which spend afternoons in the fountain and off-camera hours in the rooftop Duck Palace (also accessible to tourists.) Twice a day the tuxedoed Duck Master marches his mallards from the palace into the elevator. With great fanfare at the precise hour, the elevator door opens and the ducks march down the red carpet, up a ramp, and into the fountain—all to the cheers and applause of a multitude of fans. In the late afternoon, the march repeats in reverse after the ducks finish their workday. I was lucky enough to observe a duck-flock marching in single file with soldierly precision to the Duck Master’s commands. On another occasion, I viewed a new batch of trainees and saw a different show indeed. (Ducks remain for a short period and are then returned to the wild.) When the elevator doors opened the Duck Master herded a squawky, rambunctious pack down the red carpet who definitely hadn’t grasped the concept of single file. What an entertaining show! Although there’s no need to hunt for missing diamonds since my story is pure fiction, the Peabody Hotel in downtown is one of America’s must-see landmarks.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

 

What Happened on Beale Street:

New Orleans

Nicki Price opened one eye to find an irate face looming over her in the dark room.

“Why do you pay a phone bill if you refuse to answer the thing?” Her roommate slapped the phone down on Nicki’s solar plexus, none too gently.

“I do pick up when people call during daylight hours.” Letting her cell fall to the floor, Nicki turned over and snuggled deeper under her covers.

Chloe Galen plopped down on the edge of the bed. “Nic, you’re a partner in a big-time PI agency. You need to be ready for adventure twenty-four-seven.”

“Spoken like a true artist-in-residence, who paints solely when the creative impulse strikes but under no circumstances before noon. Besides, Price Investigations is not a big-time agency. I work for my cousin for chump change.” Nicki tried to bump Chloe off the bed with her hip. “Isn’t it the middle of the night? Why are you still up?”

“Because whenever I doze off, your stupid phone wakes me up. How can you stand the theme song from a TV Western for a ringtone? If you don’t answer the next time it rings, I’m coming back with a bucket of cold water.” Chloe picked the phone from the rug just as it began its annoying tune again as though on cue and handed it to her friend.

Nicki sat upright and kicked the tangled covers to the foot of her bed. “Hello?” she demanded crossly. “Whoever you are, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Nicki?” A familiar voice on the other end sounded distant. “It’s Danny Andre.”

“Danny. I’d recognize your Barry White imitation underwater.” Nicki changed her tone as every trace of sleepiness vanished. “How are you? Where are you? I heard you moved to the big city to seek fame and fortune. I have major news too—a new job, cool apartment, and a real live fee-ahn-say.” She couldn’t help grinning as she said that last bit.

“That’s great, Nic. I’m happy for you,” he said. But the subsequent moments of silence didn’t convey much enthusiasm.

Nicki’s smile vanished from her face. “Hey, what’s going on? I don’t hear anything from you for months, and then you call in the middle of the night?”

“Sorry about that. I keep forgetting normal people keep normal hours.”

“Forget about normal. What’s wrong, Danny?”

“Anything I can do?” Chloe whispered. She was lingering in the doorway.

Nicki shook her head as she dug through her nightstand for pen and paper.

“Remember our promise that we’d be able to tell each other anything? I didn’t know who else to call since my sister has had enough of me lately. This might send Isabelle around the bend.” His laugh sounded hollow.

The fact that her childhood best friend resurrected a playground pledge sent a chill through Nicki’s veins. “Of course I remember. Nothing has changed, so spill your guts. What did you do? Knock over the Natchez Savings and Loan? Why not hide out in New Orleans? Providing you dress like a tourist, no one will find you in the French Quarter.”

Her jest fell short of its mark, while the sound of his labored breathing tied Nicki’s gut tied into knots. “Danny, please say something. You’re scaring me.”

“Then that makes two of us. I’m in real trouble, Nicki. I got myself into a mess.”

She closed her eyes, trying to rectify his pleas with her best friend from the sixth grade until their high school graduation. Danny Andre was the sweetest guy she knew. Everyone liked him, from their Sunday school teacher to the surly old man who kept every ball that landed in his yard. Even her mother liked him, despite insulting every other male that crossed the Price threshold. Danny was more diplomatic than a Swiss banker and twice as generous.

“How much trouble can someone get into playing a saxophone in a Memphis orchestra?” she asked.

“I play in blues clubs where I pick up gigs and fill in for regulars. My job is a far cry from the New York Philharmonic.”

“What? Your granny told you to stay out of the bars when you left town.” Nicki waited for a sarcastic retort, but she heard the sound of muffled sobs instead. “Sorry. No more bad jokes. Tell what I can do to help.”

“Could you come to Memphis? Maybe bring your cousin and that new fiancé of yours? Bring some of his friends too. The more the merrier.”

Unfortunately, she hesitated a second too long. “Sure. Hunter and I will drive up as soon as he’s done testifying in court. Shouldn’t be more than a few days. I would love to see Memphis as soon as he can break away. I’ll check if Nate can—”

“I’m sorry, Nic. How stupid of me to think you could drop everything and hightail it upriver. We ain’t in the seventh grade anymore. Let’s get together when things calm down for Hunter. I’ll call you.”

“Wait, Danny! Give me your address and I’ll come this weekend even if Hunter can’t. I’m not too busy for my friend—”

But he had already hung up.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Chloe.

Nicki turned to face her future sister-in-law. “I have no idea. I’m obviously terrible at crisis intervention. If somebody was out on the ledge contemplating suicide, I’d probably ask them to wait till after my pedicure.” She put her face in her hands and groaned.

“Give yourself a break. It’s hard to be Johnny-on-the-spot at two o’clock in the morning.” Chloe walked over to the bed and bent to give her friend a hug. “Who is this Danny person? Does my brother have something to worry about? I know for a fact Hunter is crazy about you, ‘crazy’ being the operative word.”

Because trying to get back to sleep would be a fruitless endeavor, Nicki got out of bed, slipped into her robe, and then padded to the coffeemaker in the kitchen. “Danny Andre was the only person in high school who didn’t think me weird during a weird period of my life.”

“An old boyfriend from your misguided youth rears his head?” Chloe perched on a tall kitchen stool.

“Not a boyfriend, just a friend. Danny is in trouble, but I was too busy explaining how great things were for me to help him.”

Chloe’s expression softened. “What kind of trouble? IRS liens, problem with the musicians’ union, advice for lovelorn? Hunter could help with the first, Nate the second, and I’m your girl for the third.”

Nicki released an exasperated sigh. “I have no idea. He hung up too fast. I need to get to Memphis ASAP. Danny wouldn’t have called unless it was serious.” As soon as she swallowed a mouthful of reheated coffee, she punched in his number. The call went straight to voice mail.

“Do you know where he lives in Memphis?”

“Nope.”

“Yet you’re going to jump on a plane.”

“Yep. He and Christine Hall were my closest friends. Danny refused to ask someone to our prom so we could go as a pack of nerds. Now that Christine is dead, I need to step up to the plate.” Nicki poured coffee into a travel mug.

“What about your job?”

“PI work isn’t like being a bank teller, Chloe. Nate and I have to wait for clients to hire us.”

“Do you plan on telling my brother where you’re going?”

Nicki stopped fussing with sugar packets. “Of course I will, but I don’t want to call him until the sun is up. One of us should get a decent night’s sleep. Until then I’ll take a shower and pack a bag. The more I replay the conversation with Danny, the more I think I shouldn’t waste time.”

With that she walked back to her room and into the bathroom, curtailing Chloe’s questions. Steam soon enveloped her in a moist cocoon, but Nicki found no solace. The fear in Danny’s voice echoed in her ears. Why had she been so blithe, so careless with his request? It wasn’t as if he pestered her with one demand after another.

By the time she was dressed and had dried her hair into a mane of curls, the love of her life had arrived. Hunter Galen was sipping coffee at the table when she walked back into the kitchen.

“Rumor has it you and I are going to Memphis. It’s one of my favorite cities—birthplace of the blues and home of the tastiest barbecue in the South.” Hunter smacked his lips and reached for her hand. “Good morning, my love.”

Nicki threw her arms around him while scowling at her roommate over his shoulder. Chloe simply shrugged and offered her an adorable smile.

“What are you doing here, sweet man?” Nicki kissed the top of Hunter’s head, his hair still damp from a shower. “You have a big day ahead of you. Your busybody sister must have forgotten you have to testify in court or bad people will get away with murder.”

Chloe placed a cup of coffee on the table and slunk from the room.

“I couldn’t sleep anyway.” Hunter tightened his arms around her waist. “What’s up with your friend? Is this the knight who rescued you from a snake-infested island? Nate said the guy swam out from shore to carry you back in a pirogue.”

“You already called my cousin?”

“Yes, on my way here. I needed to know about any rascal who would invite you to visit at two a.m.”

“I’m going to slap your sister silly,” Nicki fumed.

“I’d pay a dollar to watch, but first tell me the story about snake island.” Hunter kneaded her back with his long fingers.

“Nate and his pals stranded me in the middle of a swamp without a pole or oars. I couldn’t use my hands for paddles because gators live in that water. My cousin planned to return when the moon rose. Danny heard about their prank at the Dairy Queen and rescued me first. But he certainly didn’t swim. He paddled out in another pirogue and towed mine back. My, how stories change with each retelling.”

“I would love to meet so brave a hero.”

Nicki buried her face into Hunter’s starched shirt, trying to forget the panic in Danny’s voice. “I can count on one hand the times Danny asked me for anything. Today, he gave me a chance to even the score, and what did I do? Rambled on about how great life is ever since I found true love. How could I be so self-centered?”

“Chloe said he woke you up from a dead sleep.”

“If you heard how scared he sounded, Hunter, you wouldn’t make excuses for me.”

“I would make excuses for you even strapped to a rack beneath a pendulum blade.”

Nicki pulled away. “Something bad has happened. I need to go to Memphis but haven’t decided whether to drive or fly.”

“I’ll ask the DA to petition the court for a continuance and book us on the next flight.” Finishing his coffee, Hunter got to his feet.

“No, sweet man. Thank you, but you don’t want to annoy the judge. Besides I’m a licensed PI, equipped to swim through whatever snake-infested waters Memphis has.” Nicki reached for her shoulder holster and Beretta from the shelf above the stove.

“Have you ever been to Memphis, Nicolette? Have you spent time in the clubs and smoky after-hours dives where musicians congregate?”

“No, but Danny was a former choir boy at First Baptist Church of Natchez. I doubt he would hang out in those places.” She placed a bottle of water into her bag.

“People change. I’m sure singing gospel on Sunday mornings didn’t cause whatever trouble he’s in.”

Nicki pivoted to face him. “You need to be in court. I’ll do what I can and come back before you miss me.”

Hunter lifted her chin with one finger. “Humor me by asking Nate to go with you. Memphis is no place for a brand-new detective, male or female. Before I leave for court, I’ll arrange your flight, hotel, and have a rental car waiting at the airport. Please, cher?”

Nicki grinned. “But Nate was the one who stranded me on that island, remember?”

“I remember. Rest assured that history won’t repeat itself in the Mississippi delta. And if you’ll be in Memphis for a while, I’ll fly up once I’m done testifying. I know some special places you will like.”

“You have a deal, Galen. Call the airlines while I finish packing. Then I’ll enjoy pressing Nate’s buzzer until he drags himself out of bed.”

 

Want to read more? Check out What Happened on Beale Street at Amazon

About the Author:

Mary Ellis low res fullMary Ellis has written twelve award-winning novels set in the Amish community and several historical romances. Her latest, What Happened on Beale Street, is second of a new mystery series, Secrets of the South, from Harvest House Publishers. Before “retiring” to write full-time, Mary taught school and worked as a sales rep for Hershey Chocolate. She enjoys traveling, gardening, bicycling and swimming, and lives in Ohio with her husband, dog and cat.

 

Links: Mary can be found on the web at: www.maryellis.net or Facebook

 

Holiday Reads–Amish Christmas Memories by Mary Ellis

04 Friday Dec 2015

Posted by Catherine Castle in books, Christmas Reads, Holiday Reads

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: Catherine Castle Holiday Reads, Amish anthology, Amish Christmas Memories, Amish novella, award winning author Mary Ellis, Mary Ellis, Sarah's Christmas Miracle

Amish Christmas MemoriesTime for another Holiday Reads promo with award-winning author Mary Ellis, whose 2015 Christmas release, Sarah’s Christmas Miracle, from the anthology Amish Christmas Memories, written with Jerry Eicher and Murray Pura, is now available at Amazon. Three delightful Christmas Amish novellas combined into one ebook.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been to Amish country in Holmes county (Ohio)and Shipshewana (Indiana)  several times. The simplicity and charm of the countryside dotted with Amish farms has a certain appeal. The excerpt provided below is a bit longer than I’d usually post, but the flavor of the story is so compelling, I thought I’d let it stand in its entirety. Enjoy!

Sarah’s Christmas Miracle

by Mary Ellis

As Christmas approaches, Sarah Beachy searches for her brother who left the Order years ago. Sarah’s mother has been missing her son for so long…will she also lose her daughter to the English? Or will this family receive an unexpected miracle?

 

Excerpt of Sarah’s Christmas Miracle

by Mary Ellis

One Day before Thanksgiving

Why couldn’t things remain the same forever?

As the sun rose over the eastern hills, the rolling, deep purple meadows glistened from a thousand sparkling prisms as sunlight refracted in the morning dew. Dawn was a magical time of day. Sarah shuffled her feet through the shredded cornstalks as though she had all the time in the world. Fiery red and gold leaves swirled along the lane that separated their land from the neighbor’s property. On her left stood the tidy, white house and outbuildings of home—farmland that had been in her family for seven generations. The fenced pastures and rolling croplands stretched for as far as the eye could see. On her right, white pickets enclosed the landscaped four acres of her employer, Country Pleasures—a charming bed-and-breakfast on the county road. Two different worlds, but both dear to her heart.

Englischers came from all over Ohio to sleep on goose down pillows, under handmade Amish quilts, in antique four- poster walnut beds. They ate hearty gourmet breakfasts in the luxurious dining room before setting out to visit Amish country. The community of Plain folk had drawn tourists for decades to the quilt shops, farmers’ markets and furniture galleries of Holmes, Wayne and Tuscarawas counties. Except for the danger from increased traffic, the Amish had adjusted to their newfound popularity while holding steadfast to their Christian faith and simple lifestyle.

Sarah Beachy enjoyed the best of both worlds. The farm where she lived with her parents and five siblings stood within walking distance of the inn where she prepared breakfast six days a week, washed linens, and tidied rooms in between guests. Englischers weren’t the only ones curious. Sarah loved hearing their strange accents, seeing their colorful combinations of clothes, and listening to breakfast chitchat about the “bargains” they’d found at the flea market. And since she usually finished work by eleven, the rest of her day stretched before her like a box of wrapped chocolate—each hour to be opened and savored at leisure.

“Sarah Beachy!” A voice broke through her trance. “Stop dawdling! I need you today!” Mrs. Pratt stood with both hands planted on her hips, yelling from the upstairs porch.

Although still too far away to judge facial expressions, Sarah knew the innkeeper wasn’t really angry. A kinder, gentler soul would be impossible to find. But she picked up her skirt regardless and ran the rest of the way—an occurrence since she’d reached the dignified age of nineteen.

“You’re not strolling woodland paths hand-in-hand with Adam. I need you to start the omelet while I fix fruit and oatmeal for my vegetarians and country fried steak for the men. I think the youngsters would enjoy Mickey Mouse cut- out pancakes.” Mrs. Pratt’s voice trailed off as she reentered the hallway, allowing the screen door to slam behind her.

Sarah smirked as she climbed the steps to the back door. Strolling with Adam…she might do a little of that tomorrow after the big turkey dinner. The entire Troyer family had been invited to share the meal with the Beachys. There were so many Troyers, they would need tables set up in the living room and enclosed porch, besides the ten-footer in the kitchen. But since her mamm planned to roast one turkey today and another tomorrow, there would be no shortage of food. Sarah hurried to wash up and put on her apron. When she entered the high-ceilinged kitchen, Mrs. Pratt held an upraised wooden spoon. “Are you going to smack me with that?” Sarah asked, trying not to grin.

“What?”

Mrs. Pratt looked confused. “No, no. I’m trying to get down another saucepot from the hook. Why Roy thought I needed this silly ceiling rack for pots and pans is a mystery to me. And I have no idea where my step stool is.” At five-foot-nothing, Lee Ann Pratt needed her stool on a regular basis.

At five-foot-ten, Sarah almost never did. “Let me help.” She arched up on tiptoes and easily caught the handle of the sought-after pot.

“Thank you, dear girl. I’m so glad I hired someone tall.” Mrs. Pratt bustled to the counter where cinnamon rolls were cooling on a wire rack. “Ready for the glaze,” she announced, poking at one roll. “Please start an omelet for eight and get out some orange juice. We’ll have to make do with frozen, no time to squeeze. But I’ve already sliced fresh pears and a pineapple and for fruit cups.” Back and forth the woman buzzed around the room, like a hummingbird under the influence of fermented nectar. Sarah performed her duties with far less stress but no less efficiency. After all, keeping the inn filled to capacity with paying guests wasn’t her personal worry.

“Everybody’s in an all-fired-up hurry today,” Lee Ann said, dropping her voice to a whisper. The first of the overnight guests had appeared and were headed toward the coffee service on the credenza. “Folks want to pick up pumpkin pies and specialty gifts in town, or view the last of the autumn leaves before the holiday rush starts.”

“Rush to where?” Sarah asked, dicing peppers and tomato for the omelet.

Lee Ann looked at her strangely. “Everywhere…people are in a big hurry until Christmas, trying to finish their shopping, baking and house decorating. It never seems like there’ll be enough time, but somehow there always is.” Like a dervish, Mrs. Pratt grabbed her tray of fruit cups and marched into the dining room, as though the bed-n-breakfast guests teetered on the edge of collapse from hunger.

Sarah smiled as the door swung shut. She loved working in the warm comfortable inn especially since the frenetic innkeeper treated her like a daughter. From early spring through late fall when the B&B operated at full capacity, her younger sister worked here too. But as the holidays drew near and throughout winter, the two of them ran the place like a well-oiled clock.

Hopefully, the Englischers won’t be rushing around so much they miss the point of the season, she thought. After pushing bread down in the eight-slice toaster, Sarah added cheese to the omelet, turned the ham slices in the skillet, and stirred blueberries into the oatmeal.

“We need more coffee, dear,” called Lee Ann from the pass-through window. “And check the Mickey Mouse pancakes. Please don’t let them burn.” Deep furrows creased her forehead, while her complexion turned bright pink from exertion.

“No problem.” Sarah flipped the pancakes onto a platter and then peeked into the dining room while decorating the mice with licorice whips and pink frosting. Ten Englischers— ranging in age from six to seventy—milled around the table, talking, laughing, and sipping coffee from tiny china cups. Their clothes varied from blue jeans with missing knees to long print skirts, silky blouses, and thigh-high leather boots. Sarah loved being Amish, seldom coveting fancy clothes, but the odd combinations women put together into outfits interested her. How long did it take them to make up their minds each morning?

“They’re ready for us to serve.” The innkeeper breezed into the kitchen with an empty carafe in hand, looking frazzled. Yet the two women handled the culinary chaos of food allergies, restrictive diets, and peculiar taste buds with their usual precision. Soon, amid lavish praise and good-bye hugs, the guests departed to find their way down backcountry roads, leaving Lee Ann and Sarah with five rooms in disarray, a table full of dirty dishes, and a kitchen turned upside down.

But first, they sat down to their own breakfast— something the proprietress had insisted upon since the day Sarah had been hired. They filled plates from whatever had been leftover and carried them to the nook overlooking the front garden. While they listened to birds bickering at the feeder or the clop-clop-clopping of horses and buggies on the road below, they shared a meal before readying the inn for the next onslaught of guests.

“Any reservations today?” Sarah asked, biting into a warm cinnamon bun.

“Oh, no, thank goodness. Since tomorrow is Thanksgiving, people will sleep in their own beds tonight, or in the home of whomever is cooking the big bird.” She sampled Sarah’s eggs and smiled. “It’ll just be Roy and myself for dinner. You’ll be able to sleep in since I won’t need you here. But I imagine your mother will have plenty for you to do.”

“Hmmm, jah, she will.” Sarah sipped coffee and watched two Cardinals squabbling at the suet feeder. “Why will it just be you and your husband? What about your children— aren’t they coming to celebrate the holiday?” She sat down her fork. Two people alone on Thanksgiving didn’t seem right.

“No,” Lee Ann said, dragging out the short word. “My daughter lives in Baton Rouge with her three kids—too far to drive and too expensive to fly home. I’m hoping to see them at Christmas, but even that’s doubtful. Her husband’s afraid to take a few days off with so many coworkers getting laid off at his plant. He plans to wait and see how things look the week before.” She quickly ate another forkful of omelet. “Umm, this does taste better with melted Swiss instead of mild cheddar. Good idea!”

Lee Ann’s brave effort hadn’t fooled Sarah as she refilled both coffee cups. “What about your son? Doesn’t he live in Virginia? That’s not as far away, is it?” She couldn’t remember exactly where Louisiana was. Her teacher had once shown the class a map of the United States, but it’d been long ago.

“Yes, he lives in northern Virginia, part of the suburban sprawl around Washington, D.C. He has the opposite problem from my son-in-law. His company is so busy people must come to work seven days a week. Can you imagine, even going to the office on the Sabbath? My son has so little time, he’ll never find the right person to marry unless some gal stalks him to and from Starbucks.”

Both women shook their heads.

“He’ll get Thanksgiving off but must be back in the office on Friday. So he can’t come home either. I guess I should’ve had more kids than two. Maybe if I had six like your mom I’d have a better chance for company during the holidays.” She rose to her feet. “Eat more eggs,” she ordered. “That’s not enough to save, and Roy already ate cereal.”

“No more for me, danki,” said Sarah.

Lee Ann ignored her refusal and promptly scraped the remaining omelet onto Sarah’s plate. “Nonsense, you’re too thin. If we don’t add some meat to your bones, you’ll blow away when the wind howls across the fields this winter.”

Sarah pushed the food around her plate with a troubled heart. Mrs. Pratt was acting bravely, but Sarah knew loneliness had arrived a day early. Without guests tonight, she and Mr. Pratt would have too much time on their hands. “Will you cook a whole turkey for just two people?” she asked.

“A turkey? No, child, I bought the biggest chicken in the grocery store. I’ll stuff her with sage dressing and roast her in the oven. Then we’ll pretend she gobbled while walking the earth, instead of clucking.” She laughed while carrying her dishes to the sink.

Sarah ate another bite; then scraped the rest into the disposal. “Isn’t there an English law that you must eat turkey tomorrow? Even if there isn’t, I want you to join us for dinner. Believe me, we’ll have more food than we’ll know what to do with.”

Her boss patted her arm and then wiped down the stove and countertops. “That’s very nice of you, but your mother doesn’t need any more people in her house. If Adam brings the entire Troyer clan, you’ll end up sitting on steps and windowsills the way it is.” She reached for a large serving tray.

Sarah blocked Mrs. Pratt’s path to the dining room. “Please, I want you to join us. It would mean a lot to me if you came.”

For a moment, the sweet-faced woman stared at her. “All right, Sarah, thank you. But make sure you warn your family— my husband always makes a pig of himself with the candied yams. Better yet, I’ll bring the yams so I’m certain they’ll be enough.” She stepped around Sarah and began stacking the dirty cups and plates.

Sarah looked through the pass-window and noticed two things different about Mrs. Pratt: Her left dimple had deepened, and she was singing along to the radio. Other than Sunday mornings in the church choir, the innkeeper hadn’t sung since the Cleveland basketball team had made the play-offs.

While Sarah stripped beds and ran the vacuum sweeper, thoughts of Mrs. Pratt ran through her head. How could her children even consider not coming home for Christmas? Other than attending church, how else would people celebrate the Lord’s birth if not by spending time with family? Some folks’ loved ones might have already passed on, or maybe they were never blessed with siblings or children, but how could a woman not see her grandchildren on Christmas morning?

Christmas Eve was the holiest time of the year. Everything seemed to look prettier, smell sweeter, and taste more delicious on that special night. Even the stars shone brighter in the night sky. Although Plain folk didn’t decorate trees or their homes like Englischers, they enjoyed their own traditions. Since she’d been a little girl, her daed would build up the fire in the woodstove after supper and they would gather around to sing carols and eat Christmas cookies with tall glasses of milk. Later, he would read the story of Jesus’ birth from his well-worn Bible. Excitement filled everyone’s hearts when they finally crept upstairs to bed.

That afternoon when she finished work, Sarah hugged Mrs. Pratt tightly, exacting a promise to come for dinner the next day. Joy from doing a good deed buoyed her spirits as she walked the back lane home. However, her pleasure lasted less than halfway. She remembered only five of the six Beachy kinner would be at her mother’s Thanksgiving table tomorrow. How quickly her eldest brother had slipped from her mind, like a casual schoolmate who’d moved to another county after graduation.

Caleb, quiet and sometimes sullen, spirited and temperamental, had left home five years ago and hadn’t been back since. He’d been nineteen, Sarah’s present age, when he’d joined a construction crew headed for Cleveland. Caleb had grown rebellious during his Rumschpringe—arguing with daed, neglecting chores, and forgetting his Amish friends in favor of Englischers he’d met at work. Her father had assumed he would return when his work on the housing renewal project was finished. Mamm had assumed he’d come back once big city excitement lost its appeal and he grew lonesome for his family.

Both had been wrong.

With tomorrow’s big dinner and Christmas fast approaching, would Caleb’s absence even be noticed in a house bulging with people? Or like Isaac’s prodigal son, will the absent child leave a void that those who had stayed behind could never fill?

Excerpt from Sarah’s Christmas Miracle by Mary Ellis All rights reserved by publisher and author

 

Want to read more of this story? The book is available on Amazon

 

About the Author

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAMary Ellis has written twelve award-winning novels set in the Amish community and several historical romances. Her latest, Midnight on the Mississippi, first of a new mystery series, Secrets of the South, is set in New Orleans. Before “retiring” to write full-time, Mary taught school and worked as a sales rep for Hershey Chocolate, a job with amazingly sweet fringe benefits. Mary enjoys traveling, gardening, bicycling and swimming, and lives in Ohio with her husband, dog and cat. She can be found on the web at: www.maryellis.net or

https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Mary-Ellis/126995058236

 

 

 

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