Amish Christmas Memories by Jerry S. Eicher

Author:Jerry S. Eicher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers

EIGHT

Thursday Morning

Sarah arrived at work right on time. The inn would be filled with guests staying through the weekend. Englischers came down from Cleveland or up from Columbus to buy handmade quilts, crafts, pottery, and gift baskets for Christmas. Three couples had also arranged for candlelit dinners besides their complimentary breakfast. Mrs. Pratt would keep her busy preparing for tonight’s dinner in addition to their regular duties.

But that was fine with Sarah. Unlike yesterday’s skating party on the schoolhouse pond, the inn would be warm. Mrs. Pratt would light the fireplace, while bayberry candles and potpourri warmers would add holiday fragrance to the rooms. Sarah had slept under an extra quilt last night. The cold had soaked into her bones and wouldn’t leave, despite Adam’s tender ministrations. The bonfire had helped somewhat, but she would never be a fan of winter sports. She preferred curling up inside with a cup of ginger tea and a good book any day.

Sarah hung her cloak and outer bonnet on the hook by the door and walked into the kitchen. “Oh, good,” said Mrs. Pratt as she flitted around the room in a tizzy. “You’re here early. Hurry to wash up and get your apron on, dear girl. We have a barrel of monkeys today.”

Sarah complied with a smile. A barrel of monkeys was Mrs. Pratt’s favorite expression for multiple dietary requests from the guests. Without batting an eyelash, an innkeeper must learn to handle vegans, diabetics, and those who were lactose intolerant or required gluten-free fare. The two women served breakfast with their customary proficiency and then sent the guests on their way for a day of holiday shopping.

Sarah carried two mugs of coffee to their usual breakfast spot before going back for French toast. When she returned, Mrs. Pratt had settled in the chair next to the window. The slanted winter light revealed dark circles and deep creases around her eyes.

“You look tired,” Sarah said. “Didn’t you sleep well? Did Roy keep you awake with his snoring?”

“Nope, can’t blame my husband this time.” Mrs. Pratt sipped coffee and glanced down at her plate of food. The network of bright red spidery veins across her eyelids alarmed Sarah.

“Have you been crying? What’s wrong? Is there something you’d like to talk about?” Sarah set down her fork.

“Just eat, child. I’m all right.” Mrs. Pratt stared out the window at the low, threatening sky. “I talked to my daughter last night. She still can’t tell me whether they are coming for Christmas or not. Her husband’s still afraid to ask for time off. I’d like to know whether I should wrap the gifts for under the tree or pack them for shipping to Louisiana.” She returned her attention to the table and buttered an English muffin fiercely. “If I press her to decide yay or nay, she’ll just say they are not coming. Then I’ll have cut off my nose to spite my face.”

Sarah didn’t quite understand the English expression, but she caught the drift.

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