One morning, a delivery truck drove up their drive, and a box was deposited onto their doorstep. Amelia brought it inside and opened it up. It was from Patricia Johns! She had been true to her word, and she’d sent a package to cheer up Amelia.
Inside the box, there was a new paperback copy of Patricia’s cozy mystery, MURDER OF AN AMISH BRIDEGROOM. And there was a nice, lengthy letter written in long hand, and last, but not least, there was a tin of butter cookies.
“Oh, how sweet of her!” Amelia exclaimed.
“Cookies?” George said, peeking over Amelia’s shoulder.
“And a letter,” Amelia said, opening it up. She started to read:
“Dear Amelia,
“It has certainly been a winter up here in northern Alberta, but the weather has finally decided to warm up a little bit and melt, and all of creation seems to be thankful for it.
“All but the magpies. They are arguing with each other something fierce, and we don’t have you and George to translate for us! The little bit we can piece together seems to point to a stolen feather, a blood feud between clans, and something about someone’s mother… Needless to say, it got ugly. I was afraid that our teenager would learn some new curses!
“Mama Johns has been baking for us these last few months, and I seem to have forgotten how to bake. I used to be able to make muffins with my eyes shut, but not anymore….”
The letter went on, and it was like listening to Patrica chat over a cup of tea again, and it made Amelia feel so much better. It seemed that life was going on like normal up in Canada with Patricia and her family.
Amelia looked down at the book Patricia had sent, and Amelia knew immediately what she would do with it. She would bring it to Mary Lapp. She had a feeling that Patricia would approve.
Amelia arrived at the Lapp’s farmhouse with MURDER OF AN AMISH BRIDEGROOM tucked under her arm. This was the paperback version–so it had a beautiful new cover that Amelia just loved.
Mary Lapp opened the door and immediately brightened when she saw Amelia.
“Come in, come in!” Mary said. “I’m doing a big deep clean of the house because we’re hosting church service at our farm this Sunday. But I could use a little break. Did you bring me another book?”
Amelia went inside, and they settled in together in the kitchen while Mary leafed through the new book.
“Murder?” Mary asked uncertainly. “What would the bishop think?”
“Yes, it’s a murder mystery,” Amelia said. “And I’m not sure about your bishop’s taste in reading.”
“I think he’s more of a theological reader,” Mary was weakly.
“But if it makes you feel any better,” Amelia said, “the fellow who dies is a really terrible man. He’s been dating a sweet Amish girl and completely ruining her reputation. He won’t marry her, and he’s been being handsy in public.”
“No!” Mary gasped. “What a cad!”
“I know,” Amelia said seriously. “And his girlfriend finds him, so she’s blamed for the murder.”
“Did she do it?” Mary asked.
“No! They have to find who really did, or she’ll go to prison.”
“Ah…” Mary pursed her lips thoughtfully. “We are not supposed to enjoy things like murder. That would be wrong. But bad things do happen in this world, and if the victim really was a terrible, horrible louse who had it coming…”
“And it is fiction, after all,” Amelia said helpfully. “And it really is more about the puzzle.”
“It IS fiction,” Mary agreed, and her eyes lit up. “Perhaps I could just read a few chapters and see what the clues are…”
Amelia smiled. “It’s a good one, Mary. I loved it. Do you want help with your cleaning?”
Because if Amelia was going to supply her friend with questionable reading material, the very least she could do was help her clean!
Meanwhile, back at the house, George and little Brigette were left on their own for the afternoon. It was still cold outside with a stiff, northerly wind that kept reminding everyone that it was still February.
But that tin of cookies did look awfully good. They were George’s favourites. In the past, when Patricia gave them butter cookies, George had eaten them all, and Amelia had demurely told Patricia that “they” had enjoyed them, and Patricia had come to the conclusion that Amelia really loved them. Really it was George, though.
“Maybe we could have one or two,” George said to Brigette.
Brigette just looked up at him with her big, curious eyes.
“I think we might deserve a cookie, just for all our hard work this morning,” George said. “I did clean out the barn particularly well today. And I went around breaking all the ice in the water troughs.”
Brigette cooed.
George looked at the cookie tin thoughtfully, then back down at his daughter.
“Have you ever had a little piece of butter cookie before, Brigette?” George asked. “Because it really is an important life experience. As your father, it is my duty to make sure you get a chance to eat a truly perfect butter cookie.”
And that settled it. George scooped up Brigette onto his lap, and he gave her the first cookie, and popped another one into his mouth.
Brigette mostly just mashed and sucked on her cookie, and it turned into a goopy mess down her dress, but the smile on her little round face made it all worth it.
Sometimes, father-daughter bonding happened over a tin of cookies. But he’d save a few for Amelia. It was only fair.
I hope you’re enjoying these froggy tales. They are a lot of fun to put together, and I enjoy sharing my miniature hobby with you. If you enjoy The Amish setting, and you love stories about love, why not try out my books? You might find your next read!
Happy reading!
❤
Patricia Johns 
Your comments make me feel warm and fuzzy. Seriously!