Patrick E. Craig's Blog, page 8

Come Find Me: From “A Quilt For Jenna”

The little girl pushed deeper into the pile of clothing and cushions. She slipped in and out of consciousness, but she was still alive. She was dreaming of angels. She had never seen an angel, but her momma had told her about them. They had wings and were very kind and they helped people who were in trouble – that’s what her momma said. As she lay on the ceiling of the upside-down car, the gale force wind continued to blow and the car slipped a few more inches down the bank onto the frozen pond. The ice groaned and crackled, and the ice beneath the front of the car began to fracture even more. Then it gave way under the weight of the car and the car began to tip toward the pond. Icy water oozed up through the fracture beneath the hood and began to slowly climb up the outside of the passenger-side window as the car settled, a fraction of an inch at a time. A little stream of water started to trickle under the window and puddle on the roof of the overturned car …

Launch Day!!! A Quilt For Jenna

Launch Day!

Five Star Review From Amazon.com

Best Amish book ever January 24, 2013

By Helen E. Hevener
Format:Paperback|Amazon Verified Purchase

Oh my oh my I started reading a book today- for the last two hours solid I have been reading A Quilt for Jenna- by Patrick E. Craig!!! A Quilt For Jenna has to be the most intriguing book I have ever read- I have read 28 chapters of the book now- reading about Bobby and Henry and Reuben and Jerusha. I can’t put the book down- most interesting read!!! This may be the first Amish book Patrick E Craig has written- but he sure has a flair for writing I love it!!!  This is a ten star book- if you are a Amish reader you won’t want to miss this book. I will probably go back and read more tonight after I go to bed- I cant wait to find out what happens with Jerusha and the baby she found!!!

The Road Home: Book Two in The Apple Creek Dreams series

Apple Creek Dreams:

In each of our lives there is a longing, deep rooted and unshakable.  It is the longing to return to the place of our birth, the place where we grew up, the place that we call home.  No matter where we are, or what we are doing, the memory of this place of our origin can rise to the surface of our thoughts like a trout rising in a still lake when the sun has just gone down over the mountain, and then a yearning comes into our heart to return, to go back, to turn our steps toward home.  These moments can spring unbidden from the deepest recesses of our being and when they do we can be overwhelmed with memories, pictures, and emotions.  It is as though we climb the dusty stairs into the attic of our consciousness, open the old chest filled with our past and take out the quilt of our lives.  In the dim light we kneel in our thoughts and look upon all the days we have lived, each day stitched to the one before and the one after, and though each may be different, the whole connection of those days makes a pattern that only becomes clear as we look back with eyes that now know that there is a beginning…and an end.  It is in this moment that we remember the road we have traveled and, as we turn to look, we see our own footprints mixed with those of all who have traveled with us.  Then we know that though this road goes on into a future to reach an end we cannot yet see, and may even fear, it is also the road home.

 

The Shadow of His Wings: From A Quilt For Jenna

         Jerusha picked up the matches and held them close to the stove.  There were only three left in the book.  She pulled one out and struck it.  It flared and then fizzled and went out.  Jerusha felt her heart sink.  She took the second match and struck it.  This one didn’t even flare before the tip crumbled and dropped off.  Jerusha could feel herself succumbing to the freezing cold from her wet clothing.

Please, help me!

         She struck the last match and it flared into life.  Carefully she reached into the stove and lit the padding.  It caught!  As the small fire began to grow, Jerusha added more of the wood until the fire began to crackle and the light from the open stove door was dancing on the wall.

Thank you!

         Quickly she pulled off her coat and her wet dress.  She dragged the makeshift table in front of the fire and draped the dress over it to dry.  Then she opened the quilt and checked the unconscious little girl.  She was probably four years old.

The same age as Jenna when she … when she left me.

         The girl’s hair was damp from the snow and plastered to her face.  Her skin was a pale white color and she was thin.  Jerusha checked her pulse.  It was faintly beating.

I remember your pulse beating in your throat as I sat by the hospital bed, my darling Jenna.  So faint, just a little tiny beat and then I felt you go …

         The little girl gave a slight cough but she didn’t awaken.  Jerusha felt her skin.  It was cold and clammy.

I’ve got to warm her up.  She’s going to die if she doesn’t get warm.

         Quickly Jerusha opened the little girl’s coat and took off her damp dress and undergarments.  The fire was beginning to give a little heat into the room and she put one of the bigger pieces of wood on the fire.  She could see the sides of the stove begin to turn red as it heated up.  Then she pulled Henry’s old blanket around her shoulders, opened her blouse and pulled the little girl next to her bare skin.  She wrapped the quilt around them and sat down close to the stove.  She felt the child’s icy cold body against hers and her skin shrank from the cold.  The fire began to put out more heat and she felt the warmth of her body begin to transfer to the little girl.

Just like when I held my new baby Jenna in my arms; my life flowing into hers, my love pouring into my Jenna.  Oh, my blessed girl.

         And as she held the little girl against her body, she could feel her life begin to bring life to this lost little one and something in her heart that had been frozen and dead began to thaw.  As the Storm of The Century raged outside the old cabin, the sun rose inside and touched the icy bower where Jerusha had hidden her life away after Jenna died.  And as the ice melted, the spring of tears that had been held in check by the bitter walls of her self-imposed prison began to flow from her inner being and then from her eyes, and Jerusha cried and cried and cried …

 

********************

         The darkness closed in around the little cabin in the woods.  Outside the wind howled with hurricane force and the snow wiped away every track leading to the cabin.  Jepson’s cabin was not that far from Apple Creek, but with the storm raging it might as well have been a hundred miles away.  Temperatures plunged to minus 10 degrees and across Ohio the power was out and the roads were closed in many areas.  After finding Henry’s deserted car, Bobby Halverson quit searching and drove home to his parents’ house in Apple Creek.  He pulled the tractor around to the back and put it into the barn.  Then he walked wearily inside and slumped down at the kitchen table.  His mother brought him some hot coffee and led him into the front room to sit by the fire.  Bobby was exhausted so his mother didn’t ask any questions but went in the back of the house and got Bobby’s bed ready.  Mark Knepp had returned to his house on the way back from Kidron Road and checked on the animals.  Now he was sitting in front of his fire, but Mark was not sleeping.  He was praying … deeply and fervently for Jerusha, and Bobby and others who might be lost in the storm.

Inside Jepson’s cabin, the terrible cold circled like a starving wolf slinking outside the circle of heat, kept at bay by the glowing stove, but waiting for the fire to die down so it could move in and kill the people around the fire.  Jerusha lay next to the stove with the little girl held next to her heart, wrapped in the Rose of Sharon quilt.  It was Friday night and the third day of the terrible storm was drawing to a close …

 

 

Blog Hop Tour: The Next Big Thing

I’ve been asked by my Mount Hermon Friend, Carrie Padgett to be a part of The Next Big Thing Blog Hop. It’s kind of like a chain letter for writers and bloggers.  Carrie talked about her WIP, Against The Peace, at her blog on Nov. 28th.

Read on for details about my current project. I’m looking for four other bloggers to participate and will add them at the bottom as I find them.

 

What is the working title of your book?

A Quilt For Jenna

Where did the idea come from for the book?

I was challenged by Nick Harrison at Harvest House to submit a one sheet for an Amish quilting story.  The rest is history.

What genre does your book fall under?

Amish Fiction (set in 1950)

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Jerusha – Sara Paxton

 

 

 

 

Reuben – Wes Brown

 

 

 

 

 

Bobby -  Tyler Compton

 

 

 

 

 

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

In this first book in Patrick Craig’s Apple Creek Dreams series, readers will follow master quilter Jerusha Springer’s journey out of tragic circumstances to a new life of hope.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

The book will be published by Harvest House, February 1st 2013 (that is if the Mayan calendar doesn’t run out!!)  It is represented by the Steve Laube Literary Agency

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Five months

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

Face of Heaven by Murray Pura

Who or What inspired you to write this book?

Like I said above, I was challenged by Nick Harrison, my editor at Harvest House to submit a one-sheet for an Amish Quilting story – so I did.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

Here’s the endorsement on the back of the book by Sarah Sundin which lays out some of the unusual aspects of this particular “Amish Fiction” book.

A touching tale of three people who have lost their way.  In “A Quilt for Jenna,” Patrick Craig deftly contrasts the peaceful Amish lifestyle with the harsh World War II Guadalcanal battlefield, tied together with a lovely message of sacrifice, humility, and forgiveness. I was entranced.

Sarah Sundin, award-winning author of “With Every Letter”

P.S. I should have four more bloggers listed at the end of this post that would join the blog hop , but I unfortunately had some monster deadlines this week and was unable to contact anyone.  If you want to be part of the ongoing Blog-Hop, just message me privately on my Facebook page or contact me at Patrick@patrickecraig.com with your blog address and I will send you the questions and list you here.  You would need to be ready to post your answers about your WIP next Wednesday, December 12th.

 

More Characters from “A Quilt for Jenna”: Bobby Halverson

 Bobby Halverson was Apple Creek’s one-man snow-removal department, mostly because he had the only plow within about ten miles, and in a big storm the County boys usually concentrated on Wooster and the bigger towns, leaving Apple Creek to fend for itself.  He had rigged up the plow on his tractor three years ago, with Dutch’s help, and kept the roads mostly clear that year.  The locals were so grateful they pooled some money to create a snowplow fund to help Bobby with expenses.  It wasn’t a lot but it helped Bobby keep the tractor running and get a few extras, which was nice, especially this year, with thanksgiving tomorrow, and his mom and dad barely getting by on their small pensions.

Bobby was a kind man, well-liked and respected in the community.  He was a decorated war vet, honest and easy-going, and he was friendly with just about everyone in town.  He especially got along with the Amish folk and often went out of his way to plow the unpaved roads into their farms.  He had made friends with several of the families, and from time to time they would invite him as a guest to some of their community gatherings.  The first time he accepted their invitation and attended a harvest feast most of the Amish had been cool toward him, but they deeply appreciated his help in the winter, and gradually came to accept him as a friend.  Yet they still avoided intimate or one-on-one situations and  Bobby was fine with that.  The one exception was the Springer family, but that was because Bobby had a different kind of history with Reuben and Jerusha, much of which he did not like to think about.

Bobby was brought up as a Bible-believing Baptist, and he understood the Amish avoidance of the things of the world.  He liked the Amish folks, with their plain ways and their unswerving faith in God.  When he was younger, Bobby had traveled around, “sown some wild oats” and had even been married for a while, but the marriage didn’t last and he remembered that time as one of the darker periods of his life.  When he moved back to his parents’ house in Apple Creek, he was pretty much done in by his adventures, his divorce and the ensuing bleakness of his world.  He bounced from one job to another but couldn’t seem to settle anywhere.  While he was looking for something to do with his life he became interested in the Amish way, and had even considered becoming a “seeker”.  Their lifestyle had seemed so uncomplicated and pure and that was something that was missing in Bobby’s life, so he was drawn to it.

Then the war came and he enlisted.  When he returned he had a different slant on things and was not so interested in “religion”.  He received good training in the Army and got a job right away working as a maintenance man at one of the local mills.  He settled into a comfortable routine and let his interest in becoming Amish go by the wayside.  Beside that, he knew there were just too many things on “the outside”; things like his cigarettes, an occasional shot of whiskey, and especially the Ohio State/Michigan game this coming week-end, that still captured his attention, so he contented himself with helping out when he could.

         I bet they call the Big Game off.

He went back to the open door of the shop.  Bobby was worried about this storm.  The wind was blowing in from western Pennsylvania, and the way it was picking up, along with the big drop in temperature, told Bobby that a humdinger of a nor’easter was coming through.  He’d heard radio reports that the storm had been moving north over Washington D.C, but was now slowly turning and coming through Pennsylvania toward Ohio.  The weatherman had called it an “extratropical cyclone”, whatever that meant, and warned about high winds and even tornadoes along the path of the storm.  Many of the outlying farms would be snowbound and there would definitely be some downed power lines and blackouts.  So it was critical that Dutch get the old plow in shape, because Bobby knew it would be a long haul until Monday.

Outside, the wind continued to gust and the snow fell softly on the road.  There was still enough heat from the sun left in the asphalt to melt off some of the snow, but it wouldn’t be long until the roads were covered and icy.  Bobby stared out at the street.  A few cars made their way toward the center of the village, probably headed for the creamery or the grocery store to do some last minute Thanksgiving shopping.

I sure wish things had turned out different for the Springers.  Doesn’t seem to me that Reuben and Jerusha got a fair shake.  There was a time when it seemed they had the world by the tail …

 

Excerpt from “A Quilt For Jenna” – Coming February 1, 2013

Great Recipes to Make Your Own Amish Thanksgiving Dinner

Make Your Own Amish Thanksgiving Feast
FREE Recipes From Some Excellent Cooks!

Thanksgiving Day is a special time of the year for me. A great time to thank the Lord for all the things He’s given us and to spend quality time with family and friends.

My wife and I both have an Amish background, and good food around the holidays has always been a high priority for us. I have many memories of family get-togethers around Thanksgiving and Christmas time with lots of seriously delicious food. Here’s the menu for an entire Amish thanksgiving feast—the kind of meal I still love at Thanksgiving—for you to enjoy with your family. You’ll need to adjust the recipes to match the crowd you’ll be serving.

Here’s the menu. We think it makes a pretty “goot” feast.

via Thanksgiving Recipes to Make Your Own Amish Thanksgiving Dinner | SeriousBBQs.com.

The Springers of Apple Creek, Ohio: Reuben’s War

Three weeks after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, Bobby Halverson sat with Reuben Springer at the little chrome dinette set in the kitchen of their apartment.  They had finished dinner and Bobby was smoking a Camel and drinking a beer.  Reuben sat across from him with his own beer, looking morosely down at the tabletop.

“Reuben, I’m going down tomorrow to enlist,” said Bobby, getting right to the point.  “I went over to the Marine Corps recruiting office in Akron yesterday, and they seem to think that I’m a suitable candidate for ‘grunthood,’ so I’m going in for a physical and then it’s off to Parris Island.  You’re welcome to stay here while I’m gone.  I’ve already talked to the landlady and she’s fine with that.”

“Bobby, I—”Reuben started to say.

“Don’t try to make me change my mind, Reuben,” cut in Bobby.  “I’ve made it up and ain’t nobody gonna change it.  What they did to Pearl Harbor was wrong, and I’m not going to sit here and take it.  I can tell you this:  the Japanese have underestimated the will and anger of the American people.  The guy at the recruiting station told me that hundreds of men have come in to—”

“Bobby, will you just shut up and listen for a moment!” Reuben growled.  He took a deep breath and then began to talk quickly and earnestly.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said a few weeks ago; thinking long and hard.  I still feel that killing other men is not a good thing, and I think if everybody really did what Jesus says in the Bible, there would be no killing in the world, and everybody would get along, or at least just leave each other alone.

“But I’ve come to see that in every group of human beings there will always be someone who tries to get it over on everyone else.  And there are all kinds of ways that we do it to each other, from talking behind people’s backs to crushing another country with an army.  I think people are just born that way.  As long as there are men like Hitler and Tojo, there will be wars because tyrants think they should be in control of everyone else and they’ll do whatever it takes to achieve that.

“I know that there are bad men in America too, but for the most part, this is a free nation with lots of room for everybody.  And you were right; it stays that way because some men and women are brave enough and care enough about the people who live next door that they willingly lay down their lives so their neighbors can stay free.  I said that I believe there are some things worth dying for, and when I said it I was talking about Jerusha.  But your questions made me see things in a different light.  It occurred to me that if the Germans or the Japanese got their hands on America, the first thing they would do is to take away our rights and make us all slaves.  Then there would probably be no Reuben and Jerusha.  So I had to make a decision, Bobby.

“It was a hard choice because it went against everything I’ve ever known.  I don’t know if Jerusha will ever understand, but I have to go and fight these guys who want to destroy our country and our freedom.  I beat you to the punch.  I’m already signed up.  I’ve been accepted for the Marine Corps, so it looks like we’ll both be headed for Parris Island.  I’m hoping that if I make it back alive, I can make Jerusha see why I did this.”

“Well, my friend, that’s the longest speech I ever heard out of you.” Bobby said as he smiled and leaned forward to take Reuben’s hand in a grip of friendship.

“I don’t know what’s ahead for us, Reuben, but I’ll do my best to make sure you make it back to that gal of yours …”

 

… It seems as though that was the day that your troubles really started, Reuben.  The war did something to you.  It wounded you inside, and later you made choices that hurt Jerusha and Jenna.  I wish I had kept my mouth shut and just let you stay in Apple Creek …

The Springers of Apple Creek, Ohio: Reuben

As she watched the coffin leave, Jerusha felt herself winding up like a spring.  Breathing hard she leaned forward and slowly stood to her feet with her elbows bent and her fists clenched.  Just as she was about to scream the name of her grandmother, a firm hand took hold of her shoulder and she heard a quiet voice say in her ear, “Don’t.”

Jerusha turned slowly and saw the chest of someone very tall.  She lifted her head and looked into the bluest eyes she had ever seen.  Dark, long hair framed a face that was remarkable in its symmetry and strength. The black hat, tilted back on his head, gave the young man a slightly rakish look. Behind the stern set of his face, Jerusha saw that his eyes were smiling at her.

“I know that you want to scream, but don’t,” he whispered.  “My mother died last year, and I wanted to scream at her funeral too.  Believe me, now is not the time.”

In the grip of his strong hand, Jerusha felt the tension and anger drain out of her, to be replaced by an empty, aching sorrow, and then she found herself walking slowly along with him out to the grave. The bishop who led the funeral went ahead of the mourners to the graveyard.  When all had gathered beside the gravesite, he gave a final prayer and the pallbearers closed Grandmother’s coffin for the last time. They placed ropes under the coffin and used them to lower the coffin into the ground.  Members of Jerusha’s family stepped forward and each threw a small sod of earth onto the coffin.  Jerusha stood a long time with the dirt in her hand before she dropped it into the grave.  When the clod hit the top of her grandmother’s coffin it sounded like a door slamming.  A knife twisted in her heart as in that moment she came to grips with the reality of death and its finality.  A tear that she could not stop ran down her cheek as she stepped back into the crowd of people.  As the mourners watched, the pallbearers filled in the grave.  And then it was all over.  There were no flowers or foliage near the grave.  The plain tombstone lay on its side, waiting to be set in place.

Hannah Hershberger, 1862-1941, 79 years, 2 months, 5 days.

         That was the summation of her Grandmother’s life.  It seemed not enough.

She served you so well, and now she lies in a hole in the ground, and not one word from her God or her friends!

         Jerusha wondered at her thoughts and her feelings.

What is happening to me?

         As she slowly walked back to her father’s buggy, the young man that had stopped her from crying out stepped in beside her and spoke to her.  The sound of his voice was rich and masculine and she suddenly felt herself blush and found it very strange.  She plucked up her courage and looked into those startling blue eyes.  They were still smiling at her and then she heard his words coming to her as though from a long distance away and slowly she realized what he was saying.

“I’m Reuben Springer, and you’re the girl that makes those quilts,” he said.  Then he turned and walked back to the road.

The Springer Family of Apple Creek, Ohio: Jerusha Learns to Quilt

And so it was that when she was ten years old her grandmother brought her into the dawdy house in Apple Creek, Ohio, where she had lived since Grossdaadi’s death.

“Kumme, Jerusha,” she said, “it is time for you to learn to quilt.  See here now, onest.”  And she began to teach Jerusha.

“The first thing that needs to be done before any quilt is made is to decide which kind of design we will use,” she said to Jerusha.  “We must know in our heart what the quilt will look like when it is finished, because it can take anywhere from four hundred to six hundred hours of time to put together just one quilt.  You can sew the most perfect stitch but without a good design it means nothing.  If the design is not pleasing to the eye from the start, that’s a whole lot of wasted time, and to waste time is to try God’s patience.”

Sitting at her grandmother’s side, she watched her sketch out what she called a “star” quilt.  The design was beautiful, but simple.  First a starburst in the center, then eight branching pillars, surrounded by another circle.  On the outside of the circle she drew more pillars that were set between the inner pillars with the outer circle separating them.

“On the tops of the pillars we will make flames of fire,” her grandmother said softly.  “They will be just like the lampstand in der Heilige Platz, where God spoke to the High Priest.”

Once the design was created, Jerusha watched as her grandmother cut the chosen pieces of fabric into perfectly matching parts.

“If the quilt is going to be even and symmetrical, the pieces must be true,” she said.

She let Jerusha try her hand, and even on her first try Jerusha cut the pieces straight and perfect.

“Ja, das is gutte,” Grandmother said.  “You will be a fine quilt maker, my girl.”

Once the pieces were cut correctly, Grandmother pieced them together with pinpoint accuracy.

“If the quilt is not aligned properly, even in just one small part, the whole thing will look off-balance and might pucker,” she told Jerusha.  “If the design is to be even and pleasing to the eye, each individual piece of fabric must be stitched together just right, in order for it to fit together properly.  You must trust your own eye and sewing skills for measurement and accuracy.  It is a gift not every quilter has.”

Over the following days as Grossmudder began to patiently open the quilting way to Jerusha, the girl felt something growing in her; the absolute certainty that God had given her an eye and a gift for this work.  As her grandmother pieced together the layers of fabric, she allowed Jerusha to help her stitch them together. First she placed the patterned top piece on a layer of batting and then sewed the whole design to a black backing piece.  Then, with the quilt stretched tightly on the quilting frame, Jerusha began to learn the even, beautiful stitch of the quilter.

“Dummel dich net,” her grandmother would say.  “Take your time, don’t hurry.”

Once when her mind wandered while she was stitching a piece, she made a mistake and went past the place where she should have stopped.

“Halt ei, sell geht su weit!” her grandmother exclaimed.  “You have gone too far. You must concentrate on what you are doing, my girl.”

Jerusha had watched with downcast eyes and a flame burning in her cheeks as her grandmother carefully removed the errant stitches.

“Never hurry, always pay attention, do the work as unto the Lord,” she told Jerusha in her gentle voice.  “You have been given a way to give back to the Lord, as he has given to you.  It is a special gift not everyone is given.  But to whom much is given, much is required.  You must always give back to God from the gift he has given you.  And there are dangers along the way.  If you become a good quilter it is quite possible for you to become arrogant, thinking that somehow you are more special than others.  That is why we put a small mistake in the quilt before we finish.  It is so that we do not make God angry with us for being too proud.”

Jerusha did not understand until many years later why she felt the small twinge of fear, the first she had ever felt, when her grandmother spoke those words.