The Amish Christmas Kitchen

The Amish Christmas Kitchen by Kelly Long Page B

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Authors: Kelly Long
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more to folks than what we figure. . . .”
    Daniel hung his head. He knew what was coming. Some long, tormented tale of the mountain . . .
    Clair cleared his scratchy throat. “Now, you take the panther woman of Tamarack Swamp . . .” He leaned back in his chair, and the others did the same, with relaxing creaks of wood and an expectant mood to set the story. Daniel shook his head but lifted his gaze to the auld man as he began to spin one of the older yarns of Ice Mountain.
    â€œYa know that Tamarack Swamp be mostly deserted now—nobody goes in there to hunt, because that swamp runs fiercely deep in some places. A man could get sucked alive into the mud and never be heard from again . . . but I’m getting off the point.... There once was a man and wife who settled on the edge of the swamp. They lived alone; no kinner , no folks and they liked it that way. But things got tough one winter—food was scarce. The fella went out ta hunt day after day and came back empty-handed. Well, it got so bad that they were eatin’ the corn for the stock and then something . . . different . . . began to happen. The woman started to go out at nacht . At first, the man didn’t realize, for she’d wait until he was dead asleep and then take her leave. And, in the morning when the man woke, there’d be a chicken, or a shank of lamb, or a goat.... No offense meant, Benny. The woman pretended she didn’t know where the things kumme from and jest praised Derr Herr like her husband did as they ate the gut food.
    â€œBut then one day, there came a solitary knock at the couple’s cabin door. It was another settler and he held a gun. ‘You folks better be careful livin’ this far back in the swamp,’ he said.
    â€œ ‘Why?’ the husband asked. ‘Is there trouble hereabouts?’
    â€œ ‘A big black panther’s been takin’ stock from all around. Big animal, sleek and black as sin. I almost had a shot at it the other nacht, but it was too fast. Took one of my finest layin’ hens. I tracked it out here to the swamp.
    â€œThe husband shook his head. ‘I’ll keep a careful watch. Danki for the warning.’
    â€œWell, the other settler went away, and the husband, unknown to his wife, set a few metal traps about in the icy snow far out in the swamp. Then he came back to the cabin. Night fell and the husband and frau went to bed as usual. A few hours passed, and then the husband woke to the bone-chillin’ sound of a woman screamin’—that’s how a panther sounds when it’s about to take its prey or is riled up about something. The man saw that the wife was not in the cabin and he grabbed his rifle and ran out, following the blood-curdlin’ screams into the swamp. He got near enough to where he thought the panther was by the yellow shine of its eyes and fired off a shot. The cries stopped and the man’s shoulders sagged. He didn’t know if the panther had killed his wife, and he couldn’t find out the truth until first light.
    â€œAs he was walkin’ home through the darkness, he had the strange feelin’ that he was bein’ followed somehow and he hurried along, but the dog he had with him didn’t bark so he figured it was just his imagination. But when he got home, the cabin door stood wide open and light poured out onto the snow from several lanterns lit inside. The man walked in to discover his wife bleedin’ from her leg and hand. He saw that she’d been shot and that her hand looked like it had taken the brunt of a piece of metal. He looked into her eyes and saw a strange glow, and he knew that his wife was really the panther of Tamarack Swamp.”
    Daniel had to join in with the round of clapping at Clair’s dramatic intonation at the finish of the tale, but then he looked the storyteller in the eye. “So, basically women are no more than animals to be trapped and shot.”
    A

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