From #1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs
Susan Wiggs’s Lakeshore Chronicles series has captivated thousands of readers with its relatable characters, warm humor and engaging stories. Return to the tranquil shores of Willow Lake with The Winter Lodge.
On the longest night of the year, Jenny Majesky loses everything in a devastating house fire. But as she finds comfort in the predictability of running the family bakery, she’s surprised by the ongoing support of the Avalon community, especially local police chief Rourke McKnight. When she finds an unusual treasure among her grandfather’s belongings, she embarks on a search for the truth, and on a path she never imagined.
The Winter Lodge, a remote cabin owned by her half-sister on the shores of Willow Lake, becomes a refuge for Jenny as she seeks the truth. In the peaceful quiet, she can focus on rebuilding her life—and pursue her dream of becoming a writer. But when a blizzard traps her there with Rourke, Jenny suddenly doesn’t feel so secure. Unlocking the secrets of the past might just mean walking away from her one chance at love.
Previously published.
Read the Lakeshore Chronicles Series by Susan Wiggs:
Book One: Summer at Willow Lake
Book Two: The Winter Lodge
Book Three: Dockside
Book Four: Snowfall at Willow Lake
Book Five: Fireside
Book Six: Lakeshore Christmas
Book Seven: The Summer Hideaway
Book Eight: Marrying Daisy Bellamy
Book Nine: Return to Willow Lake
Book Ten: Candlelight Christmas
Book Eleven: Starlight on Willow Lake
The Winter Lodge
Susan Wiggs
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Food for Thought
BY JENNY MAJESKY
Kolaches for Beginners
It’s funny how so many bakers are intimidated by yeast. They see it listed as an ingredient in a recipe, and quickly flip the page. There’s no need to fear this version.
This particular dough is quite forgiving. It’s elastic, resilient and will make you feel like a pro. As my grandmother, Helen Majesky, used to say, “In baking, as in life, you know more than you think you know.”
BASIC KOLACHES
1 tablespoon sugar
2 packets active dry yeast (which is kind of a pain, since yeast is sold in packages of three)
½ cup warm water
2 cups milk
6 tablespoons pure unsalted butter
2 teaspoons salt
2 egg yolks, lightly beaten
½ cup sugar
6-¼ cups flour
1-½ sticks melted butter
Put yeast in a measuring cup and sprinkle 1 tablespoon sugar over it. Add warm water. How warm? Most cookbooks say 105°-115°F. Experienced cooks can tell by sprinkling a few drops on the inside of the wrist. Beginners should use a thermometer. Too hot, and it’ll kill the active ingredients.
Warm the milk in a small saucepan; add butter and stir until melted. Cool to lukewarm and pour into a big mixing bowl. Add salt and sugar, then pour in beaten egg yolks in a thin stream, whisking briskly to keep eggs from curdling. Then whisk in yeast mixture.
Roll up your sleeves and add flour a cup at a time. When the dough gets too heavy to stir, mix with your hands. You want the dough to be glossy and sticky. Keep adding flour and knead until the dough acquires a sheen. Put dough ball in an oiled mixing bowl, turning it to coat. Cover with a damp tea towel and set in a warm place where the air is very still. In about an hour, the dough should double in size. My grandmother used to push two floured fingertips into the top of the soft mound, and if the dimples made by her fingers remained, she would declare the dough risen. And then, of course, you give it a punch to deflate it. A soft sighing sound, fragrant with yeast, indicates the dough’s surrender.
Pinch off egg-size portions and work these into balls. Place on oiled baking sheets, several inches apart. Let them rise again for 15 minutes and then use your thumb to make a deep dimple in each ball for the fruit filling. The exact filling to use is a source of endless debate among Polish bakers. My grandmother never entered into such a debate. “Do what tastes good” was her motto. A spoonful of raspberry jam, peach pie filling, fig preserves, prune filling or sweet cheese will do.
Create a popsika by mixing ½ cup melted butter with a cup of sugar, ½ cup flour and a teaspoon cinnamon. Sprinkle the popsika over each kolache. Now place the pans in a warm place—like above the fridge—and allow to double in bulk again, about 45 minutes to an hour. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 375°F. Bake 20-40 minutes, until golden brown. Pay particular attention to the bottoms, which tend to burn if too close to the heat source.
Take the kolaches out of the oven, brush with melted butter and remove from pans to cool. This recipe makes about three dozen.
My grandmother used to tell me not to worry about how long this whole process takes. Baking is an act of love, and who cares how long love takes?
CHAPTER ONE
Jenny Majesky pushed away from her writing desk and stretched, massaging an ache in the small of her back. Something—perhaps the profound silence of the empty house—had awakened her at three in the morning, and she hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. She’d worked on her newspaper column for a while, hunched over her laptop in a ratty robe and fuzzy slippers. At the moment, though, she was no better at writing than she was at sleeping.
There was so much she wanted to say, so many stories to put down, but how could she cram the memories and kitchen wisdom of a lifetime into a weekly column?
Then again, she’d always wanted to write more than a column. Much more. The universe, she realized, was taking away all her excuses. She really ought to get started writing that book.
Like any good writer, Jenny procrastinated. Idly, she picked
