Jenny Knipfer–Author

Best-selling Christian historical fiction author, Jenny Knipfer, shares her books, inspiration, thoughts on life and writing, and book reviews. Purchase Jenny's books, read her blog, or listen to encouraging podcasts, highlighting the life of a writer.

Happy middle of the week. 🙂 I have a few fun things to share pertaining to Under the Weeping Willow, my upcoming novel.

First, did you know my book, In a Grove of Maples, has it’s own candle? Well, it does, and it smells sooooo fallishly delicious!!

From the Page candles works with authors to craft a candle reminiscent of their book. My candle has notes of amber, smoke, leaves, and maple. Every time I burnt it I want to make pancakes, topped with maple syrup.

The next bit of exciting news: I have an updated cover for Under the Weeping Willow with a five-star review from Readers’ Favorite on the front, and I have a book trailer to share with you. Click the book image below to learn more about my novel.

The below excerpt comes from a few chapters into the novel, when Enid is starting to discover some thing about her mother from her mother’s diary entries and old letters from her mother’s sister, Mabel.


After I hear Clive’s waffling snore, I roll out of bed. I can’t sleep and a cup of tea calls to me. I pad out to the kitchen in my bare feet and make myself a cup of chamomile. 

Last summer I grew chamomile in a clump in the garden near the veggie patch. Even though I appreciate harvesting and using my own herbs for tea, putting the plants too near the veggies was a mistake. I’ve been pulling out chamomile every time I go to weed the beds. It has come up in most every available patch of dirt at that end of the garden. 


Regrets aside, I collect my tea in a stoneware mug, turn on a lamp, and sit in my comfy chair. My gaze rests on the stack of letters I’ve tossed on the end table, and I reach for them. I select the envelope with the June 1918 postmark from the asylum and pull the letter out. It reads: 

Dear Mabel,
You are my only confidante. I cannot put into words what I’m feeling, or what I’ve done for fear it will be too dark for you. I want you to remember me happy and content, but in reality, I am neither. 

Everything has changed since I gave birth to Enid. I’ve changed. My once carefree outlook on life has been dampened by a heavy curtain of sorrow, but I don’t know why. My thinking has been turned upside down and every aspect of my life is acquainted well with an element of grief. 

I grieve for my separation from Willis and my daughter, my actions, and their consequences. Sorrow has overtaken me, and I don’t know how to be rid of it. I have lost control of my life and my decisions. Maybe that’s why I’ve chosen not to speak. My spoken words are something that I can control, and it gives me some bit of power when all else has been washed away with my dunk in the pond. 

Do not hate me for this, for I could not bear it. Love me as you can and write soon. 

Your sister, Robin 

Tears roll from my eyes as I imagine how Mom must have suffered during this time. I wipe my face with the edge of my nightgown. Why am I finding out all of this now when I can’t talk to her about it? It’s ironic and stupid and unfair. I pound my fist on the arm of my chair in frustration. 

Why, God? Why? I inwardly scream. But there is no answer. 

Gradually my tears fade, my hands unclench, and I think of a verse in Ecclesiastes, referencing time and how there is a time for everything under heaven. Maybe I am reading these at the time I am supposed to. With that thought, a great layer of peace rests on me like a soft blanket, and I fold the letter and put it back in the aged envelope, which smells faintly of roses. 

I let my head fall back against the cushion of the chair and try to trust God with what I can’t understand. 

Thank you!

Thanks so much for reading the excerpt. Have you ever discovered something you didn’t know about a family member from old diaries or letters?


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