Read Online Tea with Jam and Dread by Tamar Myers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tamar Myers
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entertainment. Nonetheless, I was a freckle’s thickness away from being a believer. After all, it sounded like something that
could
be true, and since it was in black and white that meant it had to be right – except that it didn’t. I mean, both the Book of Mormon and the Koran were also in black and white and I didn’t believe them. And Gabe didn’t believe in the New Testament –
or
the Old Testament, for that matter.
Anyway, now that Agnes had everyone’s attention, she licked her lips seductively. ‘Snipe meat is moist and tender, and far more flavourful than even the most expensive free-range chicken. Fresh snipe meat, like that which we are about to catch tonight, is considered to be one of the most sought-after delicacies in the world.’
‘Balderdash,’ Peregrine said.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Agnes said through a mouth that had shrunk to the size of a Cheerio.
Peregrine emitted a moustache-ruffling snort. ‘If that claptrap about tripe meat were the case, then I dare say that I would have heard about it before this. The chef at my club in London is up on all the latest trends and he’s never mentioned tripe.’
‘That would be
snipe
, dear,’ I said. So he’s half deaf, as well as blind, I noted to myself.
Before continuing, poor Agnes shot Alison a warning look. My fourteen-year-old was about to explode with pent-up mirth. A snipe hunt is a practical joke; a fool’s errand. In a few minutes we would lead the eager hunters out across my moonlit pastures to the distant woods, each armed with a battery-powered torch and a cotton pillow case. Then Agnes would station the four unknowing nobles about thirty meters apart along the edge of the woods. The Grimsley-Snodgrasses would be directed to stand quietly and wait for the rest of us to fan out into the woods and flush the snipes.
The clueless aristocrats would wait, and wait, and wait, until finally one of them caught on that it was only a game and that they had been played. If they were good sports – which they would be, given that all Englishmen were jolly, good-natured folk – they would at last come trudging back to the inn wearing sheepish grins and making plans for holding their own snipe hunts once they returned to their native soil. The only time a snipe hunt backfired on me was when I foolishly attempted to play the trick on a party of Germans. They stayed out
all
night, refusing to consider the notion that the proprietor of such a reputable establishment as mine would pull such a stunt on unsuspecting foreigners.
Of course, that was then and this was now, as Alison was wont to say. Then there were a few Germans goose-stepping over my grave, but now, curiously, when all should have been fun and games, I felt as if there were a gaggle of greylag geese rehearsing the rumba in my tummy.
‘Abort mission!’ something, or someone, screamed in my brain. Was it my guardian angel or was it my overactive imagination? Not that it mattered, however, for as usual, my rational nature took over and I followed the course of least resistance: I stuck with the status quo.
SEVEN
I honestly believe that if all the Redc oats had been as good sports as Aubrey, and even Celia, we colonialists might not have been turncoats and declared our independence from that ‘Looney Tunes’ King George III. The two Grimsley-Snodgrass womenfolk came traipsing back to the PennDutch in high spirits. They were laughing and carrying on as only a mother and daughter could – just not my mother and me.
This lack of gaiety in us Yoder gals wasn’t our fault, mind you. The Bible states quite clearly that one must fear God, and so my people had – for hundreds of generations. All that fear was bound to produce a few sourpusses. Yes, I know that just stating this sounds like I’m espousing genetics and evolution in some weird, twisted, theological way – which I’m not. As for those who wish to set me straight with a purely scientific point of view, my answer is
could
be true, and since it was in black and white that meant it had to be right – except that it didn’t. I mean, both the Book of Mormon and the Koran were also in black and white and I didn’t believe them. And Gabe didn’t believe in the New Testament –
or
the Old Testament, for that matter.
Anyway, now that Agnes had everyone’s attention, she licked her lips seductively. ‘Snipe meat is moist and tender, and far more flavourful than even the most expensive free-range chicken. Fresh snipe meat, like that which we are about to catch tonight, is considered to be one of the most sought-after delicacies in the world.’
‘Balderdash,’ Peregrine said.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Agnes said through a mouth that had shrunk to the size of a Cheerio.
Peregrine emitted a moustache-ruffling snort. ‘If that claptrap about tripe meat were the case, then I dare say that I would have heard about it before this. The chef at my club in London is up on all the latest trends and he’s never mentioned tripe.’
‘That would be
snipe
, dear,’ I said. So he’s half deaf, as well as blind, I noted to myself.
Before continuing, poor Agnes shot Alison a warning look. My fourteen-year-old was about to explode with pent-up mirth. A snipe hunt is a practical joke; a fool’s errand. In a few minutes we would lead the eager hunters out across my moonlit pastures to the distant woods, each armed with a battery-powered torch and a cotton pillow case. Then Agnes would station the four unknowing nobles about thirty meters apart along the edge of the woods. The Grimsley-Snodgrasses would be directed to stand quietly and wait for the rest of us to fan out into the woods and flush the snipes.
The clueless aristocrats would wait, and wait, and wait, until finally one of them caught on that it was only a game and that they had been played. If they were good sports – which they would be, given that all Englishmen were jolly, good-natured folk – they would at last come trudging back to the inn wearing sheepish grins and making plans for holding their own snipe hunts once they returned to their native soil. The only time a snipe hunt backfired on me was when I foolishly attempted to play the trick on a party of Germans. They stayed out
all
night, refusing to consider the notion that the proprietor of such a reputable establishment as mine would pull such a stunt on unsuspecting foreigners.
Of course, that was then and this was now, as Alison was wont to say. Then there were a few Germans goose-stepping over my grave, but now, curiously, when all should have been fun and games, I felt as if there were a gaggle of greylag geese rehearsing the rumba in my tummy.
‘Abort mission!’ something, or someone, screamed in my brain. Was it my guardian angel or was it my overactive imagination? Not that it mattered, however, for as usual, my rational nature took over and I followed the course of least resistance: I stuck with the status quo.
SEVEN
I honestly believe that if all the Redc oats had been as good sports as Aubrey, and even Celia, we colonialists might not have been turncoats and declared our independence from that ‘Looney Tunes’ King George III. The two Grimsley-Snodgrass womenfolk came traipsing back to the PennDutch in high spirits. They were laughing and carrying on as only a mother and daughter could – just not my mother and me.
This lack of gaiety in us Yoder gals wasn’t our fault, mind you. The Bible states quite clearly that one must fear God, and so my people had – for hundreds of generations. All that fear was bound to produce a few sourpusses. Yes, I know that just stating this sounds like I’m espousing genetics and evolution in some weird, twisted, theological way – which I’m not. As for those who wish to set me straight with a purely scientific point of view, my answer is
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