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Authors: Tamar Myers
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visit sometime, won’t you? The puddy-tats would wov dat, wouldn’t dey?” She cooed in Ming’s face. Ming flattened himself against the wall and hissed.
“Well—”
“You know, it’s remarkable, but just this morning I was thinking about organizing a singles club for the over-forties crowd.”
“That sounds like fun. I’ll see if my new boyfriend wants to join.”
She swallowed. “Actually, I was thinking more of a support group for women who’d never been proposed to.”
“Sort of a Spinsters Anonymous?”
Melba frowned. “Spinsters is such an ugly word. I was thinking more of the Never Been Asked. We’d call ourselves the NBA for short.”
“That is such an interesting idea,” I said, and edged out the door. “You do realize, don’t you, that I wouldn’t qualify? Aaron may have been the slime on the sludge that sticks to the muck at the bottom of the pond, but he did ask me to marry him. He even gave me a ring.”
Melba smiled. “I’d be willing to make an exception in your case.”
“Thanks for everything,” I said, and sprinted to my car.
Chapter Nine
I dreaded going to Miller’s Feed Store. Elspeth Miller hates me.
Roy Miller, Elspeth’s husband, is a triple fifth cousin of mine, but I certainly don’t claim him. The official rumor has it that Roy beats Elspeth. Some of us, however, believe that it is Elspeth Rhinehart Miller who beats up on Roy. Elspeth is a German-German, not a Swiss-German like most of the Mennonites and Amish in the Hernia area. What’s more, she was baptized a Lutheran—as an infant no less! No Mennonite or Amishman can comprehend such a senseless act. Perhaps it was being splashed with all that water as a tiny baby that put Elspeth in such a foul mood.
One might have more respect for Roy if he didn’t allow Elspeth to push him around. A man should listen to his wife (didn’t Papa?), but he shouldn’t put up with hitting. No one should—not even a true pacifist like Roy. Sadly, the long-sleeved shirts that Roy habitually wears, even on the hottest days, are not a sign of his Mennonite modesty. What makes the whole thing seem even sadder is that Elspeth is a little bitty thing with a beaked nose and horn-rimmed glasses that flare out like butterfly wings. She seems about as dangerous as a swallowtail.
The Millers sell feed and farm equipment to Amish, Mennonite, and other farmers in the area. In addition, they also sell hard-to-find items like corrugated washboards and hand-operated ringers. There are also some “fancy” goods like blue-enameled cookware, black felt hats, bonnets, and even candy. Think of Miller’s Feed Store as an Amish Wal-Mart. It is, incidentally, Hernia’s largest employer.
But back to why Elspeth hates me. I can only guess it is because I have, upon occasion, stuck up for Roy. I do not, however, as Elspeth asserts, have “a ting for my man.”
Nonetheless, I tried to slip into the store unnoticed and headed straight for Roy, who was demonstrating a nifty little gadget that peeled, cored, and sliced an apple in a matter of seconds. Several Amish women were watching, wide-eyed.
“We can make good snitz with that,” said one.
“Dried apple slices,” another said, needlessly translating for me.
Roy saw me and handed the machine to the nearest shopper. “You can buy a cheaper one in Bedford,” he said, “but it won’t be as good.”
The women nodded. Roy had a reputation for telling the truth.
“Magdalena,” he said, and grabbing one of my elbows, steered me down a narrow aisle. Galvanized buckets of all sizes hung on one side, horse bridals and currycombs on the other. Satisfied we were alone, Roy released me. “You shouldn’t have come. Elspeth’s working today.”
“Then she’ll just have to get over it. This is a free country, and I can shop anywhere I please.”
“Please make it Bedford. You know what happened the last time she saw you.”
“I did not knock down that display of lantern
“Well—”
“You know, it’s remarkable, but just this morning I was thinking about organizing a singles club for the over-forties crowd.”
“That sounds like fun. I’ll see if my new boyfriend wants to join.”
She swallowed. “Actually, I was thinking more of a support group for women who’d never been proposed to.”
“Sort of a Spinsters Anonymous?”
Melba frowned. “Spinsters is such an ugly word. I was thinking more of the Never Been Asked. We’d call ourselves the NBA for short.”
“That is such an interesting idea,” I said, and edged out the door. “You do realize, don’t you, that I wouldn’t qualify? Aaron may have been the slime on the sludge that sticks to the muck at the bottom of the pond, but he did ask me to marry him. He even gave me a ring.”
Melba smiled. “I’d be willing to make an exception in your case.”
“Thanks for everything,” I said, and sprinted to my car.
Chapter Nine
I dreaded going to Miller’s Feed Store. Elspeth Miller hates me.
Roy Miller, Elspeth’s husband, is a triple fifth cousin of mine, but I certainly don’t claim him. The official rumor has it that Roy beats Elspeth. Some of us, however, believe that it is Elspeth Rhinehart Miller who beats up on Roy. Elspeth is a German-German, not a Swiss-German like most of the Mennonites and Amish in the Hernia area. What’s more, she was baptized a Lutheran—as an infant no less! No Mennonite or Amishman can comprehend such a senseless act. Perhaps it was being splashed with all that water as a tiny baby that put Elspeth in such a foul mood.
One might have more respect for Roy if he didn’t allow Elspeth to push him around. A man should listen to his wife (didn’t Papa?), but he shouldn’t put up with hitting. No one should—not even a true pacifist like Roy. Sadly, the long-sleeved shirts that Roy habitually wears, even on the hottest days, are not a sign of his Mennonite modesty. What makes the whole thing seem even sadder is that Elspeth is a little bitty thing with a beaked nose and horn-rimmed glasses that flare out like butterfly wings. She seems about as dangerous as a swallowtail.
The Millers sell feed and farm equipment to Amish, Mennonite, and other farmers in the area. In addition, they also sell hard-to-find items like corrugated washboards and hand-operated ringers. There are also some “fancy” goods like blue-enameled cookware, black felt hats, bonnets, and even candy. Think of Miller’s Feed Store as an Amish Wal-Mart. It is, incidentally, Hernia’s largest employer.
But back to why Elspeth hates me. I can only guess it is because I have, upon occasion, stuck up for Roy. I do not, however, as Elspeth asserts, have “a ting for my man.”
Nonetheless, I tried to slip into the store unnoticed and headed straight for Roy, who was demonstrating a nifty little gadget that peeled, cored, and sliced an apple in a matter of seconds. Several Amish women were watching, wide-eyed.
“We can make good snitz with that,” said one.
“Dried apple slices,” another said, needlessly translating for me.
Roy saw me and handed the machine to the nearest shopper. “You can buy a cheaper one in Bedford,” he said, “but it won’t be as good.”
The women nodded. Roy had a reputation for telling the truth.
“Magdalena,” he said, and grabbing one of my elbows, steered me down a narrow aisle. Galvanized buckets of all sizes hung on one side, horse bridals and currycombs on the other. Satisfied we were alone, Roy released me. “You shouldn’t have come. Elspeth’s working today.”
“Then she’ll just have to get over it. This is a free country, and I can shop anywhere I please.”
“Please make it Bedford. You know what happened the last time she saw you.”
“I did not knock down that display of lantern
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