Killer Confections8 Delectable Mysteries(522)

I leaned forward in my best conspiratorial stance. “I don’t vote,” I whispered. God forgives unselfish lies. “And I can keep my trap shut tighter than a cork on a jug of raw cider.” Oh the shame of having read so many dime novels as a child.

“If he lays a hand on her one more time, I’ll kill him.”

“Poor woman.”

“The man’s a bastard. She doesn’t deserve any of it.”

“Why does she put up with it?”

He shook his head. “Damned if I know. She doesn’t need him. It’s him who needs her. Her money, her connections. He’s just small potatoes politically, and will always be without her support.”

“Maybe it’s love?” Love had never even managed to sweep me off my feet, much less moved me to accept being boxed up the side of the head.

“Love? Ha! Try pity.”

Even that was hard for me to understand. “Maybe you’re right. But why do you put up with him? Aren’t there other Congressmen you could work for? Or, why not just run for office yourself?”

Delbert stirred the apple butter, like a witch stirring her pot. “There are many mysteries to this world, aren’t there, Miss Yoder?”

“The English are full of mysteries,” said Freni.

I nearly jumped out of my shoes. “Where in tarnation did you come from?”

“I work here, remember?”

“I thought you quit.”

“So, I un-quit. You want a cook for breakfast, don’t you?”

I wasn’t so sure. Now that the meat-eaters had eaten, and the veggie-devourers were about to descend. Freni might be more of a liability than an asset. “Why don’t you cook breakfast for Mr. Grizzle when he comes down,” I suggested, “and I’ll handle those other picky eaters.”

Freni folded her stubby arms over her crisp, starched apron and glared. “Magdalena, I am not the fool you take me for. I’ve got brains. I can tell when it’s time to make a few changes. And I’m not such an old dog that I can’t learn new tricks. If it’s raw carrots those English want for breakfast, then that’s what I’ll give them.”

If I’d had any brains of my own, I would have come up with a good excuse and sent Freni home with pay. At least just for the next few days. But, alas, at times I can be stupider than Melvin Stoltzfus, who tried to milk a bull and got kicked in the head for his efforts. Mercifully, Melvin was thereafter never fully conscious of his blunder. If only I could be so lucky.

“Just kick me in the head,” I said to Freni, “and start cooking.”

“What?”

“I think I’ll leave you two ladies to your work and check in on the Congressman,” said Delbert politely. He was obviously a man who had been well brought up and knew when to be discreet.

After he’d gone, I began to clear off the table, but Freni didn’t budge.

“Well,” I said at last, “isn’t it time to start frying some eggless, milkless, buckwheat pancakes—in vegetable oil, of course?”

“Not until you apologize.”

“For what?”

“For firing me, that’s what!”

“I didn’t fire you, dear. You quit!”

“You should still apologize, Magdalena Yoder. Your mama would never have treated me this way.”

That did it. Even after ten years, just the mention of Mama or Papa has a powerful effect on me. Freni knew this and was playing dirty. What she didn’t know was that I had been awakened in the wee hours by a screaming arachnophobiac and had been mangled by a midget mutt. Throw in a crumpled corpse, and I had a full plate. I was in no mood for one of her guilt trips.

“Okay, Freni. Since you ‘un-quit,’ I’ll ‘un-apologize.’ ”

I think Freni also has a Stoltzfus up her family tree. “Apology accepted. Shall I serve butter with the pancakes?”

“Just put it on a plate for those who want it. Mr. Grizzle, however, gets bacon with his.”

Freni was remarkably cooperative that morning, and I confess to being lulled into a false sense of complacency. I didn’t even get my feathers ruffled when Jeanette Parker came bustling in and demanded to know if the hunting party had left yet.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

“Did they eat?”

I studied her calmly. She was wearing a loose, pajama-like outfit that looked as if it were made from burlap sacking. A matching strip of the coarse brown fiber was tied around her head like a scarf, and knotted on top. The two ends stood almost straight up and looked for all the world like deer ears. Almost none of her carrot-red hair was showing.

“What color is your coat?” Too much had happened for me to remember it from the day before.