Just Plain Pickled to Death by Tamar Myers Page A

myself—no matter how much I wanted to do so with half of my heart. The wrong half, of course.
    “No, Pops, like I said, I’m delighted that you’ll be living with us. I changed my mind about waiting here for Aaron.”
    The relief on his face was one of my rewards for those times when the good half of my heart prevails. “I’m sure Aaron will only be a few minutes more.”
    “Yes, just a few minutes more. That’s why I’ve decided to leave you here alone—if that’s all right—and hoof it on back through the cornfields. After all, I’ve got on a comfortable pair of shoes and I know a shortcut.”
    “Ah, yes, so my son and I could have that talk.”
    “Yes, the talk.”
    But it had nothing to do with any talk. I needed the time to think, and what better place than a cornfield? Without cow pies and cats to dodge, without phones ringing off the hooks, without aunties and temperamental cooks, I might actually reach some much needed conclusions.
    And I did.

Chapter Ten
    Magdalena Yoder’s Wedding Feast, from Soup to Nuts

    Freni Hostetler’s Wilted Dandelion Salad
    The best dandelion leaves are gathered in the early spring before the plants have had a chance to bloom. Be sure that the plants have not been sprayed with toxins. If suitable dandelion leaves are not available, endive may be substituted.
    5 or 6 cups of leaves, broken into bite-size pieces
    Dressing:
    4 slices bacon
    bacon grease
    1 tablespoon flour
    1 cup sugar
    ½ teaspoon salt
    ½ teaspoon pepper
    1/3 cup vinegar
    1 cup water
    2 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and sliced
     
    Fry bacon until crisp. Remove from pan and crumble. Sprinkle flour over bacon grease remaining in pan and stir well. Add sugar, salt, pepper, vinegar, and water. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Pour hot liquid over salad greens and stir well. Garnish with egg slices and bacon bits.
    Serves 4.

Chapter Eleven
    Walking home gave me plenty of time to think, but take my word for it, no matter how comfortable your shoes, don’t walk six miles across cornfields in your Sunday dress—at least not in Pennsylvania. Our fields are anything but flat, and sometimes they are interrupted by streams and patches of brambly woods. By the time I staggered in the back door, I was covered with more scratches than a declawed tomcat and I had chafe marks in places my Pooky Bear had yet to see.
    I would have tottered straight off for a long soak in my tub if it hadn’t been for one of my Pooky Bear’s relations. Auntie Veronica, she of the protruding proboscis and tiny feet, was sitting at the kitchen table, a dish towel knotted around both hands. She looked like she was going to strangle me with it.
    “Just because Leah made lunch doesn’t mean I’m going to wash dishes,” she said.
    “Of course not, dear. Speaking of which, how was it?”
    “The roast was dry, the potatoes overdone, and the beans didn’t have any flavor. I know Leah thinks she’s a good cook, but I’ve seldom had worse.”
    I smiled charmingly. “Actually, I made the lunch. It only needed to be reheated when we got back from church. But as you can see, I’m just now getting back.”
    She looked me up and down. “Our little Aaron doesn’t know what he’s getting into, does he?” she clucked.
    “He knows enough. By the way, where is he?”
    “Beats me. Neither Aaron was here for lunch.”
    Ever the worrier, I felt a twinge of panic. Perhaps Aaron Senior had suffered a heart attack out there on the road by himself. Perhaps at that very moment my Aaron was sitting outside the intensive care unit of Bedford Hospital, blaming it all on me.
    “You mean they didn’t make it back from church?”
    “Oh, they made it back all right,” she snapped. “Popped in just for a second, though. Just long enough to say that they were skipping lunch because they had a lot to talk about. Imagine that!”
    “Actually, I can.”
    I tottered past her and through to the dining room. It was deserted. Good Mennonites refrain from