The Hand that Rocks the Ladle by Tamar Myers Page A

who strive for holiness, he created roosters. My cock Chauntecleer, for example, crows every morning at five thirty-five. Smarter than most humans, he even knows how to adjust for daylight savings time. This is not to say that I get up with the chickens, however. Chauntecleer has been repeatedly warned to keep the racket down before six, or one of these days he’s going to end up as a fricassee.
    Susannah opened the door before I even had a chance to ring the bell. Had I been wearing dentures, I would have dropped them on the porch.
    “Oh, silly, stop your staring,” Susannah said, after perhaps five minutes had passed.
    How could I not stare? My baby sister did indeed own a dress now, and she was wearing it: a modest, short-sleeved navy shirtdress with a white collar. It was buttoned at the throat. Susannah’s knees were covered by the skirt, but her legs were encased in hose. On her feet she had proper, store-bought shoes. They weren’t even patent leather.
    “Uh—uh—”
    Susannah pulled me inside. “Do I look that bad?”
    I shook my head.
    “So you approve?”
    “Well—”
    Susannah pushed me into an armchair. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Mags.”
    “It is quite a shock. You always wore jeans as a girl, and then those—how shall we say—flowing outfits. I hadn’t seen your legs in so many years, I wasn’t sure if I remembered correctly. But I see now that you were indeed born with ankles.”
    “Very funny, Mags. You hate it, don’t you?”
    “Let’s just say it isn’t you.”
    “But it is me. It’s the new me.”
    I glanced around at an impeccably clean house— and yes, I could see most of the house from that one little room. It would take a dorm full of college kids an entire week to turn it into a replica of Susannah’s old room at home.
    “Why?” I asked quietly.
    She was still standing, and I could see for the first time that she had a figure. Not a curvaceous one— you can’t have that and wear a dog in your bra, but a decent enough form nonetheless. If I, her sister, looked anywhere near that good, I was, in her words, “one hot mama.”
    Susannah shook her head, and I noticed that even her hair was neatly combed and held in place with a veneer of spray. “Isn’t this what you guys wanted?”
    “We guys who?”
    “You, Melvin, the whole world!”
    I was flabbergasted. “You threw away your bandage dresses for us?”
    Susannah sighed. “They weren’t bandage dresses, Mags, but yes, I threw them away.”
    “I repeat. Why?”
    To my astonishment, she burst into tears. “Because I’m married now, that’s why!”
    “What does that have to do with anything?” Susannah threw herself on the Berber carpet at my feet. “I’m supposed to be normal now. Don’t you get it? Look out there!” She pointed past the hot pink drapes. In the driveway across the street I could see a woman about Susannah’s age washing her car clad only in halter top and shorts.
    “She isn’t dressed like you, dear.”
    “Yes, but she isn’t the police chief’s wife.”
    My mousy brown hair bristled. “So that’s what it’s about, is it? Melvin asked you to dress like this? Like Barbie goes to church?”
    “Oh, no! Melvin didn’t ask me to do anything. I want to do this for him. For his career.”
    I tried not to smile. “Susannah, dear, I’m afraid he’s gotten as far as he’s going to go, and he did it all unmarried, and while dating you, Queen of the Fabric Outlet Mall.”
    “Mags, you are so wrong. Melvin is going places. Hernia is just his jumping-off place.”
    “Too bad we don’t have any really high cliffs,” I mumbled.
    “I know you’ve never liked him, but he has so much potential. Someday he may decide to run for the state legislature, maybe even the national. Who knows, maybe someday there will be a Stoltzfus in the White House.”
    I shuddered. Well, at least the nation wasn’t unprepared.
    “What about church, dear? Is that why you want to go to church? To get