Tea with Jam and Dread Read Online Free

of mourning. I would roll around in the dirt like some primitive tribeswoman I’d read about in a novel. And of course I’d do a fair amount of wailing and carrying on – just plain screeching too – since I’m already pretty good at that.
    Sad to say, in the eyes of the public, I was
not
bereaved. In their eyes, I had no excuse for rolling around in the dirt while sounding like a rock star with a beehive stuck on her head. Now here was my best friend, trying to blackmail me with
her
grief. Her aim was to get me to take
my
inn into a whole new direction. I’m telling you, Agnes’s
chutzpah
had me so hot under the collar that the heat that was generated threatened to melt two of the silver fillings in my teeth.
    The only way that I could think of, wherein I would not feel taken advantage of, was if I bested her at her own game. If dear, sweet Agnes was intent on getting all loosy-goosy with the la-dee-dah crowd, then I was more than happy to goose her right back. Perhaps that doesn’t sound very Christian of me, but if I lead an exemplary life
all
of the time, then, pray tell, how can I be an inspiration to those folks who need to be shown that one
can
recover from a spiritual stumble by repenting and seeking God’s forgiveness?
    ‘So, what do you think about my idea?’ Agnes said. ‘Mags, you have to admit that it’s rather brilliant. The Brits – especially the aristocracy – are essentially clueless about our Pennsylvania Dutch culture, so we can get away with just about anything, and charge them just about any amount of money as well. Heck, what’s that famous saying of yours?’
    ‘A tourist will pay any amount of money, and overlook any amount of abuse, just as long as he – or she – can view it as a cultural experience.’
    ‘That’s the one. You are so clever, Mags. I have no doubt that you will have these highfalutin, high-born folk eating out of your hand like they were pigeons in a park.’
    Alas, that is when I caved and gave in to the Devil and his minions. This is not to say that Agnes had anything to do with the Fallen Angel’s presence. Lucifer, like the Lord Himself, is always hanging around, but in the case of the former, I could almost hear Him coaxing me to puff up with pride.
    ‘Come on, Magdalena,’ he hissed with his split tongue (like bad writers would have it, the Devil and his underlings can hiss in dialogue without an ‘s’). ‘First you play hostess to an earl, next to a duke, then finally you offer your bed to a king!’
    ‘Yeth, yeth, yeth!’ his minions chorused. ‘Your bed to a king!’
    My bourgeoisie blood began to burble with excitement. Perhaps I’d had it wrong all along. Could it be that I was destined to host greatness? Well, not that inheriting a title from some undoubtedly ruthless forbear made one great, but it certainly gave one a leg up – so to speak. Perhaps it was the Devil whispering in my ear, but it did occur to me that not
everyone
has the stomach to rise through the ranks by suppressing the peasants, nor can just
anyone
dispatch enough of the enemy to earn themselves a coronet. And once on the throne, it takes a calm head to order other heads to roll. Could it be that the genes that allowed this class of folk to emerge triumphant while trampling on the backs of their brethren have produced a superior breed of mankind in their descendants? Perhaps today’s crop of the titled
were
entitled to the privileges that they enjoyed through no fault of their own.
    Silly, sinful, Magdalena Portulacca Yoder Rosen! That was a moot question I’d just asked myself. There is no such thing as evolution. And even if there was, that was a racist, elitist thought. We are all equal in God’s sight. The Bible says that God is our only king.
    ‘I can read your mind,’ Agnes said as her eyes began loading up with tears. She has the ability to manufacture them as needed to advance her agenda, so it is hard to take them seriously. ‘As a woman of deep faith,’