The Crepes of Wrath Read Online Free Page B

The day I got her, Little Freni crawled up my dress and climbed inside my bra which, as you should know, has lots of wasted room. Little Freni took an immediate liking to her surroundings, and now spends most of her time next to my heart.
    You may think it a strange place to keep a kitten, but I assure you, I am not the only woman to harbor pets in her underwear. My sister Susannah, Melvin’s wife, has been toting a dinky dog around in her bra for years. That pitiful pooch, which my sister calls Shnookums, is not nearly as cute as Little Freni, and has a nasty temperament.
    At any rate, Little Freni preferred to nap that Sunday afternoon. I tried getting her attention by dangling a rubber band down my dress, but my pussy would have none of it.
    “Just play for a few minutes,” I coaxed.
    Little Freni purred contentedly, too lazy to open her eyes.
    I gave up my quest for a playmate and stroked her silken head. “You’re so soft,” I whispered. “I could pet you all day.”
    “Ach!”
    The short, stout Amish woman standing behind mewas my cook, Freni Hostetler. It is she after whom my kitty is named. Freni is my mother’s double second cousin, once removed. Or something like that. After Mama died in that tunnel, Freni has been like a mother to me. At seventy-five Freni is the same age Mama would have been, and every bit as cantankerous.
    The woman threatens to quit at least once a week, and actually does quit about a dozen times a year. On several occasions I’ve taken the liberty of firing her. But since I can’t boil water without directions, and Freni despises her live-in daughter-in-law, Mama’s replacement and I are doomed to each other’s company until the day she can no longer stand on her feet, or I decide to retire. But don’t get me wrong, I am immensely fond of the stubby woman with the wire-rim glasses and perpetual frown. She is, in fact, my dearest friend; it’s just that we don’t get along.
    “Good afternoon, Freni,” I said pleasantly. “I was just talking to your namesake.”
    “Ach! Such an insult to have an animal named after me.”
    “There are those who would consider it an honor.”
    “Yah, you would know about honors,” Freni said, making no attempt to hide the bitterness in her voice.
    The dear little woman was referring to the recent birth of her grandchildren—triplets. The two male children were named after their father and grandfather, but the girl was named after me. The proud parents, Jonathan and Barbara, named the baby after me because I was instrumental in saving her life. It was not because Barbara was trying to slight her mother-in-law. Alas, there is no convincing Freni.
    “How are the little dears?” I asked cheerily.
    Freni frowned. “She picks them up every time they cry. Is that any way to treat a baby?”
    I shrugged.
    “Of course, you would not know.”
    Boy, did that strike a nerve. I am acutely aware that Iwill never give birth to a child, that I will forever be as barren as the Gobi Desert.
    “As a matter of fact, Freni, I read in a magazine that a baby can never be held too much.”
    “Ach, maybe that is true of English children.” Freni waved a plump hand, signaling a change of subject. “How many vegetations this time, Magdalena?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Ach, you heard me!”
    I smiled slowly. “You must mean vegetarians.”
    “Yah.” My kinswoman is culinarily challenged. For her, the four food groups are fat, sugar, starch, and meat. She has only recently begun to make a distinction between meat and vegetables, and still finds some foods, such as cheese, hard to place. Since the Amish normally serve a slice of cheddar with apple pie, she had, until recently, just assumed that cheese was a fruit.
    “Freni, dear, only three of the guests have arrived, and I’m sorry, but I forgot to ask them.”
    Freni shook her head and muttered something unintelligible in her native Pennsylvania Dutch.
    “Look, Freni, just play it safe and plan on serving