Free The Hand that Rocks the Ladle by Tamar Myers

out of my store, you hussy,” she hissed.
    “What did you say?”
    “You heard what I said, you two-bit trollop.” For a foreigner, Elspeth’s command of English is remarkable. “And don’t try playing Miss Innocent with me, Magdalena Yoder. You forget that Roy is Aaron Miller’s first cousin. We know all about how you seduced that poor man, and then turned on him when you learned that he was broke.”
    I gasped, depleting the large store of half its oxygen. “That’s not what happened! Aaron seduced me. And he was already married. Why didn’t any of you Millers tell me that? I went to my marriage bed a virgin,” I wailed, “only it wasn’t my marriage bed at all, but a den of iniquity. You all stood back and watched me be led like a lamb to the slaughter.”
    Elspeth raised the shovel, this time over her head. “Lies,” she said. “It’s all lies. And now you’re trying to get your hands on my Roy. Well, I won’t have it!”
    I took a wary step back, away from the shovel, but in doing so, moved closer to Roy.
    “I said to get away from him!” Elspeth snarled, and despite her tiny size, brought the shovel down with a force hard enough to stun a bull.
    Now, I may be lanky, but I’m also fairly nimble, and managed to step aside. Unfortunately, Roy Miller has two left feet (I mean that literally—thanks to an insufficient gene pool). The shovel scoop that was meant for my noggin connected with Roy’s, and he folded like an accordion.
    “Now see what you’ve done!” Elspeth shrieked.
    “Me?”
    She threw down the shovel, dropped to her knees, and cradled her husband’s head. “You’ve killed my Roy!”
    I glanced around. A crowd was forming at either end of the aisle. I had a choice: defend myself, or do something for Roy.
    “Call 911,” I said to the mostly Amish crowd.
    No one moved.
    “Call the police!” Elspeth barked.
    Alas, someone did.
     
    I never used to understand how a man with a brain the size of a flea’s was able to become police chief in my fair town. That he has managed to stay chief so long was beyond my comprehension. But I have given the matter a good deal of thought, and have at last concluded that the Good Lord created Melvin Stoltzfus as my personal nemesis. Melvin is my cross to bear, the means by which I am tested. Through my encounters with that irritating arthropod I am expected to grow stronger, perhaps even to learn to love my fellow man. I am, I confess, a slow learner in this regard.
    The police station is less than a mile from the feed store, and Melvin should have been able to get there in a minute or two. But that was not the case. Perhaps the man had his shoes untied, and couldn’t find anyone to tie them, or maybe he misplaced the map that showed the way to the front door of the police station. At any rate, it took Melvin a good fifteen minutes to show, and by then I could hear the approaching wail of Hernia’s only ambulance. Someone, thank heavens, had called for real help after all.
    I am pleased to report that Roy Miller was not seriously injured. By the time help arrived, he was on his feet—albeit somewhat unsteadily—and although the medics insisted that he accompany them back to the hospital, he was released an hour later. In fact, Elspeth didn’t even bother to accompany him, but remained behind to keep the store open.
    In the meantime, Melvin predictably made my life miserable. No sooner had Roy been whisked away than my new brother-in-law turned on me.
    “Yoder, I want you to come with me down to the station.”
    I glanced around. There were still people four deep at the ends of the aisle. Elspeth was among them, no doubt eager to see me arrested.
    “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. You know it was Elspeth who conked him on the head, not me.”
    “Did not!” Elspeth called from the sidelines.
    I may have stuck my tongue out at her.
    “Yoder, don’t make a scene.”
    “I’m not making a scene, you are.”
    “Yoder!” The man is ten years