Free Tea with Jam and Dread by Tamar Myers Page A

got her hands on this spring. Magdalena agreed that they looked to be young, tender snipes. She put the snipes in with her chickens for safe keeping until morning. Gentle as lambs, they were – walked right into the pillow slips.’
    ‘You’re putting me on, you are!’ Sebastian grabbed one of my fabulous chocolate-chip biscuits and began tearing into it like a lion into its prey. ‘There isn’t any such thing as a snipe.’
    ‘Strictly speaking, dear, there is,’ I said as I dabbed at my eyes with a plain white cotton handkerchief.
    ‘Maybe so,’ he said, ‘but it’s not what you describe. In the meantime, my papa is missing.’
    ‘Missing?’ Aubrey said. ‘What do you mean? I just saw him.’
    ‘Yeah?’ Sebastian said. ‘Was that before or after you and Celia caught these plump, succulent game birds?’
    The Babester, ever my handsome hero, stood and handed his son off to Alison. ‘Hey,’ he said to Sebastian, ‘enough with the attitude. I don’t care if you are our guest; in this house, people respect their mothers.’
    Of course, there was stunned silence all around. Alison was the first to speak.
    ‘You go, Dad!’
    ‘Thanks, and the same thing applies to the peanut gallery,’ Gabe said with a wink.
    ‘I ain’t no peanut gallery!’
    ‘Shh,’ I said, ‘you’re going to wake Little Jacob, dear. How about doing me a big favour and putting him to bed tonight? Then you can watch TV in our room.’ Mind you, that was an
enormous
privilege, so the favour aspect was really all stacked in her direction.
    ‘Ah, do I hafta?’
    ‘Yes,’ said her father firmly. ‘You must.’
    ‘Man, this ain’t fair! Yinz are so mean, ya know that?’
    I don’t believe in reincarnation, but if I did, at one point I must have been a fish that took the first baited hook that it encountered. Perhaps it’s because I try my hardest to be the best mother that I can that when Alison tosses out these ‘wiggly worm’ accusations I swim right up to her boat.
    ‘I am
so
fair – I mean, life isn’t fair. No, that’s not right, either. It’s all in God’s hands, and we don’t know His plans. Enough of that. We definitely aren’t mean; we just have grown-up things to discuss. You should be happy that I’m even letting you watch TV, which, as you know, I consider to be an instrument of the Devil, except for
I Love Lucy
and
Are
You Being Served?
Although, personally, I think that given the state of the world today there should be a show titled
Are You Being Saved?
Of course, finding a good Christian actress is a bit of an oxymoron, isn’t it? Too bad that Aubrey here is Church of England and not a proper Protestant, as the Good Lord intended, because she does have a lovely bone structure—’
    ‘Ahem,’ Aubrey said, ‘I, and my lovely bones, are sitting right here and my husband is still missing. Do you mind if we talk about
him
?’
    ‘Well,’ I said, feeling my ears turn red, ‘you don’t have to tell
me
twice on which side of the toast to spread the marmite. I suppose that I do carry on from time—’
    ‘Mags,’ Gabe said sternly, making a zipping motion across his mouth. ‘Alison,’ he said just as sternly, and pointed towards our bedroom.
    Meanwhile, Agnes sat with her hands primly folded on the table, her features arranged in the same manner favoured by Queen Victoria in the many long years of her widowhood. I don’t believe in the transmigration of souls either, but if I did, I would swear (something else that I don’t do) that my best friend had fled for parts unknown on holiday, and that the ‘Mother of Kings’ was her temporary replacement.
    Call me old fashioned, but
sometimes
I don’t mind it when Gabe pulls back on my reigns, especially when I’ve been making a fool of myself. As for Alison, it looked as if Buckingham Palace was weighing down her lower lip, but she managed to stomp off without another word, and miraculously without waking up Little Jacob.
    ‘Now then,
people
,’