Free The Imposter by Suzanne Woods Fisher Page A

length of the table at Hank.
    Sadly, the hint fell flat on Hank’s ears. He was preoccupied with buttering his cornbread, lavishly and thoroughly. “Where’s Amos?” He lifted his empty coffee cup.
    Fern poured coffee into Hank’s cup, then filled her own.
    â€œSugar there behind you,” Hank grunted. Jesse reached over to the counter and handed him a sugar bowl. Hank stirred in the sugar, added cream, took a sip, added more sugar, took another sip, let out a loud “Ahhhhh,” apparently satisfied.
    â€œFreeman Glick is making his rounds to assess everyone’s finances, and Amos had to go down to the bank to get a copy of the most recent statement.”
    Hank looked like he had bit down on a sour pickle. “Freeman’s poking his nose into everybody’s business.”
    Between bites, Jesse asked, “He’s the minister, isn’t he?”
    â€œBishop,” Fern said. “Elmo Beiler passed on a month or so ago and Freeman Glick drew the lot.”
    Hank lifted a fork in her direction. “I blame myself. I shouldn’t have slept in that morning. Mighta changed everything.” He shook his head. “Freeman Glick is the type who takes pleasure in kicking puppies.” He glared at Jesse with his one good eye. “If you find yourself around him, you better watch your sweet—”
    â€œHank! Don’t blaspheme.”
    â€œâ€”step, is all I was gonna say, Fern.”
    â€œHe’s our bishop,” Fern said, in a tone to put an end to Hank’s tirade.
    â€œThat man is tougher than—” sawing strenuously at the piece of pork chop on his plate, Hank glanced in Fern’s direction and hedged off—“leather.”
    â€œHank, rules,” Fern said. “Use a knife, not a fork.”
    â€œSo Hank, I hoped you could enlighten me about the parameters of this gainful opportunity.”
    â€œRighto,” Hank confirmed, spooning more sugar into his coffee.
    â€œThe kinds of hours you keep, for example. And then there’s sala—”
    â€œNOW YOU’RE TALKING!” Hank slapped the table resoundingly. “Come early, stay late!” A rooster belted out a loud crow, and Hank paled, then “Chickens!” came from his lips in a hoarse whisper. He thumped his chair down on all four legs and bolted to his feet. “Blast it all! I forgot to feed Edith’s chickens. She’ll skin me alive.” And suddenly he bolted for the door.
    Jesse popped the last crumb of cornbread into his mouth. “Edith?”
    â€œEdith Fisher. Jimmy’s leaving left her in a pinch with all those chickens to feed and clean up after. Hank’s trying to help her out.”
    Fern Lapp and Jesse considered each other. An awkward silence filled the room—awkward, at least, for Jesse.
    He finished swallowing his last bite of pork chop and bowed his head, then quietly rose to his feet. “I thank you, Fern Lapp, for the splendiferous and robust meal.”
    â€œSave your charm for the girls,” she said. “You don’t need all that embroidery with me.”
    Jesse blinked innocently back. “Why, I meant it!”
    She nodded. “I’m sure you always do.”
    â€œI’ll be off, then.”
    â€œJust where do you think you’re going? You’re on the clock.” Her arched eyebrows expressed all that was needed.
    Jesse wondered if it would make a difference if he pointed out that there really was no clock because there really was no work to do because there was no boss. Upon deeper consideration, he chose not to debate that point. Fern Lapp did not seem to be a woman who invited questions. “Regrettably, I am not seer enough to know what Hank’s intentions are.” He smiled, then swallowed it when she frowned at him. He tried again. “Unfortunately, in his haste to depart, Hank failed to give me instructions about what to do in his absence so that I