No Use Dying Over Spilled Milk Read Online Free PDF

attractive, because I think she and I bear a strong family resemblance. Suffice it to say she has the Yoder nose and light brown hair. The Creator neither smiled nor frowned when he made our mold.
    “He died on his wedding day?” I blurted out.
    “He was supposed to marry Barbara Hooley that morning.” Lizzie was suddenly bitter. “It was a very inconvenient time.”
    The five youngest pairs of eyes now focused on my face. Undoubtedly my mouth was wide open.
    “Yah, a terrible thing,” Samuel said. “His mother found him when she went to call him in for breakfast. His head had broken open like an egg.”
    Neither parent seemed at all concerned about discussing gruesome subjects in front of the children. It was the Troyer genes again. Susannah and I had been habitually banished by our parents whenever the table talk strayed from food, farm, or faith. It was no wonder the five little Troyer boys were basket cases.
    I picked up a fifth slice of bread and slathered it with the thick red apple butter. “What was he doing on top of the silo, anyway? I mean, on his wedding morning?”
    Samuel shrugged. “Who knows? The Masts have always been a little strange, if you ask me. Maybe he was trying to see Barbara’s farm from up there. At any rate, it resulted in a tragedy.”
    “We had all been cooking for a week,” Lizzie added peevishly. “Relatives had come from as far away as Iowa and Lancaster, Pennsylvania. There was even a family in from Hernia. Jonas and Lydia Zook. You know them?”
    I nodded absently. Of course I knew them. I knew all the Hernia Amish. “What happened to all that food?”
    “Ach, the food!” said Lizzie. “That was saved for the funeral meal. What a waste that was. Food tastes better at a wedding, don’t you think?”
    “I’m sure it does,” I said agreeably. Although if it was canned sardines she brought to the wedding, unless she had opened them three days earlier, it probably didn’t make any difference.
    “My sardine sandwiches were all dried out by then,” Lizzie said sadly, “so I had to bring eggs.”
    “Uncle Levi’s head cracked open like a broken egg,” Isaac said and giggled. His four brothers giggled along with him.
    I cast the urchins a quick, disapproving frown. Clearly, it was possible to be corrupted without the aid of television.
    “I suppose there was a thorough investigation,” I said.
    The parents of the errant boys volleyed glances, but said nothing.
    “Well?”
    “Yah, the Farmersburg deputy took care of everything. He ruled it an accident, and there was no problem.”
    “And of course it was an accident, right?”
    “Yah,” Samuel said, but he refused to look me in the eye.
    We ate in silence for a while. There was obviously more to Levi Mast’s death than I’d been told. But I knew enough about human nature, if not my kinsmen, to know that I wasn’t going to force any more information out of them. When the time was right, one or the other would supply me with all the important details.
    “I have a confession to make,” Lizzie said suddenly, much to my surprise.
    “Yes?” I hoped it didn’t sound too eager.
    “That isn’t apple butter you’re eating.”
    I swallowed quickly. “Oh?”
    Lizzie looked away. She was obviously embarrassed. “Our apple crop was miserable last fall. Full of worms, and as coarse as corncobs. I decided to make up a batch of mock apple butter.”
    I tried to preempt the rest of the confession. “Well, it’s just great. Now tell me, who was that pretty young woman with the twin babies I saw this afternoon?”
    “Zucchini,” Lizzie said.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “That’s what’s in the mock apple butter. Zucchini.”
    “But it’s red!”
    Lizzie smiled. “Cherry Kool-Aid.”
    “You don’t say!” I picked up my knife and discreetly scraped off what I could from the bread on my plate.
    “Time for dessert!” Lizzie said, getting up, and the boys all smacked their lips and rubbed their hands together in