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fortune.”
    “Forsooth, although it still wouldn’t be enough to win if the Donald played trump.”
    “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
    “Nothing; it was just some card-playing humor—which I don’t do, mind you, except for rook and old maid, on account of real cards can lead to sin—”
    “You’re stalling again,” she hissed. This time specks of her spittle peppered my face. They may have been minuscule, but I could feel them long after they’d landed.
    Clearly, I had been goaded beyond human endurance. Perhaps, then, I can be forgiven for grabbing the lids of two empty metal serving trays and clanging them together like a pair of giant cymbals. That got everyone’s attention, including the man-child’s. The little fella kicked me so hard that I grunted in pain.
    As a matter of fact, he kicked me twice. It was like he was using my abdominal wall as a place to push off from, so he could swim away to somewhere quiet and sane.
    “Hey, take it easy,” I whispered. “I would never kick you. And just in case you’re looking for a way out, the portal’s not due to open for another two weeks. So as they say in New Joisey, fuggedaboutit.”
    The murmuring of the crowd informed me that I was already losing their attention. I had to act fast.
    “Stand back,” I roared. “That means everybody except for Karen Imhoff and the victim—uh, I mean Minerva J. Jay.”
    My words were like a magic wand. Or perhaps it was the genuine faux-pewter trays; maybe they thought I’d box their ears with them. At any rate, the throng shrank back, forming a circle, into which yours truly stepped.
    I knelt beside Karen, who was holding Minerva’s head in her lap. “Is she really dead?” I whispered.
    The throng leaned in, as if bowing their heads for prayer. “Let’s just say that if I was at the hospital right now, I’d look for a doctor to call it.”
    “In that case, since everyone’s already assumed a pious pose, let’s really pray. Who’d like to go first?” My words had the same apparent effect on them as spraying Raid does on a pile of roaches; they fanned out in all directions, although to be perfectly honest, very few flipped on their backs and kicked their legs in the air.
    I could hear Karen sigh loudly. It sounded like relief.
    “What’s that all about, dear?”
    “I know this is going to sound awful, Miss Yoder, but I hate public, extemporaneous prayer: it’s the stilted prayer language that really sets my teeth on edge.”
    “You mean like when folks use words like thee and thine ?”
    “Exactly. That’s King James English, not biblical English. There was no such language as English when the Bible was first written. But you know, what really sets my teeth on edge is just .”
    “The word just ? What’s wrong with that?”
    “For some reason it gets inserted into every unscripted prayer. Listen for it, Miss Yoder; you won’t be able to miss it. Someone will get started praying, and the next thing you know, they’ll say something like ‘Lord, we just ask that you heal our sister Debra,’ or ‘Lord, we just ask that you give us the necessary wisdom to deal with this problem.’ What does that mean? And if you ask them why they’ve inserted the word just into their prayers, they’ll look at you like you’re crazy. I guess they just don’t hear just anymore.”
    “Well, I for one don’t do it!”
    “Ah, but you do: I’ve heard you. Virtually every born-again Christian does it.”
    “But not me,” I wailed. “You’re putting a word into my mouth that doesn’t belong there.”
    “Excuse me, Miss Yoder, the crowd is edging closer again, so are we going to pray or not?”
    With considerable effort, I managed to get to my feet. “I’m still looking for a volunteer to pray,” I said. “And you can’t use the word just . Anyone who does use it gets to make a one-hundred-dollar donation to the new roof fund. So think of it as a chance to give, folks.”
    The crowd murmured loudly as