by Tamar Myers
Mine is an old car, and it took a few miles for the heat to kick in. Until then my teeth chattered so hard I was afraid I’d lose a filling. When it finally came, the first blast of warm air on my ankles made me groan with joy. Only heaven can possibly offer a sensation more delicious than warm air swirling around your feet on a zero-degree night.
If it hadn’t been for the distraction of such bitter cold, I might have noticed the faint smell of cheese before I even got in the car. If the air in the car had been warmer—at least moister—I’m sure I would have smelled it long before I did. As it was, I didn’t notice the telltale odor until I was smack dab in the loneliest stretch of road between Annie’s place and the Troyers’.
Then I noticed the smell. And then, before I could react, a hand clamped around my mouth again.
Chapter Twenty-eight
I had the presence of mind to take my foot off the gas before I bit the hand that gagged me.
The man screamed.
“Serves you right.”
I braked expertly, despite the slick conditions, and pulled to the side of the road.
“Out, buster! And I mean now.”
“Keep driving, Magdalena. Do exactly what he says and you won’t get hurt.”
“Stayrook?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re Amish, Stayrook. You don’t believe in violence any more than I do. What are you doing here? What do you mean, I won’t get hurt?”
Something cold and metallic nuzzled my neck.
“He might not believe in violence, Yoder, but I do. And I say drive.”
I recognized the voice of Arnold Ledbetter. He was a little man and I could probably pin him down in a wrestling match, but I was not going to argue with a gun. Little men wielding guns have been responsible for some of the largest trophies, and I didn’t fancy having my head mounted on the wall of Daisybell Dairies. Not now that I knew Aaron loved me, and happy-ever-after beckoned.
I willed my foot back on the accelerator and pulled slowly back onto the road. It was snowing so hard now it was impossible to see the line that divided the highway. The fine white silt sifting down from the sky was as opaque as heavy fog, and I wouldn’t have seen the lights of an approaching car until they were on top of me. I prayed that I was still within my lane.
There was nothing I could do but creep along. Arnold must have realized my helplessness, because he allowed me to drive at my own rate. Even just a few miles per hour faster and we might have decorated a fence post once the blizzard stopped.
“Where’s that damn turnoff?” Arnold demanded.
I took a deep breath. “What turnoff?”
The barrel prodded me again. “I’m not talking to you, Yoder. This is between me and him. You shut up and do what you’re told.”
Mama would have been proud of me. For once I kept my mouth shut. My lips were clamped tighter than if I’d been offered a piece of her rhubarb pie.
“Turn left just up ahead,” Stayrook said suddenly.
“What?”
The point of the gun barrel pressed against that soft spot behind my ear. “Do what he says.”
In a split second I chose to obey. Please don’t think I’m a coward, but as I saw it, a bullet to the brain was certain death. Decorating a fence post, on the other hand, was still iffy. However, there might well be a deep snowbank between us and the fence, which would bury the car, and we might not be discovered for days. But even in that case I stood a better chance of surviving than did they. Two large helpings of pot roast, four large homemade rolls, and three pieces of chocolate crazy cake smothered in whipped cream certainly gave me a head start in staving off starvation. As for the fourth piece of cake, resting securely within my purse, I would keep it a secret until the two of them were too weak to do anything about it. Ditto for the rolls in each of my pockets.
Unfortunately, Stayrook was intimately acquainted with the local roads, and outside of some light skidding, which I deftly managed, we made the transition to the intersecting road without event.
“Not bad, Yoder,” Arnold said. The admiration in his voice disgusted me.
“Now turn right,” Stayrook directed.
I did what I was told. This time we didn’t even skid.
“Way to go, girl,” Arnold shouted.
I stuck my tongue out, but since the rearview mirror was fogged over, Arnold’s half-moon glasses probably were as well. Undoubtedly it was a wasted movement.
“Just keep going straight until I tell you,” Stayrook said softly.
I knew he was trying to be reassuring, but frankly, I was insulted. Obviously, straight was all I could manage without direction. I couldn’t see more than five feet in front of me, even with the high beams on. Did I look like the kind of idiot who would turn willy-nilly into a blank wall of white?
“We’d better not be headed to that Amish parking spot,” I said meanly. “You can shoot me for all I care, but I’m not about to make out with either of you two buzzards.”
Arnold laughed rudely. “Fat chance either of us would want to, Yoder. You’re not exactly prime rib.”
“You mean like Elsie Bontrager?”
“Ach,” Strayrook said, the distress in his voice quite clear.
“Elsie was a fine piece of work,” Arnold said. “Too bad she wouldn’t play the game. Still, she came in useful.”
“I’ll bet she did,” I growled.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Then say nothing quieter. It’s hard enough to think with all that snow. Why the hell did you stay so long in that old biddy’s house?”
I tapped the brakes just hard enough to launch us into a short skid, and Arnold into the back of the front seat. Annie might be a busybody troublemaker, but she was my kin. Nobody, especially a gun-toting criminal with upside-down glasses and a bad toupee, was going to bad-mouth my blood and get away with it.
“You goddamn bitch!” Arnold bellowed.
That did it. Nobody swears in my car without paying the fiddler. The last time Susannah tried it, she ended up walking almost the entire length of Stucky Hollow Road. Not that I didn’t end up paying dearly for my stand. Susannah has yet to let me forget that Stucky Hollow Road is eight miles of gravel lane. But was it my fault my sister chose not to wear shoes that day?
I wear a seat belt, but my car was too old to have come with an air bag. Still, since I was the one with the plan, I was able to brace myself when my foot stomped on the brakes with the same force it stomps on roaches (not that we have any at the PennDutch, mind you). What happened next was positively exhilarating, although frankly, I was disappointed with the acoustics. The teenage boys in Hernia who stand on their brakes are rewarded with loud squeals from their tires, as well as from their girls. Because of the snow cover, my car slid silently, and the grunts and curses from the backseat were no match for the shrieks emitted by Hernia High cheerleaders.
I can’t remember for sure, but we must have spun around three or four times, bouncing off snow-covered road banks, small trees, and other unseen obstacles. Eventually we came to a stop in the middle of the road. Except for a hissing from the front of the car and loss of one headlight, the car seemed to be in one piece. Even the windshield wipers were still clacking away rhythmically.
Quickly I checked myself for broken bones and gushing blood. My arms were a little sore from having braced myself against the wheel, but otherwise everything was intact. It is a horrible thing to have to admit, but I didn’t even check the backseat. On the other hand, did David check on Goliath after he slew him? As for poor Stayrook, Mama used to say that each Amish person has an extra guardian angel assigned, to protect him or her from motorized traffic. Since Arnold undoubtedly had none, I figured the fight was fair.
The driver door was jammed, and the front passenger door was not immediately cooperative, but I managed to kick it open. Fortunately I was able to locate my pocket book, with its precious cargo of crazy cake, under the dashboard. All told, within seconds of coming to
a stop, I and my worldly possessions were slipping around in the snow. Where we were headed, I hadn’t the foggiest idea.
Not that it mattered. The blizzard may have muffled the gunshot somewhat, but it was still loud enough to make me scream. The fact that the bullet actually grazed my left ear I hold responsible for my dampened bloomers. I am proud to say, however, that I didn’t drop my pocket book.
I will spare you the profanity that issued forth from Arnold Ledbetter’s mouth. Suffice it to say, it was clear his mama had never washed his mouth out with soap. At any rate, the gist of his expletives was that I should stand stock still and not even as much as breathe if I valued my life.
I did what I was told. With Pooky Bear officially in my life, I wasn’t about to bite the dust anytime soon. That went for snow as well. In retrospect, I might have been better off continuing my mad dash.
“Where the hell is she?” I heard Arnold say.
It was a good question. Although I was only feet from the car, I could barely make out its dark hulk through the swirling powder. I couldn’t see Arnold at all. The shot that trimmed my ear hair had been a fluke.
I stood absolutely still, debating whether or not I should call out my position. If Arnold really wanted to kill me, why make it easier? On the other hand, why be the recipient of a bullet that was meant as a warning shot? While I debated I heard mumbling, and then some more angry curses from Arnold. The gun went off again. This time I bolted blindly, much as Susannah does when she sees me carrying dirty dishes.
“Magdalena, stay right where you are,” Stayrook called. “I got the gun away from Arnold. Stay right where you are, and I’ll find you.”
Stayrook was as good as his word, although the fact that he ran into me a few seconds later was purely coincidental.
“Ow,” I moaned, rubbing my nose.
“Shhh!” Stayrook warned. “He can’t see us. If we zigzag a little we can lose him entirely.”
“Where’s the gun?” I demanded.
“I threw it away,” Stayrook said.
He grabbed me by an arm and began pulling me up the road. Or was it down? With zero visibility it was impossible to tell which direction we were headed.
We zigged and we zagged. In the receding distance we could hear Arnold yelling obscenities, body names for parts God has yet to invent. After about fifty yards Stayrook steered me toward a sharp left.
“We’ll get off the road here. Even if he gets the car started he’ll never find us.”
“Of course he won’t get the car started, I—” I gulped. “I left the keys in the ignition!”
Stayrook was gallant enough not to blame me. “These things happen,” he said. “Now careful, there should be a barbed-wire fence right about here.”
I couldn’t see Stayrook, much less strands of wire, so I did the ladylike thing and let him go ahead. Much to his credit he didn’t curse when he located the invisible wire. A sharp intake of breath and a faint moan barely expressed his discomfort.
“Watch your hair,” he said.
He held open two strands of barbed wire for me to step through. I ducked, but not low enough. Or else there was a third strand. At any rate, the next thing I knew I was Rapunzel. Mama was right, I am too vain to wear a hat in cold weather. But I learned my lesson, Mama. The fistfuls of hair I had to leave behind will make some bird a nice soft nest come spring.
We plodded across a frozen field, avoiding the bigger drifts by trial and error. This time Mama was wrong. The snow up my dress would not have been an issue if Mama hadn’t made such an issue out of women wearing pants. “Only harlots and hussies wear pants,” Mama was fond of saying. “God wants you to dress like a lady, and that means skirts.” She said this so many times that I was utterly brainwashed, and even after Mama herself started wearing pants, I was stuck with skirts. Why God would prefer a cold crotch over snuggy jeans is beyond my ken, but I am powerless to change my ways.
It was by the grace of God that we stumbled across the barn. It was a small barn, and even though it had once been painted red, we didn’t see it until it loomed close enough to scare us. Had we been walking just twenty feet to the left, we never would have seen it. Stayrook’s extra angel had definitely been pressed into service.
Excitedly we fumbled our way along the side of the barn until we found the great sliding door. Stayrook, ahead of me, struggled with the door for a few minutes before I volunteered my help. Snow had frozen in its track, and it took both of us, one pushing, the other pulling, to break it loose. Then we cracked the door just wide enough for us to slip through. Once we were inside, Stayrook lit a succession of matches.
“Yikes!” I think I said. Whatever the word, it was certainly no worse than that.
I had been in many barns before, but none quite like this. It was immediately obvious that the barn hadn’t been used for years. The floor was covered with dust and bird droppings. Spiderwebs hung from the rafters like garlands. In one comer a slat from the roof was missing, and snow was sifting in, forming a long, narrow drift. In the opposite corner a pile of hay moldered. Leaning up against it was an old pitchfork with one tine broken off.
“Doesn’t look too bad,” Stayrook said. “Graddle nie. ”
“What?”
Stayrook pointed with a lit match to the miserable hay pile that was little more than refuse. “Crawl in there. If you can sort of dig your way into that haystack, it will help you stay warm until I get back.”
I grabbed the hand he was pointing with. “Forget the haystack. What’s this about you getting back? Where are you going in the first place?”
The match burned out, and I dropped his hand.
“To get help, of course.”
“Where?”
“The Hooley place. They live less than two miles away.”
“How do you know that?”
He stamped the snow off his shoes, and I could smell the dust rise.
“I recognize the pitchfork,” he said. “Sam Hooley broke the tine trying to move a boulder.”
“Well, Sam must have broken his back as well, Stayrook, because this place hasn’t been used in years. Not by humans, at least.”
He chuckled. “This is Sam’s old barn. He switched from grain to dairying about ten years ago and needed a bigger barn. He was going to add on to this, but then his house burned down.
“Sam’s wife, Leah, always wanted to live on the other side of Neuhauser Road so she could have a view of the woods. When their house burned down, that’s where they decided to build the new one. Built a new barn there too. This one isn’t used until the haying season, and then only as temporary storage.”
I breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Well, in that case, if the Hooleys live less than two miles away, I’m coming with you.”
“Ach, no! Even though I know where we are, I could easily get lost in this storm. You must stay here where it’s safe, Magdalena.”
I was touched by the concern in his voice, but somewhat irritated by his stupidity.
“Safe? Arnold Ledbetter is out there. He could stumble on this barn any minute, just like we did. You call that safe? No sirree, buster. I’d rather take my chance out there with Mother Nature than with the mad manager of Daisybell Dairies.”
Stayrook lit another match and held it dangerously close to my face. “Mr. Ledbetter isn’t likely to find this place. Not in a storm like this. And if he does, you’ll be hidden. I’ll help bury you in the hay before I go.”
It seemed like a stupid plan to me, and I made another attempt to dissuade Stayrook from his foolhardy mission.
“But I must go,” he said stubbornly.
The years I’d spent arguing with Susannah came in handy. “You aren’t making a lick of sense, dear,” I said calmly. “Think of it, Stayrook. If it’s snowing so hard Arnold can’t find us in the barn this far from the car, then it’s for sure you’re not going to find the Hooleys’ two miles away.”
“Ach du lieber! You nag worse than my wife,” he said. “It is my duty t
o go to the Hooleys’ for help.”
For a moment I felt like his wife.
“Your duty? You didn’t take me hostage at gunpoint and force me to drive off the main road in the middle of a blizzard. Come on, Stayrook, you were a hostage yourself, weren’t you?”
My only answer was the heavy barn door sliding shut behind him.
I am not ashamed to admit that I am terrified of the dark. It’s Mama’s fault, you know. I was eight when Grandma Yoder died, far too young in my opinion to view a dead body. But Mama thought otherwise, and to keep her quiet I agreed to peek into the upstairs bedroom where Grandma was laid out, in her Sunday best, on her bed.
Mama said she never meant for me to go up there alone, and that if I’d but waited a minute or two, she would have held my hand. Well, she should have said something at the time. I took a good long look at Grandma, who, incidentally, somehow managed to wear a bigger scowl in death than she had in life. And that’s saying plenty.
At any rate, I was standing at the foot of Grandma’s bed, alone, when the lights went out. The house was plunged into utter blackness, and me just inches from Grandma on her bed. I’m not saying it was a supernatural event or anything, but when I checked with Aaron Miller, who lived across the lane, and with Sadie Schrock, who lived on the next farm down, both of them denied having power outages at their houses.
For one horrible minute that lasted half my lifetime, I thought I would die of fright. When the lights came back on, Mama would find me with hair turned white, eyes glazed over, and turned into a statue, just like Lot’s wife.
Of course, that’s not what happened. What happened was even worse. When the lights came on I saw immediately that the scowl on Grandma’s face had turned into a smile. Sadie said she heard my screams all the way to her house, and with the windows closed.
Now almost forty years later, I was surrounded by darkness in the barn, and my heart began to pound. I’m not talking about the kind of pounding required to pound a nail into a wall in order to hang a picture. I’m talking about pounding so hard it could tear the walls down. If I didn’t do something constructive, and quick, I was going to have a heart attack.
