by Tamar Myers
“You’re welcome, I’m sure. Before you go out and chop wood for us poor, weak females, is there anything else you need to tell me tonight? Anything you might have left out? Any nocturnal omissions, as it were?”
“Nah. You sure I need to chop wood? Can’t the three of us cuddle under a blanket or something?”
“The ‘or something’ is that you chop. Put your shoulder to the grindstone, your head on the block, and chop, chop, chop.”
“Dang it,” Melvin swore, and stomped off, slamming the door behind him.
The house had barely stopped vibrating when Elvina turned to me. “Now what is it you’d really like to talk about, dear?”
I jumped from the loveseat, a plan taking shape in my mind. “Let’s talk in the kitchen, Mama. I really don’t want him to hear some of the things I’m about to say, so I need to keep track of his whereabouts.”
I picked a spot between the window and the stove. From where I stood, I could see my supposed brother grappling with an ax that was almost as large as he was. If he really applied himself to the task at hand, then I’d managed to borrow a chunk of valuable time. After all, the mantis I knew couldn’t cut balsa wood with a chainsaw.
His mama seemed to have temporarily forgotten him. “Magdalena, sweetie, what is it?”
“Do you love me?”
“Of course I do!”
“You gave me away.”
“Like I said earlier: I had no choice. Things were different back then.”
“No doubt. But you’ve had forty-eight years to acknowledge me. Why now suddenly? Is it to save him?”
She had to get on her tiptoes in order to peer out the window. The object of her concern had managed to subdue the ax, and was now attempting to flail a stick of kindling into submission.
“Melvin called me from Doc’s phone. He wanted me to run away with him and Susannah. Of course, I said no at first. Then he let it slip that he was meeting you here. I made him promise that he wouldn’t hurt you, but I couldn’t let it go at that. Magdalena, my little Melvin doesn’t always know what he’s doing.”
“I’m sure the laundry room has a supervisor.”
“Always so quick with the tongue, Magdalena. Just like me when I was your age.”
“Stop saying how much we’re alike! Do you honestly expect me to welcome you as my mother with open arms, while you’re aiding and abetting a very wicked man?”
“But I explained—”
“You say that you love me? Then prove it!”
“I’ll do anything! Oh, my baby, I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
“If you want me to be your daughter—Mama—then you have to help me do what is best for my brother.”
She dabbed at her eyes with a hanky pulled from her enormous bosom. (That was another thing I had not inherited from her.) “But he’s really a dear boy. He just needs help.”
“Exactly. And that’s what I plan to do: help him. I’m a wealthy woman, you know. I can afford the best help in the world. After all, nothing is too good for my brother.” Even just for saying those words, I felt like a professional harlot on the Devil’s payroll.
“Does that mean prison, Magdalena?”
In for a penny, in for an Enron executive’s fortune. “No, of course not. They have special programs for men who do away with their ministers. It’s called CHUMPS,” I added quickly. “It stands for Cretins Harming Unsuspecting Mennonite Pastors.”
“What? I didn’t quite catch that.”
“It’s not important, dear. What is important is that we get Melvin the best help available. Maybe someday he can rejoin society as a productive member. Then he and Susannah can live happily ever after.”
Although the truth was that, despite my five hundred years’ worth of pacifist genes (the Stoltzfuses were every bit as inbred as the Yoders), I would sooner break both of Susannah’s kneecaps than have her run off with the husband from Hades. As for what I’d be willing to do to the mantis to stop this from happening—I shudder to think of it now.
At any rate, Elvina began to do some serious thinking of her own. While on one hand this sexagenarian seemed to have all the wisdom of a teenager, and not a speck more, on the other hand, one couldn’t help but admire her capacity for unconditional love.
What might that be like? I wondered. My own mother—by that I mean the woman who raised me—threatened to disown me if I attended the University of Pennsylvania like I wanted to. She also threatened to disown me if I was ever divorced. Surely an annulment from a bigamist counts as the same thing. In that case, since I was already disowned—albeit somewhat posthumously—why not adopt Elvina as a mother? It would mean a great deal to her, and need not have anything to do with my relationship to Melvin. Who knows, someday Elvina might even prefer me over her son. Wouldn’t that fix his wagon?
“Look, Mama, we have to decide on something fast; my brother’s going to get tired of chopping wood pretty soon. Paul Bunyan he’s not.”
“I know, sweetie, but what can we do? Your brother will never agree to institutionalization.”
“He doesn’t have to,” I said. I grabbed her hand, which felt strangely familiar in the “flesh of my flesh” sappy sort of way. And yes, I was being manipulative. “We just need to find something to restrain him with. Maybe some clothesline or something.”
“You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”
“Whatever makes you say that, dear?” Then I spied what I needed—not to restrain the mantis, but to make him amenable to the idea. Pliable might even be a better word.
“Here’s an apron,” Elvina whispered. “It has long strings.”
“Perfect.” When everything was in order, I cracked open the window. “Yoo-hoo! Melvin!”
He immediately ceased pretending to cut wood. “What is it, Yoder?”
“Dear little brother, I need you to come in and kill a spider for me.” Believe me, the B-word did not easily fall from my lips. I fully intended to wash my own mouth out with soap when this was all over. Antibacterial soap, of course.
“Kill it yourself,” he yelled, but he was already headed for the house.
Despite Elvina’s murmured protests, I met Melvin at the back door with a raised skillet—one which I did not hesitate to bring down soundly on his oversized noggin. My nemesis crumpled to the floor like a dropped marionette.
“I can forgive you for almost anything, Melvin,” I said, feeling sick to my stomach, “but not for making me do this.”
“What have you done to my son?” Elvina wailed, proving that we were indeed related.
“Better safe than sorry, dear,” I said to my newfound mother. Then I selected a smaller pan from Doc’s formidable collection of cookware, and gave Elvina her own personalized whack on the head.
40
Creamy Orange Ice Cream Recipe
Ingredients:
½ pint (250 ml) double/heavy cream
½ pint (250 ml) single/light cream
2 oz (50 g) sugar (more if you prefer sweeter ice cream)
2 cups of fresh orange juice
Gently stir together the cream, sugar, and orange juice, and then beat until creamy.
Transfer the complete mixture into an ice cream maker, and mix/ freeze according to the manufacturer’s instructions.
41
I awoke to find Elvina Stoltzfus sitting by the head of my bed in Bedford County Memorial Hospital. She was reading me “The Three Little Pigs” out of a large and ragged volume of fairy tales.
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down.”
Up until that point, I’d had my eyes closed. I opened one warily just to confirm my circumstances. Satisfied, I shut it again.
“As you may recall, dear, my house is fairly new, seeing as how it was rebuilt after the tornado of 2004. If you puff that hard, you might give yourself a hernia.”
“My baby!” she cried, and throwing aside the book, threw herself on me. Alas, after a lifetime of feasting on the thre
e main Mennonite food groups—lard, sugar, and starch—Elvina is a well-rounded woman. It was like being hugged by a small whale—one with exceptionally dexterous flippers.
“Argh, I can’t breathe.”
“Praise the good Lord! You’ve come back to me!”
“But I’ll be leaving real soon if you don’t get off of me.” Each word was accompanied by a dying breath; about this I do not exaggerate.
“Always so quick with the wit,” she said, but eventually redistributed most of her weight onto her flippers.
I gasped, filling my lungs with sweet oxygen. “Where exactly am I, and what am I doing here?”
She told me a whale of a tale—one as hard to swallow as that of the three little pigs. According to her, she found herself lying on the floor of Doc’s kitchen, playing hostess to the mother of all headaches. In fact, her head was still throbbing, and the only thing making it bearable was the knowledge that I had merely passed out, and not, as she’d originally suspected, knocked on Heaven’s door.
“Where’s what’s-his-name?” I said.
“You mean your brother, Melvin, right?”
“I mean the convicted murderer who goes by that name. Frankly, Elvina, I’d rather have a rattlesnake for a brother than Melvin. At least a real snake can be defanged. I could put it in a terrarium, which I’d keep in the barn along with some other harmless critters. Maybe a one-eyed sheep, a lame horse, a two-headed calf—Magdalena’s Menagerie, I’d call them, and charge tourists ten bucks a head to get a gander. Oh, not a real gander, of course; I meant a look-see. Real ganders, as you know, are ornery. Tell me, do you think ten bucks is too much? There’ll be other animals as well; one of my chickens this year has just a hint of a third leg.”
Elvina stood back to gaze at me lovingly, and that’s when I noticed that we were not alone. Had Elvina’s fairy tale been about Snow White, I might be inclined to comment that it was Grumpy I beheld lurking in the shadows.
“Why, Freni,” I said happily, “step forward and announce yourself.”
“Ach, just as crazy as ever! I am glad, Magdalena.”
“So you heard what happened.”
“Yah, I heard.”
“Is it true that Elvina Stoltzfus gave birth to me?”
“Yah, I was there.”
“You’ve known this my entire life, but never said a thing until now. Is it only because the jig is up?”
“Ach, I keep secrets, yah, but I do not dance.”
“Freni, you’ve been like a—uh—mother to me. Why did you keep the truth from me?”
Although still unable to properly hang her head, she came pretty close this time. “I did not keep this matter from you, Magdalena, I kept this a secret for Elvina. You know that I cannot lie.” Her chin came within a hair’s breadth of touching her bobbling bosom. “Perhaps someday you can forgive me, Magdalena.”
“Perhaps—Oh, what the helmet! Come here, Freni.”
She shuffled to my bedside without making eye contact.
“Now throw yourself on me, like Elvina did.”
She straightened, her eyes as wide as hens’ eggs. “Ach,” she squawked.
“I have every reason to be mad at you for the rest of your life, so either give me some love—English-style—or deal with the consequences.” The consequences were, by the way, inconsequential; I could never deny forgiveness or friendship.
Poor Freni is too stubby to throw herself into my arms without first climbing onto the bed, like a mountaineer assaulting Everest. And like the mountaineer, the effort (and perhaps lack of oxygen) exhausted her, so that she was gasping by the time she was safely ensconced in my arms.
“I love you, Freni,” I murmured.
“Ach!”
Aware that I’d already tested her limits, I did nothing more than give her a light squeeze and then gently pushed her off. She made it safely back to her feet, where she stood panting with excessive vigor. As long as she huffed and puffed, she didn’t have to speak. This was fine with me, so long as she didn’t blow my house down.
“Just so you know,” I finally said, addressing the duplicitous duo, ‘’although I’ve forgiven you both your lies, that doesn’t mean I’m happy with you—either of you. Nonetheless, Elvina, I must admit that I admire you for turning in your son.”
“But Magdalena, I didn’t.”
“A mother and her chrysalis—What did you say?”
“By the time I recovered consciousness, Melvin was already gone.”
I stared into her eyes; it was like staring into a mirror, but perhaps sixteen years into the future. Her calm gaze said it all.
“Did you at least call the police?”
“Yes, dear, I told them about Melvin just as soon as I’d asked them to send an ambulance for you.”
“Elvina has a huge bump on her head,” Freni said. “Melvin almost killed his own mother, yah? Whoever heard of such a thing? Elvina, show Magdalena the bump your son gave you.”
For the first time I noticed that she was sporting a large square of gauze on the back of her head. It covered a lump the size of a navel orange.
“It looks like you should be in bed.”
“I am,” she said. “Well, I was, until Freni told me that the coast was clear.”
“What?”
“It is Nurse Latchkey,” Freni said, her gentle, loving spirit sagging just a bit. “She has forbidden you to have visitors. I sit in the wait room all night, and only now she goes.”
“All night? How long have I been here?”
“Hmm, it is now almost noon. You know I am not so good at the math.”
“The nurse left only because Freni bribed her with her buns,” Elvina said helpfully.
I stole a peak at Freni’s rear end. It was safe to say that my cousin’s caboose had not left the station in a long time—maybe even years. Elvina must have been referring to Freni’s famous cinnamon rolls.
“Yah, forgive my pride,” Freni said, “but others have said that my buns are very tasty. English men, especially, lust after them.”
“And with good reason, dear.” I wiggled back against my pillows until I’d pushed myself into a sitting position. “I feel fine. Where’s the doctor? What’s wrong with me?”
“We do not know. The doctor said she would not tell us this until you woke up and we were all together—the whole family, yah?”
Elvina shot me a pleading glance. “Okay, dear,” I said, “you can hang around, but on the fringes. But until there’s been a DNA test, you are still just a provisional birth mom. No offense intended.”
Elvina lit up like a jack-o’-lantern with two candles inside. “None taken. And Magdalena, it’s going to prove that we are mother and daughter, and we’re going to be so happy—”
Fortunately for me, the door swung open, cutting Elvina off in mid-gush.
“Susannah,” I cried. “Oh, Susannah, Susannah!”
“That’s my name, Mags. Don’t wear it out.”
“It’s just that I’m so happy to see you.”
“And surprised?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“Well, that bites.”
“Susannah, don’t be vulgar!”
“Yeah, but are you saying that you think I’d actually run away with that jerk?”
I waggled my brow in the direction of Elvina.
“So?” she said. “I see his mother; I’m not blind. But that creep had the nerve to wake me up in the middle of the night by throwing stones at my window—You know, the window of the room I’m staying in at Gabe’s. He begged me to run away with him. We could go to Argentina, he said, if I did a little waitressing in Philadelphia—or something else—to earn the money.”
“What else?” Freni and Elvina demanded simultaneously.
“Let me explain, dears,” I said. “Ladies, you may recall that Genesis, chapter 38—the entire chapter, as a matter of fact—is about a woman named Tamar. Anyway, she pretends to be something she’s not, in order to seduce her father-in-law.�
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“Ach, a Protestant!” Freni’s stubby hands were clamped to her chubby cheeks in a gesture of pure horror.
“The word is prostitute, dear. But yes, Elvina’s son wanted his wife to sell herself on the street. Do you still think he’s so sweet?”
As for Elvina, she looked so crestfallen that I almost felt sorry for her. “Well,” she said at last, “at least I have a daughter.”
“Huh?” Susannah grunted.
“Never mind, Sis, it’s a long story.”
“Sorry I missed it, but on my way into the building, I ran into Attila the Hunette. She was just getting off a double shift, and she looked meaner than, uh—no offense, Mags—but she looked crabbier than even you can look sometimes. When she recognized me as being your sister, she almost bit my head off. She said that you need your sleep, and that under no circumstances was I to set one foot into this room.”
“How did you get past her?”
“I bribed her with the promise of a date.”
I tried in vain to stifle a gasp. “But you don’t shving—I mean, swing—that way. Do you?”
“Swing, swang, swung, whatever. Besides, we’re only doing coffee. After what’s-his-name, anything has got to be better.”
“He’s still my son,” Elvina wailed.
“Funny,” Susannah said, “but Elvina sounds remarkably like you when she wails—”
The door opened yet again, this time admitting a mop of brown hair atop a body every bit as skinny as a mop handle. “Mom!” it squealed with happiness. “Mom!”
Alison needed no encouragement to throw herself into my open arms. She proceeded to hug me so hard that I made a mental note to ask the doctor for a full set of X-rays—if she were ever to show up.
“Are you all right, dear?” I asked.
“Mom, I’m fine as frog’s hair, like you always say. What about you? You’re the one in the hospital.” She stiffened in my arms. “Hey, ya don’t have cancer, do ya? Like Jenny’s mom?”
“No, dear, I’m sure it’s nothing worse than the flu.”
She jumped off the bed. “Ya coulda warned me. What if I catch it now?”
