First I pushed, and when Harmon was dancing about, trying to catch his balance, I shoved him to the ground. Then I made a beeline to the kitchen. I know, what I did is not Christian, and I have since confessed this most un-Mennonite of sins to the Lord. But at least I’ve never smoked a cigarette-well, not an entire one. And my adultery, as well as all three of my drunken episodes, was inadvertent.
I slammed the kitchen door. “I can’t stand that man,” I bellowed.
“Ach!” Freni pointed to the oven. “Now the cakes have fallen, yah?”
“I’ll help them up as soon as I catch my breath.”
“Always the jokes, Magdalena. But what will we serve the English for dessert? Pudding from a box?”
“If it was good enough for the box, it’s good enough for them. Speaking of the English, where are our guests now?”
“They have all gone to inspect the show ring. Some of them are spectacle. They think we in Hernia cannot put on a real competition.”
“You mean skeptical, dear.”
“Yah?”
“Then they are in for a surprise. Team Magdalena has turned the high school stadium into a world-class arena. We’re even selling popcorn. And Gummi Bears. You can’t get any higher class than that. But by the way, not all of the English are in town; one of the twins is standing by the driveway. If you go outside, you may wish to avert your eyes. He isn’t wearing a shirt, and it’s not a pretty sight.”
Freni wiped her hands on her apron, and then shuffled to the nearest window, where she gingerly pulled back the curtain. Apparently, the opportunity to spy on a half-naked man was too rare of an occurrence to pass up. I could see her eyes widen behind the bottle-thick glasses.
“Ach, du lieber! It’s Sodium and Gomorrah.”
“Close enough. Now turn around and don’t look back, lest you turn into a pillar of salt.”
She turned reluctantly. “Why does he do that?”
“Because he thinks it’s a warm day, and wants to tan. Plus he probably thinks that because we’re a small town, we’re all hicks. But even that’s no excuse. I wouldn’t go to North Dakota and take off my dress.”
Freni clucked like a hen that had just laid an egg. “How you talk! Your mama would roll over in her grave.”
“Ha. Right now, my mama is probably telling fortunes in a tent. Either that, or swinging from a trapeze. Either way, I don’t think she’d be bothered by a reference to partial nudity. After all, I didn’t say anything about removing my slip.”
“It is not good to be so bitter, Magdalena. It hurts only you- and the ones you love. Your daughter needs a normal life, yah?”
Despite the fact that she was lecturing me, my heart overflowed with love for Freni. She’d called Alison my daughter! Plain and simple. The words “step” or “foster” hadn’t even been mentioned.
“Freni,” I cried, as I attempted to throw my arms around her, “I love you.”
“Ach!”
Freni, responding to five hundred years of inbred reservation, ducked, while my arms closed around an empty prayer cap. The second I caught her, I plopped the cap back on her head.
“I’m sorry, dear. But now that I know that my birth mother wasn’t a Mennonite, my body has been acting in strange ways. You don’t suppose my birth mother could have been from Kazakhstan, do you?”
“More riddles. But speaking of Alison, she asks me to give you a message.”
“Oh?”
“She called from school and said that Mary Ruth Westheimer has invited her to spend the weekend at her house. She said that since it is Friday, and they wear the same size clothes, could she go straight home on the bus with her friend?”
“What did you tell her?”
Mary Ruth is “Church Amish,” as opposed to “House Amish.” That is to say, her family is so liberal that they constantly totter on the brink of becoming Mennonites. They even allow Mary Ruth to attend public school, although her distinctive dress still sets her apart. Alison, always the champion of the underdog-that’s how she sees herself-immediately took the girl under her wing, and they have become fast friends. A weekend spent with the Westheimers would benefit both girls, and absolutely no harm could come of it. Perhaps if I could steal a minute from the competition, I would drop by and snap a photo of Alison decked out in Amish clothes. The next time she tries to wear a hoochie-mama outfit to school, I could threaten to blackmail her with it.
“I said that her mama would call the school if the answer was no. Otherwise, she could let the good times roll, yah?”
“A good enough try at slang, albeit several decades behind the times. Well, dear, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hoof it upstairs to the guestrooms to do a little legally sanctioned snooping under the guise of housekeeping.”
“But all the guests are on ALPO plan; they must clean their own rooms.”
“So they get a break today, and I won’t charge them a penny less, if that makes them feel any better. And if the bare-bellied North Dakotan heads upstairs, whistle for me.”
Then, before my wise mentor and friend could talk any sense into me, I hightailed it from the kitchen.
17
If one is to snoop into guests’ drawers, ’tis wise to be schooled in the ways of the world. One is sure to find things that would make Beelzebub blush: lingerie every bit as revealing as a spider web; magazines with pictures so obscene that one must flip through them a second time in order to grasp the gravity of the situation, so that one might properly pray for the owner’s redemption; and handheld, battery-operated gizmos that make even the best washing machine, the ones with the most unbalanced load imaginable, obsolete-if you know what I mean. Such are the burdens that an amateur sleuth like me must bear. And in all humility, I bore them cheerfully.
The Dorfman brothers, it was immediately clear, had diametrically opposed tastes in magazines, and packed a paucity of underwear.
Jane and Dick Pearlmutter, despite their highfalutin ways, bought most of their clothes from JCPenney, and the only thing one might consider contraband among their possessions was an open packet of gum. After all, I eschew gum-chewing, and prohibit my guests from bringing it on the premises, on the grounds that it makes one look like a horse, besides being impossible to remove from asphalt, let alone shag carpets.
Vance Brown, the dairyman, and his trollop of a wife (I say this with objectivity, not malice), had acquired most of their clothes from Wal-Mart, and might have passed my inspection with flying colors had I not noticed a lump in one of their pillows. Normally, this might have gone unnoticed, as I am not averse to supplying my guests with lumpy pillows. (They build character, don’t you agree?) However, this particular lump extended beyond the case. Grateful yet again that I had thought to wear surgical gloves, I gingerly withdrew the suspicious item, and held it at arm’s length.
What on God’s green earth could even the most depraved English do with a pulley and a length of rope? Well, whatever the answer, the Browns were not going to see it again. Fueled by righteous indignation-it is an excellent source of energy, by the way-I tugged open a stubborn window and dropped the offending article on the lawn, from which I fully intended to retrieve it later and tote it off to the burn barrel.
Then it was on to Gertie Fuselburger’s room. Because she’d made such a fuss over me, I’d given her the best room-one with a marvelous view of Miller’s Pond and, if one leaned out far enough, a sliver-wide glimpse of Stucky Ridge. Of course, I reminded Gertie to tie herself to a bedpost when viewing the mountain, lest the same thing happen to her that happened to that televangelist, Reverend Dilbert Gillwater.
Dear dogmatic Dilbert had riled the nation the day before by announcing that God had spoken to him personally, warning him that unless American women agreed to be subservient to their husbands, the Good Lord was going to punish them by simultaneously releasing the bubonic plague in seventeen of our coun-try’s largest cities. Then, obviously quite pleased with himself, Reverend Gillwater took a gander at Stucky Ridge with
out first tying himself securely to the bedpost. When he met his Maker, one of our nation’s most controversial figures was wearing a pair of women’s black lace panties and fishnet stockings. Only one of his crimson pumps made it all the way to the ground with him. Later the other pump caused me a tremendous amount of tsuris when it plugged up the rain gutter.
Now where was I? Oh, yes, not only did Gertie get the best room, but she got the best grade from yours truly. No trashy magazines hidden between the Hanes Her Way pairs and the polyester half slips from Sears. And certainly no cigarettes, as I’d suspected. Even the contents of her American Tourister train case-in classy avocado green-were not incriminating. The only thing in there that even approached makeup, was a small tube of lip balm. The color? Clear.
“Why, shoot a monkey,” I said. Yes, it is a terrible expression, given that monkeys are primates, and we are said to be primates as well. Fortunately, those of us in the know are aware that this supposed cousinship simply isn’t true.
“Are you originally from North Carolina, Miss Yoder?”
I whirled. The grand old dame herself was standing in the doorway, her thin body in silhouette.
“North Carolina? No, ma’am-actually, I can’t say that for sure. For all I know I was conceived in a linen closet in Buckingham Palace and should be calling Prince Philip ‘papa.’ “
Gertie smiled. It must have taken a lot of effort to lift and rearrange all those wrinkles.
“I’ve heard that expression back in Wilmington. But it may be something just my family said. Sometimes they could be quite colorful in their speech. If I dare say so, just like you.”
I recoiled in surprise. “Moi?”
“A true original. Although you can be a bit verbose at times. Some might find it objectionable, but I rather enjoy it. Of course we Southerners are quite fond of words.”
“That’s it!” I held my right arm out, all the better to examine my wrist. “I have Southern blood running through these veins. I should have known it. I visited Charleston on vacation a few years back, and found shrimp and grits absolutely delicious.”
“In that case, we are sisters under the skin. I told you we’d get along famously.”
If something is going very right, you can be sure it’s really going wrong. I will be the first to admit that I am a pessimist by nature. It is, after all, the wisest way to be. We pessimists have everything to gain, whereas optimists have a fifty-fifty chance of being disappointed.
“Aren’t you going to at least ask what I’m doing in your room?”
“Whatever for? This is your inn, after all. I have every reason to believe that your motive for being here is legitimate.”
“But suppose it isn’t?”
Her laugh sounded like a can of loose coins. “Well, then I would at least find it quite interesting.”
“I was looking for cigarettes.” I waited for her to be shocked.
“Really? Did you find any?”
“Nary a one.”
“That’s because I gave up smoking the day I turned sixty. I looked in the mirror to give myself an honest appraisal, and when I saw how much damage cigarettes-and the Carolina sun-had done to my face, I threw almost an entire pack of Marlboros down the john.” She cackled. “My reaction was a trifle dramatic, and not at all wise. The toilet plugged and overflowed, and I spent a good deal of my birthday mopping the floor. Since that day, ten years ago next month, I haven’t had a puff.”
Ten years ago? Oops. Gertie Fuselburger hadn’t played with God as a child; she hadn’t even played with Jesse Helms. That should show me not to judge a book by its cover. At any rate, it was time for me to skedaddle, and since graceful exits have never been my forte, I tossed a carefree laugh over my shoulder. Alas, it landed on the floor.
“Miss Yoder, are you all right?”
I managed a wan smile. “Never been better.”
“I don’t believe you for a second, but, for the moment, I shall settle for that. Now, besides the ban you impose on smoking, why were you rooting through our rooms looking for cigarettes?”
“Don’t be silly, dear.”
“Don’t lie to me, please. I respect you too much for that.”
“You do?”
“Of course. A single woman like you, making a thriving go of this inn with only an elderly Amish couple to help you.”
“And despite a very lazy, needy sister, I might add.”
“And an orphan charge.”
“Well, she’s not an orphan-but she may as well be, for all the attention they pay to her.”
“And let’s not forget a domineering mother-in-law.”
“How did you know?”
“That sweet child we just mentioned filled me in a bit. I hear that she cuts your husband’s food for him.”
“Yes, but not his cheese.”
“Understood. So, will you be truthful with me?”
“Most probably not, but we can give it a try.” I sighed. “You’re sure to find out anyway from Harmon Dorfman.”
“That magnificent young specimen of manhood?”
“Perhaps in the eyes of a manatee. Anyway, he found a cigarette butt in his paddock this morning.”
“Why, that’s terrible! Any harm come to his cattle?”
“Apparently not-at least not yet.”
“And you inspected the other paddocks?”
“Uh-see you later, alligator.”
When I got to the barn, there was no sign of Harmon the Magnificent. But I quickly found Mose and together we searched every square inch of the barn and all of the paddocks. Thank the Good Lord there was not another butt to be found.
I was doing just that-thanking God-when the Pearlmutters’ fancy-schmancy pickup pulled up the driveway. I watched, only slightly envious, as they, along with the Browns, piled out. The four of them were yakking and laughing up a storm. I have plenty of friends, but none of us can muster up that much abandonment. Fortunately for me, Gabe loves my quiet, gentle ways.
Frankly, I was also surprised to see that the two couples were getting along that well; at breakfast, Jane Pearlmutter had thrown a roll at Vance Brown when the latter had suggested that she too take up this pole dancing. Although I do not tolerate food throwing in my dining room, I was secretly pleased that plain Jane had no interest in wiggling her tuchas-as Gabe’s mother refers to the human hiney. Upon further reflection, I wasn’t even all that displeased to see a perfectly good clump of carbohydrates go to waste. At least not for a good cause.
I was even more surprised when, upon spotting me, the foursome bounded up like pups that had spotted a bone. Candy Brown was the first to reach me.
“Did you have a pleasant outing, dear?” I asked, ever the solicitous hostess.
“Oh, it was wonderful. We went shopping for antiques, and this one store had estate jewelry, and look what my Vance bought me.” She held up a pendant that hung from her neck. “See? There’s a sapphire in the center. Isn’t it beautiful?”
I strained to see something blue, but to no avail; the stone appeared inky black. Some unscrupulous sellers of cheap- often Australian-sapphires tell their customers that the darker the stone, the more valuable it is. Au contraire-to a point. The preferred color of corundum labeled as sapphire is cornflower blue. Of course, I wouldn’t know any of this, were it not for the wallopalooza the Babester had set in my engagement ring. In fact, the color in my ring is so intense that strangers have often insisted that it’s fake, or some other stone such as enhanced topaz.
“Isn’t it something!” I declared. This is a little trick I’ve learned from my Southern friends, kind women all, who do not wish to be rude. A variation of this phrase can be employed when one is forced to admire a truly homely baby.
Having adequately praised Candy’s newest acquisition, I scanned her lips. They were the color of the bubblegum that Alison sneaked into her room-certainly not a match for the lipstick on the cigarette butt. By that time, the others had caught up with Candy, so I turned my attention to Jane P
earlmutter.
“And how about you, dear?” I asked. “Did you have a fabulous time as well?”
“Fabulous would be stretching it, Miss Yoder. But it’s a charming little town, and the natives were friendly.”
“Little? My dear, there are forty-five hundred people in Bedford.”
Dick Pearlmutter laughed. It was the first time I’d seen his teeth displayed in a pleasant manner.
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