Tamar Myers

by As the World Churns (lit)

  “I did not; I’m saving it for last.”

  “Then what does it stand for?”

  “Eternity. That’s what you’ll spend in Hell if you shoot me.”

  I heard the safety click off as she stepped forward. She was so close, I could smell sausage on her breath. The gun was now aimed at my belly. Apparently, instant death was too good for me. Instead I would die from blood loss, my innards having been blasted to kingdom come.

  Although my faith prevents me from acts of violence-a few of my ancestors have actually died on that account-it also requires that I be a loving parent and a faithful wife. How could I do either if I was pushing up daisies in Settlers’ Cemetery up on Stucky Ridge? Clearly, then, I had no choice but to follow my God-given instincts.

  In one seamless move-no pun intended-I whipped my generous skirt over the vicious woman and clamped her in a headlock. Taken off guard, she dropped the gun, but then immediately began pummeling me about the shoulders and across my back with her fists.

  “Duck, duck,” she squawked, her mouth filling with gabardine each time it opened. “Hup me, duck.”

  I was kind enough to translate for Dick. “She’s talking to you, dear.”

  “Uh-”

  “So what will it be, Duck? Are you going to add attempted murder to your rap sheet?”

  “I haven’t touched you.” Indeed, he hadn’t moved.

  “But you did bludgeon an eighty-year-old man. Either you help me restrain your psychotic wife, or you’re about to become an expert on laundry.”

  “Miss Yoder, I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Au contraire. You were there when dear, sweet Dr. Shafor crawled to the front door of the inn, leaving a trail of blood that led to the barn. Did you know that he wrote a message with his blood?”

  “Honestly, I swear on a stack of Bibles, I didn’t do it.”

  “I wish you’d stop all this swearing. You may not have done it-personally-but your wife certainly did. I saw her coming from the barn that evening, around the time it happened.”

  “Yeh poo-fed idjet,” Jane shouted in my ear. “I tound him at tay.” Either she was getting tired, or my body was getting used to her pummeling, because her fists didn’t hurt nearly as much anymore.

  “What Jane’s trying to say,” Dick said, “is that she was in the barn checking on Clarabelle-that’s our entry, as you know- when she found the old man lying there. He’d already been beaten.”

  My headlock tightened like a constricting noose. “You left him there? You left an old man bleeding to death? What kind of doctor are you?”

  “Mags, stop it!”

  Mr. Pearlmutter’s familiarity enraged me. “Looky here, slick Dick,” I bellowed, “how dare you call me Mags?”

  “No, hon, it’s me-Gabe.”

  “What?”

  “Mom,” I heard Alison say, “it’s all right. You can let her go; Agnes has the gun.”

  “I sure the heck do,” Agnes said. “If either of them tries any monkey business, they’ll be minus some toes. I have no problem shooting feet.”

  Suddenly I was dizzy and weak in the knees, but for some reason I couldn’t let go of Jane Pearlmutter’s skirt-wrapped head. I seemed to be stuck to her, like Brer Rabbit to tar baby. Who knows how long I may have held her in my grip, had not Gabe’s strong hands pried my arms loose.

  “I’ve got you, babe,” he said, as I inhaled his safe, manly scent.

  A second or two later, I blacked out.

  38

  When I came to, my head was in Gabe’s lap, and we were in a moving car. Surprisingly, I felt fine. As my dear, sweet husband hadn’t seemed to notice my fluttering eyelids, I decided to fake unconsciousness-just for a few minutes, mind you!

  “Not only is Magdalena my hero,” Agnes said, her voice swelling with pride, “but she’s my best friend.”

  “She’s my hero too,” Alison said.

  “Gosh, but I love her,” Gabe said, as he gently stroked my cheek.

  How can I be blamed then, for faking it a mite longer? The odds were that the next time I heard accolades such as these, it would be at my funeral. And since then I’d be listening to them from all the way up in Heaven, they’d hardly count.

  “Harrumph,” Wanda said. “Before youse award her the Purple Heart, just remember that she put a ninety-year-old woman on the back of a bull and sent her off into the woods to be eaten by black bears.”

  “What? I’m only fifty-four!” Ida suddenly seemed to have lost twenty years along with her accent.

  Gabe’s hand stopped in midstroke. “But you’re okay, Ma, right?”

  “I’m better than okay. Riding the bull was the high point of my life. Such a thrill, I tell you. It sends shivers up my dingledorf just to think about it.”

  “Grandma Ida, do I have a dingledorf?”

  I forced myself into a sitting position. Only then did I notice that I’d been lying across Wanda and Alison’s laps. Ida was riding shotgun, as they say, and, thank heavens, the normally sane Agnes was driving.

  “Hon,” Gabe said, “you’re awake!”

  “Mom!” The relief in Alison’s voice made me kvell with love.

  I rubbed my eyes for show. “Whew, that was some nap.”

  “Mom, that weren’t no nap; you was out like a cold fish. What did you call her, Grandma Ida? Oh yeah, like a lump of filter fish.”

  “Gefilte fish,” my beloved said.

  “Oy, so now the leetle von gets me in trouble. Mebbe I should have stayed in New York.”

  I managed to rein in my smile. “I won’t argue with that, dear.” I glanced outside, and could see a sprinkling of lights. “Hey guys, where are we?”

  “Almost back to Hernia,” Agnes said, always the cheerful servant. “After I drop off your mother-in-law and the little one- and Wanda, of course-the rest of us are headed straight up to Bedford Memorial.”

  Alison stamped her feet, and in the process all but obliterated the smallest piggy on my right foot. On the bright side, at least now I was as fully awake as I’d ever been. I could also now wear one of those skinny-toed shoes that Susannah refers to as “roach killers” (her friend Gina chases bugs into corners, then impales them on the toes of her designer shoes).

  “I am not little,” Alison said.

  “Oops,” Agnes said, and giggled. “I guess compared to me, everyone is little.”

  Alert or not, it was still a struggle to think. “Why are we going to the hospital?”

  “Because, darling, you’re not well. If I wouldn’t have been there to catch you, you would have fallen to the ground. You might even have gotten a first-class concussion.”

  “Stuff and nonsense.”

  “You see?” Ida crowed triumphantly. “Already she dunt make no sense.”

  “That’s because you don’t read enough English novels, dear. I’m perfectly fine. Why don’t you try saying this: how much wood could a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”

  “Hon, that’s just mean.”

  “No,” Ida croaked, “I try it already. How much vood can a vood shuck huck-oy, such shtuff and nonsense, I never hoid.”

  Everyone laughed. And not at my mother-in-law either. So much for this hero’s fifteen minutes of fame; the clock must have started while I was unconscious. It wasn’t fair.

  “Tone it down, Ida,” I said, “will you, dear? All this hilarity is hurting my head.”

  “Mom, you’re jealous, ain’t ya?”

  “Moi? Please, everyone, I’m feeling fine. Really, I am. I just have a chip off my block-I mean I’m a chip off the old block- whatever. Now, would somebody please tell me the whereabouts of Plain Jane and her handsome hubby. Did Chief Ackerman and the sheriff haul them off trussed like Thanksgiving turkeys?”

  “Mags, hon, we couldn’t get through to either of those men.”

  “I know, only the Devil’s cell phone works in that corner of the state, but the Maryland border was just a whipstitch away. All one has to
do to get a police escort, is press the pedal to the metal and lay on the horn.”

  Agnes switched from high beams to low. “That’s exactly what I did, Magdalena, and was it ever thrilling. It was my first speeding ticket, you know. Anyway, the patrolman who stopped me- well, let’s just say that if all goes according to plan, you could be trying on a matron of honor dress real soon.”

  “And I get to be a bridesmaid,” Alison said. “But Agnes, you’re engaged to one of the Dorf brothers!”

  “That’s Dorfman, Magdalena. Unlike you, I’ve never been married; I’ve never even come close. Now suddenly, the heavens are smiling on me, and all because of this silly Holstein competition. I want to keep my options open, just in case one of them falls through.”

  “What if neither of them falls through?”

  “Then who knows? I might just commit bigamy.” She tinkled like a wind chime.

  “Auntie Agnes,” Alison said, sounding a mite worried, “if you marry that fat farmer with the cow, do I still get to be a bridesmaid?”

  “Of course, honey.”

  “Vhat about me?”

  “Sure, Ida,” dear, sweet Agnes hastened to say, “you can be a bridesmaid as well.”

  “Nut dat,” Ida said enigmatically. “I mean dee otter.” At least that’s what it sounded like to me.

  “Oh yeah,” Gabe said. “After we locked those two in the cattle carrier, and before we went off searching for a highway patrolman, we had to find Ma.”

  “And did you?” I asked pleasantly. “Yah, dey find me-in a tree!”

  “How utterly romantic, dear.”

  “You see, Gabeleh, how meshugah dis von is? Better you should marry da zaftig von. Wid dose hips, she’s got to be foidle, and wid so many men chasing after her-vell, mebbe dey know someting, yah?”

  “Ma, that’s a terrible thing to say. And besides, I’m already married to the crazy one.” Honestly, my feelings were not hurt by this. At least not by the Babester’s off-the-cuff comment (I’m sure he meant it lovingly). And even if I was offended, that was just too ding-dong bad, because, as I awoke from my fainting spell, it was with a clarity of vision that had thus far eluded me. Magdalena Portulaca Yoder Rosen (although officially still Yoder) had a serious crime to solve before she could take the time off to nurse hurt feelings.

  Just before I’d gone under, I’d been utterly (please pardon my concussion-induced pun) convinced that the Pearlmutters were innocent of bludgeoning Doc. Now, suddenly, it hit me that Melvin’s escape from prison, the assault on Doc, the men sighted running from our barn, and the break-in at Doc’s place were all related. It all boiled down to one menacing mantis with wandering eyes and a brain the size of a baby pea: Melvin Stoltzfus.

  Of course, I couldn’t prove anything just yet. And since real law enforcers couldn’t seem to bother themselves with my opinions, I would handle this one on my own, thank you very much. If I died in the process, then everyone would realize just how much they missed me. A grief-stricken Babester would kick his mama back to a New York curb (gently, and with the honor due a parent). Agnes would forget about marriage and devote herself to being my full-time friend (she was after all, very good at the task). Alison would rename herself Magdalena, and would strive to fill my brogans.

  Perhaps even Hernia would be renamed Magdalenaville. Someone could compose a song, create a nonalcoholic drink . . . I shook myself. There would be time to daydream later. What I had to do now was play it cool, and respond to Ida’s pointed remark that Agnes must be “foidle” because she had wide hips.

  “And I’m not foidle?” I asked.

  “Like da Goblin Desert, yah?”

  “And you,” I raged at Gabe, “you really think I’m crazy?”

  “No-maybe-but in a delightful sort of way.”

  “That does it! Stop the car, Agnes.”

  “But Magdalena, we haven’t gotten anywhere yet.”

  “We’re on the outskirts of Hernia, for crying out loud; this most certainly is somewhere.”

  “Hernia’s too small to have skirts,” Gabe said. I think he was trying to be funny.

  “Agnes! This is my car, and you are my friend, so- Oh my stars, I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Sick?” My buddy may be large, but her feet are pretty darn quick. Had we not all been strapped in, one or more of us might have shot through the windshield.

  “My hair,” Wanda cried in dismay. “Look what you’ve done, Agnes. It’s about to topple.”

  Sure enough, the infamous Hemphopple tower of vintage vermin was hanging by its last bobby pin. Even a small jolt would now send waves of filthy hair cascading in all directions, quite possibly killing us all with deadly toxins, which would then leak out the vent and spread like a plague across the nation. It wouldn’t be the wrath of God that was ultimately responsible for the devastation, it would be some woman from the 1950s who had a rattail comb and a surfeit of hair spray lying around on a Saturday morning.

  “Everybody out,” I hollered. “I’m about to blow my cookies!”

  Trust me, that’s the fastest way to empty a vehicle. Everyone piled onto the shoulder of the road, including Agnes, who should have known better-everyone that is, except for me. My buddy even left the keys in the ignition, which is exactly what I had been hoping for.

  I made a show of clambering from the backseat, but I slid into the front seat just as smoothly as a key into a greased lock. Then, just like a key is supposed to do, I locked the doors.

  “Hey,” Gabe yelled, “what are you doing?”

  “Chocolate-covered corn and the man in the moon,” I whispered, whilst moving my lips in an exaggerated manner.

  “What? I can’t hear you.”

  “Seventeen blue monkeys are running for president.” I pointed to some vague spot behind him.

  When he turned to look, I mashed the accelerator into the floorboard. The car lurched forward, leaving everyone in the lurch. This unfortunate fact was regrettable, but could not be helped.

  Besides, it wasn’t like I left them in a dangerous situation. Outside of murder, there is very little crime in Hernia. Our worst offender is probably Cynthia Higginsbottom, who is fond of stroking ankles without their owners’ permission. With the Pearl-mutters under arrest, my friends and family were safe-except, perhaps, from each other. I, on the other hand, had several metaphorical miles to go before I could sleep.

  Doc’s front door was ajar, permitting a spear of light to bisect his porch. After pausing to pray for a second or two, I pushed it open the rest of the way. I thought I knew what to expect, but boy was I dead wrong. I stood staring, dumbfounded, until she spoke first.

  “Close the door, please dear. It’s getting cold in here.”

  “Yeah, Yoder,” he said. “Were you raised in a barn?”

  “Fancy meeting you here,” I said, having rejected a string of invectives unworthy of a Presbyterian, much less a Mennonite.

  “I knew you’d be back,” he said. “That’s why I took the risk of returning to this dump.”

  “It’s not a dump; it’s quite cozy. You of all people shouldn’t be one to complain.”

  “Skip the lecture and just bring your sister to me.”

  I glared at his mother. “How can you be okay with this? You can’t possibly think you’re somehow helping him.”

  “Shut up,” he said, “and do as I say. That is, unless, you want someone to get hurt.”

  “Hurt? You’ll be ruining her life if you convince her to go with you. You’ll ruin your mother’s life too.”

  “My mother’s life is none of your business.”

  The Good Lord shut the lion’s mouth for Daniel, but it was Mrs. Stoltzfus who shut mine. “It is her business, Melvin,” she said.

  “Mama.” He managed to drag it out into an eight-syllable whine.

  “Shut up, Melvin,” she said. Her voice lacked invective, but not authority.

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Elvina Stoltzfus turned her full attention to me. “Please
forgive my boy, Magdalena. It isn’t his fault-the way he behaves, I mean.”

  “You mean because he was kicked in the head by a bull? One he was trying to milk?”

  “I was only nineteen,” the mantis said. Perhaps it was due to his mother’s presence, or perhaps it was due to the lack of starch in his prison clothes, but he did seem almost boylike. He certainly appeared smaller than I remembered.

  Elvina Stoltzfus was in her mid-eighties. Although she’d been flirting with the Grim Reaper for several years, she reacted now with surprising vigor.