Play It Again, Spam

by Tamar Myers

  “You were a grown woman when your parents were killed—not a little girl. How was I to know you didn’t remember? Or maybe didn’t want to remember?”

  I shrugged, tears filling my own beady blue eyes. “I guess, you wouldn’t. I guess I liked to think of Papa as somehow perfect, and Mama as—well, you know, Mama.” Freni nodded. “Yah, your mama—she was something.”

  I smiled bravely and put my arm around her well- padded shoulders. “Well, you’ve been like a mother to me ever since.”

  I waited expectantly for her to tell me that I had been the daughter she had never had, and of course, wished she had. That it was I who put the bead in her eyes.

  Nothing. Nada. Zip. My portly cousin plodded along as merrily as you please, but her lips were sealed tighter than a clam at low tide.

  “So, Freni?”

  “So, does that mean I get my job back?”

  I sighed. “You really know how to hurt a girl—but okay, you can have your job back. A word of warning, however.”

  “Yah?”

  “You get to quit only fifty-two more times, and you have to tell Strubbly Sam that I’m giving him the old heave-ho.”

  “Ach! And you not even married!”

  “I’m letting him go, dear. I’m firing him. Surely that’s a word you understand.”

  Freni slipped out of my awkward embrace. “Yah, but I won’t have to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I fired him already.”

  “What? You fired him? You can’t be doing that! You’re not his boss—I am! Well, now, this changes everything.”

  I tried to grab Freni by an apron strap, but she stepped deftly out of my reach. “I’ve been like a mama to you, remember?”

  “Yes, like Mama.” I gritted my teeth. I might have lunged for Freni and wrestled her to the ground had it not been for the glove that caught my eyes.

  We were only yards from the pond now, and in one of the bushes that ringed the shore was a man’s leather glove that had not been there earlier that morning. I don’t have a mind like a steel trap—aluminum sieve is more like it—but the glove looked familiar.

  I trotted over to retrieve the glove. Despite her age, Freni had no trouble keeping up.

  “Ach, Magdalena, what are you doing?”

  “I’m recovering what may be a valuable clue.”

  “An old glove?”

  “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, dear, but a hand in the bush—now that beats everything.”

  “Ach, riddles again. Must you always talk in riddles, Magdalena?”

  I reached the glove. I was wrong—it had been there a long time. It certainly didn’t belong to Johanne Burkholder. It may even have belonged to Aaron Jr. I plucked it from the grasp of two stubborn twigs and turned it over. Sure enough, there was the rip in the palm from the time Aaron held a barbed wire down, so I could step over a fence. We’d been—well, never you mind.

  “Life’s a riddle, dear. There’s got to be more to it than this.”

  Freni sniffed. “Ach, there’s grandbabies.”

  “But I’ll never have any,” I wailed. “I’m thinking of selling the inn and becoming a missionary. To Africa, maybe.”

  Freni poked me in the ribs with a plump finger. “Yah, and if they still have cannibals, at least no one will eat you.”

  “Very funny, dear.”

  Freni sighed. “Ach, no sense of humor, this one. Well, I tell you, Magdalena, becoming a missionary would be a big mistake.”

  “Why? Don’t you think I have a serving nature?”

  “Service, schmervice, you won’t be going anywhere.” I stamped one of my size elevens. Thank the good Lord there were no patties to watch for.

  “Says who?”

  “Says me,” Freni said smugly. “I saw the way you looked at the English doctor back there.”

  “Wrong!”

  But she was right. I know this is going to sound strange to you—maybe even worthy of Diana Lefcourt—but I could feel it in my bones. Dr. Rosen and I were destined for each other. Never mind that we had nothing in common. God works in mysterious ways, and sending a Jewish doctor to my faux-husband’s former house was just one of many miracles. Sure, there would be obstacles to overcome, but—I shivered as a single puffy white cloud blocked the sun—there was nothing two people in love couldn’t overcome.

  Fortunately, I was blissfully unaware of an obstacle that lay right around life’s next corner.

  Twenty-Three

  It was Susannah’s fault. If she’d wanted a livelier party, she should have held it somewhere other than Elvina Stoltzfus’s farm. Elvina is a seventy-five-year-old widow, for crying out loud, and a member of the Tulpehocken Hill Mennonite church, which is even more conservative than my branch. The woman is just a skip away from being Amish. I, on the other hand, am two skips and a hop away. Clearly, the party should have been held at the PennDutch.

  “It’s gotten cold again,” I whined.

  Gabriel gallantly removed his brown suede jacket and laid it across my shoulders. “There, see if that helps.”

  “I mean it’s too cold to bob for apples.”

  “Oh, will we be doing that? It sounds like fun.”

  It didn’t to me. If you had a profile like mine you wouldn’t get it anywhere near fruit. Once when I was ten I bobbed for peaches, and much to my mortification speared one with my proboscis. Sure, the peach was overly ripe, and therefore on the soft side, but try explaining that to a group of fifth graders.

  Gabriel had been late picking me up—he was a doctor, after all—and frankly, I was wringing my hands with despair when he showed up driving a gray Datsun of dubious vintage. When I saw the car he was driving, I wrung some more. We Mennonites might be a modest people, but since I’d already committed the sin of owning a red BMW, it would have been an even bigger sin to leave it home and disappoint my critics.

  “I’d be happy to drive,” I said, and headed toward my car. My guests had long since left for the party, and mine was on the only one left.

  “No.” He gently pulled me back.

  “What do you mean ‘no’?” I may be a traditional woman, but I won’t stand for sexist treatment. Deep down everyone knows women are equal, if not superior, to men. After all, men were God’s practice run. You can read about it in Genesis.

  “I mean, I’m in the mood to drive tonight. Besides my car is already warm.”

  I meekly allowed myself to be led like a sheep to the slaughter. “That makes sense,” I heard myself say.

  Gabriel was a gentleman and opened the door for me. I don’t mind that sort of treatment from a man, just as long as he knows I’m fully capable of opening my own door, and slamming it too, if need be. At any rate, the interior of the car smelled like cigarette smoke and there was a pair of fuzzy dice and a pink lace garter hanging from the rearview mirror.

  “My nephew’s,” Gabriel said, reading my mind. “He’s a college student.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  For the record, Gabriel Rosen is the slowest driver I’ve ever met. I could have pushed the car to Elvina’s faster than he drove. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. There are worse things than being cooped up in a small car with a handsome man. I could do without the cigarette smell, however.

  “So,” Gabriel said, looking intently at the road, “you own and operate a bed and breakfast.”

  “Well, in a manner of speaking. I prefer to think of it as a cultural exchange program. I give my guests a sample of Pennsylvania Dutch culture in exchange for a whole lot of cash.” I laughed pleasantly at my little joke.

  He nodded, but said nothing for the longest time. Since the devil is quite willing and able to fill silence, I saw it as my religious duty to jump in.

  “So, Gabriel, are you really a doctor?”

  “Please call me Gabe. And you mean because of the car, don’t you?”

  “Well, Gabe, you must admit, it isn’t your typical doctor’s car.”

  He glanced at me and s
miled. He didn’t have perfect teeth like Aaron, but they were close enough for me.

  “It really is my nephew’s car. I’m just borrowing it for a few days. In the meantime, he gets to drive my Porsche.”

  “Get out of town!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “That doesn’t make a lick of sense to me.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, you see. Rich tourist in a fancy car—that kind of thing.” “And you don’t think fuzzy dice and ladies’ underpinnings draw attention in Hernia? Besides, thanks to the PennDutch, we’re used to rich tourists.”

  “That’s a shame—what I mean is, I’d much rather be driving my Porsche.”

  “At thirty-five miles an hour?”

  He chuckled. “I’m used to city driving.”

  “We’re not in the city now, dear.”

  We crept up to forty, which is about the speed fall color spreads south.

  “You mean you’re a spy too?”

  He laughed. “No, I’m not a spy. You see, I’ve always had this dream—oh, incidentally, the Immigration Service is sending someone out to investigate, but it may take a couple of weeks.”

  “A couple of weeks?”

  “Like you said, Magdalena, God works in mysterious ways. The government, however, works very slowly.”

  “But in the meantime—”

  “In the meantime, would you like to hear about my life’s dream?”

  “Do tell, dear.” Perhaps I was in it, wearing white— no, it would have to be off-white now. Damn that Aaron! “I’ve always wanted to write.”

  “Write what?”

  “Novels.”

  “What kind of novels?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know—good novels. Mysteries, maybe.”

  “Wow!” I’d met many writers before—all of them guests—but none who could inspire me to a single syllable exclamation.

  “And I was thinking of writing them here.”

  “In your nephew’s car?”

  He smiled kindly. “No, here in Hernia. On that farm where we met today.”

  My heart tried to claw its way out of my chest. “So you were serious? You really want to buy the Miller farm?” “Dead serious.”

  “But what about your practice, or whatever surgeons call it?”

  “I’ve given it up. I’ve retired—I want to exchange it for a slower pace.”

  “I see. You’re sort of like my guests, then. You want to exchange a large amount of cash for a taste of country life.”

  “Yeah, only I won’t have to pay extra to clean my room.”

  I gasped. “Who told you?”

  “Vee haf our vays,” he said in the worst German accent I’d ever heard.

  “Old Irma told you, didn’t she? Why that garrulous old crone! I ought to wring her scrawny neck!”

  “Now, now, be kind. A beautiful, talented woman like you can afford to be generous.”

  “Were you just describing me?”

  “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you are the most intriguing person I’ve ever met.”

  “Ditto, dear.”

  We glanced awkwardly at each other, and back to the road. What was there to say next? I surely wasn’t going to be the first to speak. Thank the Good Lord after all that Gabriel was driving at a snail’s pace. That way I could count the dashes in the broken white line that ran down the center of Hertzler Road.

  “So,” he said finally, “what sort of music do you like?”

  “Hymns, of course. Onward Christian Soldiers is my favorite.” I clapped a hand over my mouth.

  “That’s all right. We’re allowed to have our differences. I’m rather partial to klezmeir myself.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Think of it as Jewish hymns. Lively Jewish hymns.”

  “I like Mozart,” I said out of the blue.

  “No kidding? So do I. What about art?”

  “I can take him or leave him.”

  “You’re funny as well as beautiful.”

  “Go on, dear.”

  “I meant it.”

  “I know. That’s why I said ‘go on.’ Go on and tell me more.”

  “It would be my pleasure. Let’s see, you’re intelligent, resourceful—”

  Unfortunately even snails get to their destinations, and we were at ours. I would have loved nothing more than to creep on past the Stoltzfus spread, while my rich Jewish doctor regaled me with a list of my attributes, but alas, my only sister was getting married, and this party was for her.

  “Turn left into the next driveway,” I said, “but don’t forget where you left off.”

  Gabriel winked. “No need to worry about that.”

  I felt like Monica Lewinsky at a journalists’ convention. Susannah, Sandy Hart, and Lodema Schrock descended on me like a flock of chickens on a June bug.

  Susannah was the quickest. “She’s my big sister. I get to speak to her first!”

  “Well, I’m a paying guest!”

  “That may be, but I’m the pastor’s wife.”

  It didn’t take the wisdom of Solomon to figure this one out. “Everyone, this Dr. Gabriel Rosen. And ladies, since you’ve already introduced yourselves, there’s no need for me to do so further. You”— I said to Susannah —“show the good doctor around.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Susannah purred.

  “Now you,” I said to Lodema Schrock, “are the best cook in all of Hernia, and I just know you brought some goodies to contribute to the party. So why don’t you fix a plate a plate of food for our guest? But no ham.” I turned to Gabe. “You don’t eat ham, do you?”

  He smiled. “I’m not kosher, but I prefer not to eat ham all the same.”

  I turned back to Lodema. “Then pile on the three-bean salad, dear. I know that’s one of your specialties.” After all, there is nothing quite like a plate of gaseous fiber to test a man’s manners.

  “Do you like chocolate cake?” Lodema asked coquettishly. “I heard there’s chocolate cake coming.”

  Gabe graced her with a grin. “It’s my favorite.” “

  Now,” I said to Sandy as I dragged her aside, “what’s this all about? I don’t change the towels every day, you know. If you want clean towels, you’ll have to wash them yourself, and that will be a dollar fifty extra for hot water.”

  “It’s not about your ratty, threadbare towels. It’s about Bob.”

  “Don’t tell me—he’s already had too much of Lodema’s three-bean salad?”

  “Bob is missing.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve looked for him everywhere.”

  “Everywhere? Even Elvina’s outhouse?”

  Sandy’s frizzy blonde head bobbed like a fishing court on Miller’s pond. “I said everywhere, didn’t I? Anyway, when we first got here, we decided to split up and meet in half an hour at the horse-and-buggy rides. Well it’s been forty-five minutes, but he ain’t there. And speaking of which, you lied.”

  “I did?” Subconsciously I touched my nose.

  “You said there was going to horse-and-buggy rides, but there ain’t.”

  “Nonsense, dear. Look right over there.”

  “Them ain’t horses, Miss Yoder, them’s mules.”

  I peered into the dark. They looked like horses to me. “Horses,” I said.

  “Mules. Them’s too big to be horses.”

  “We grow them bigger in Pennsylvania, dear. Now, shall we continue debating livestock, or shall we look for your husband?”

  We looked high and low, but found neither hide nor hair of the gregarious Bob Hart. No one even remembered seeing him.

  “Are you sure your rental car is still here, dear?”

  “Of course I’m sure. It’s that hideous blue thing over there.”

  “Way over there on the edge of the field?”

  I gasped as someone touched me on the shoulder. Contrary to what else you may have heard, I did not scream and spook the horses. They spooked much later in t
he evening when Gabe’s beans repeated on themselves. “Freni!”

  “Ach, you’ll be the death of me yet, Magdalena.” “Me? You’re the one who sneaks up on people. What is it you want?”

  Despite the darkness, and the layer of flour and lard covering her lenses, I could see Freni’s eyes dart to Sandy and back to me.

  “Freni, this is—”

  “Yah, yah, we met at the inn. Magdalena, can I speak to you alone?”

  “Well—”

  “Oh, my God!”

  I whirled just in time to see the gangly Marjorie climb out of the backseat of the Harts’ rental car. Bob, still buckling his pants, tumbled out seconds later.

  “I guess we found him, dear,” I said sympathetically. Sandy uttered words that Mennonite and Amish ears are genetically incapable of hearing and charged off to battle Sodom and Gomorrah.

  “Ach, the English,” Freni muttered, shaking her head. I said nothing, lest Freni equate my mock marriage with this situation. I was an inadvertent hussy, not a strident strumpet like Marjorie. And let us not forget that, in both sets of circumstances, men were half the equation.

  “So, Freni, what sort of bee do you have in your bonnet now?”

  “Ach!” Freni slapped at her head.

  “That’s just an expression, dear. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “Strubbly Sam.”

  “We settled that, dear. You fired him, remember?”

  “Yah, and I told him he could come to Susannah’s party.”

  “You did? Why, that was very nice of you.”

  “Ach, think nothing of it. But” — she spread her stubby arms —“he’s not here.”

  “Can you blame him? Why would that dear, sweet man want to go to a party the same day he was fired?” “Yah, but—”

  “Freni, out with it!”

  “He promised to bake three chocolate cakes for Elvina if I let him come to the party.”

  “If you let him? Why Freni Hostetler, shame on you!

  Just because Elvina is your best friend gives you no right to take advantage of the guests.”

  Freni hung her head, but given that she has a thick, squat neck, she never truly looks repentant. “There’s more, Magdalena.”

  “Yes?”

  “Mose and I stopped by Strubbly Sam’s house on the way here—to pick up the cakes—and he wasn’t there.”