by Tamar Myers
“To the contrary, Miss Yoder, I’m killing Sam first out of consideration for you.”
“For me?”
“Oh, yes. I want you to have the opportunity to watch him die.”
“I’ll pass, thank you.” I closed my eyes.
“You’ll open them,” he said confidently, “when his bones start to crunch.”
I opened them. “His bones?”
“Oh, yes, that’s what will happen when I throw this lever”—he patted a thick wooden bar about a yard long— “and engage the grinding wheel.”
I gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, but I would.”
“But he’s your own flesh and blood.”
“He’s a traitor to the Third Reich.”
“How is hiding among the Amish any more traitorous than teaching history in Pittsburgh?”
“Ah, but Samuel didn’t just hide. He became one of them.”
“Well, I thought he was one. Australia, indeed. I should have known—there are no Amish down under.”
Johanne shook his head. “You don’t listen, do you? Samuel is Amish.”
“Nonsense! Amish don’t—”
“I mean now—in his heart.”
“Says who?”
“Tell her, brother,” Johanne said.
“Ach!”
“You see, the first word out of his mouth. Ach.”
“It’s a German expression, dear.”
“Ah, but we don’t use it nearly as much as the Amish. Now, Samuel, be a brave man and tell her before I make a pancake out of you.”
Samuel winced. “It is true.”
“Goon!”
“Yes, go on, dear!”
“Ach—well, I did come to Hernia to hide. It was only going to be temporary, you see. Just for a year or two, until I learned enough of the American way to pass as an English.”
“Yeah, right! The Amish weren’t going to prepare you for corporate America.”
“Let him continue!” John barked.
Samuel glanced at me and then looked away. “My first night here, I met my Amanda. It was her father, the bishop, who took me in, you see. I know you won’t believe this, Magdalena, but—”
“But it was love at first sight, right?”
“Ach, no! I was going to say I found peace here. Real peace. Something I never knew existed.”
“Our father was a monster,” Johanne said quietly. “Remind me to bring violins next time, dear.”
“Shut up and let my brother continue.”
I looked at Sam. He was weeping again.
“I learned about love here. Not just Amanda’s love, but God’s love. I learned how to get along with other people. I learned how to love myself.”
“So you had a religious experience? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Yah, I think so. My life changed. I learned that I am nothing without God.”
“He really believes this crap,” Johanne said piteously. I was flabbergasted. I believe in miracles, but transforming the Butcher of Tunis into a faithful Amish elder— well, that’s a tall order even for God.
“He raised six God-fearing children,” I finally said, as much to sort things out in my head as to defend Sam. “And they have how many children among them?”
“Forty-nine,” Sam said, just a hint of English pride in his voice.
Johanne snickered. “Imagine that. Forty-nine little God-fearing nephews and nieces running around. Our Papa would be sick if he knew.”
“Actually, Sam’s grandchildren are your grandnephews and nieces. And your papa sounds like he was a very sick man.”
“No argument there,” Johanne said.
Sam said nothing.
I shook my head. “Wow, this is so hard to believe. I mean, didn’t you feel guilty all these years?”
“Yah! Always guilty. But what was I to do? My Amanda—the children—they believed in me.”
“You could have confessed your sin. You Amish are big on public confession, that much I know.”
“Yah, but—”
“There’s always a but,” I said sharply. I knew, however, what he was driving at. Once Sam’s terrible secret was revealed, his family would never live it down. There would always be whispers and glances to deal with, new rumors to squash. And not because the Amish are particularly virulent gossips—to the contrary, they are not—but because such behavior is human nature.
“Well, that’s all water under the bridge now, isn’t it?” Johanne chuckled. “Or perhaps I should say, water over the mill wheel.”
I glared at the fiend. Now that I’d had a few minutes to think about it, I realized that the mill stone was no threat to Strubbly Sam. The sluice that directed the force of the stream to the mill wheel had been shut off for as long as I remembered.
It was my distinct pleasure to snort in derision. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. This mill hasn’t been operating in years. Make that dozens of years. If you pull that lever a six-foot rabbit might appear, but that’s about all.”
“Ah, that’s what you think, Miss Yoder. For your information, I spent the afternoon repairing the wheel and removing the sluice gate. Didn’t you see the wheel turning?”
I couldn’t recall. I had a memory of water, splashing in the moonlight, but it may have been from another time and place. Not that it mattered, however, because I could definitely hear the water splashing now.
“So you got the wheel turning—big deal. That doesn’t mean the stone will turn. The mill was abandoned, you know.”
Sam closed his eyes. “Yah, the mill was abandoned, Big Magdalena, but not because it didn’t work. The English grain elevators are much more efficient.”
“Still, it’s been an awful long time. That wheel isn’t going to budge an inch.”
“And if the wheel does move,” Sam said—and then, although his lips continued to move, he was silent. Frankly, he appeared to be praying.
“Yes, brother? If the wheel does move, then you’ll make a nice front doormat for my house in Pittsburgh.” Sam opened his eyes. He seemed strangely calm. “Yah, but you could kill all of us. You too.”
Johanne said an expletive. It was the most vulgar word there is, and one Aaron used repeatedly.
Sam blinked in surprise. “Johanne, I speak the truth. These beams are rotten. There is much termite damage. If there is strong vibration, the upper floor could fall on us.”
Johanne used another expletive that was only marginally less offensive. “I don’t believe that for a minute. You’re just trying to save your—”
“He’s right, dear,” I said. “Eli Yost over on Sticklegruber Road had his barn collapse on him.”
“Is that so? Well, there’s only one way to find out if this old building can stand the strain.” With that, the diabolical Johanne leaned on the lever.
I closed my eyes and prayed. First I prayed that nothing would happen. Then I prayed that if Strubbly Sam were to be quashed flat as a crepe, it would happen quietly. “No crunching bones, Lord. And no screams. I don’t think I could take either, and we sure don’t want to give Johanne the satisfaction, do we? And please, Lord, whatever you do, don’t let the ceiling cave in and kill us both. Someone has to turn the Nazi in, and besides, I got dressed in a hurry this morning and my underwear is full of holes.”
But as I prayed those words the building began to shudder and groan. Even Mama, on her best days, can’t produce that amount of vibration by turning over in her grave.
“May the Lord have mercy on our souls!” I shouted.
No one, including myself, heard my benediction. The accompanying crash was heard and felt all the way over at the Stoltzfus farm, where the guests were still playing Rhythm. The cloud of dust, however, was fortunately localized. I nearly choked to death, and couldn’t draw a breatheable draught of air for what seemed like hours, although it was probably just minutes. Still, I might do well to consider a career as a pearl diver off the coast of Japan.
At any rate, when I could breat
he again, I opened my eyes. I cannot—I mean, I will not—describe in detail the scene I beheld as the dust cleared. Let it be enough to know that a massive ceiling beam had fallen, and whether directed by God, or just by chance, it had landed smack- dab on top of the nasty Nazi. Johanne Burkholder, alias the Scorpion, and recently known as John Burk, was as dead as the flowers I sent Aaron on his birthday. The mill stone, on the other hand, had not budged an inch. Samuel Friedrich Burkholder, now known as Strubbly Sam, was completely unscathed.
“Ach, you’re alive, Magdalena.”
Thanks to the ropes, I couldn’t pinch myself. I wiggled my toes and belched instead.
“Yes, I’m alive.”
“It was a miracle, yah, Magdalena?”
“For us. Not for your brother, dear. I’m afraid he’s dead.”
“Ach!” Still tied to the wheel, Strubbly Sam could not see what I saw.
“I suppose I should say I’m sorry about your brother, Strubbly Sam.”
“Yah, I’m sorry too. Not for me, but for him. Johanne did not repent.”
“And you have?”
“Ach, a million times.”
“That’s a start, dear. Now, take a deep breath, because you and I are going to scream for help.”
As we waited for help to arrive, I considered my responsibilities. There was one dead Nazi pinned to the floor of the mill—actually, he was halfway through the floor, but I’ll spare you the gruesome details—and one live ex-Nazi. The Scorpion may be dead, but the Butcher lived on. But did he really? Johanne Burkholder may not have changed much over the years, but clearly Samuel Friedrich Burkholder had. The young sadistic man who had been in charge of the Black Hole was no more. Inhabiting the same body was a loving father and grandfather who had completely turned his life around. To turn Strubbly Sam in to the authorities would result in punishing his family as much, if not more, than it would him. “Strubbly, dear, what should I do?”
He seemed to read my mind. “Whatever you must do, Magdalena.”
“That’s Big Magdalena, dear. Now tell me, do you think you’ve made amends?”
“What is this ‘amends’?”
“Do you think you’ve made up for the pain and suffering you caused?”
“Ach, no! There is no way to make up for that.”
“But you’ve changed?”
“Yah. God changes the heart.”
I pondered in dusty silence for several minutes.
“Why did you appear at the PennDutch the day your brother arrived in town? Were you expecting him?”
“Yah.”
“He got in touch with you?”
“Ach, no! But I’ve been expecting him every day since I got to Hernia. The Bible says that our sins will catch up with us, yah?”
“Yah—I mean, yes. But how did you know he had finally caught up with you?”
“Ach, I didn’t. Not at first. But I heard from Freni—and then Sam Yoder—that there were American soldiers coming to town, so I kept my eyes open. I had this feeling, yah? And then I saw Johanne. He came to kill me, you know? All these years he wanted to kill me if he found me—to keep his secret safe.”
“And were you tempted to kill him?”
“Ach du leiber!” It was a cry of genuine distress, and I knew I had the answer to my underlying question.
“Well, Yoder, you have a lot of explaining to do.”
I would have glared at Police Chief Melvin Stoltzfus, but there was still dust in my eyes. My bonds weren’t even loose yet, for crying out loud, and he was making me accountable for the mill’s collapse.
“Look, you two-bit—”
“I must say, I’m really impressed. But don’t think I’m going to hire you on a full-time basis. For one thing, you’re not properly trained, and, as you well know, we don’t have that kind of budget here in Hernia. And then there’s the matter of a uniform—we could never come up with one your size!”
“Very funny, Melvin. Sarcasm really becomes you. Now untie me.”
“I really don’t see what your point is, Yoder, since you’ll be going straight to jail.”
“Jail! Me? What for?”
“Duh—let’s see. We have a corpse here, and we have you.”
“And I’m tied up, you idiot. How can I be responsible for the corpse?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me? I ask you to help me look for Old Irma and you find a dead man. A dead man! Ask me if I’m surprised.”
I blinked the last of the dust out of my eyes and stared at the knot of people standing in the shambles of the mill. Besides Melvin, there was Bob, the cuddly Jimmy Hill, the handsome Scott Montgomery, and the cradle-robber Frank Frost.
“I’m not asking you anything, Melvin. I’m telling you to untie me.”
Without further prompting from me, and with no apparent fear of Melvin, the men of the Forty-third tank brigade sprang into action. Within seconds, Strubbly Sam and I were free.
I rubbed my sore wrists gingerly. “Thanks, guys. But what are you doing here?”
“Can it, Yoder. I ask the questions.” Melvin focused one eye on Scott Montgomery, the other on Bob Hart. “Okay, so what are you doing here?”
“It’s a long story,” Scott Montgomery said in his charming accent.
“We heard the crash,” Bob said.
Frank nodded. “That’s right. And someone said there was an old mill down in these woods—”
“Save it, boys.” I smiled. “I was pulling your chains. I know what you’re really doing here. Besides just keeping track of my whereabouts, that is.”
The former warriors looked like a herd of deer caught in my headlights.
“You came to Hernia to find the Butcher of Tunis, didn’t you?”
Melvin had the nerve to chortle. “Don’t be stupid, Yoder. Hernia doesn’t even have a butcher.”
“It doesn’t anymore.” I had yet to look directly at the body of Johanne Burkholder, so I pointed in his general direction. “Well, there he is folks, Samuel Friedrich Burkholder, the Butcher of Tunis.”
Strubbly Sam gasped. “But I’m—”
“You’re an Amish man with a heart of gold, dear.”
“Ach, but—”
“And grandfather of six happy children, and forty-nine happy grandchildren.”
“Yah, but—”
“And how many happy, innocent great-grandchildren, dear?”
“Nine,” Strubbly Sam said. His eyes were full of tears again. Who knew that men could weep so much?
“What I don’t get is,” I turned to Bob, “how you knew the Butcher was here?”
“Ah, that. Well—”
Scott Montgomery blessed me with one of his glittering smiles. “Mind if I tell that?”
“Go ahead,” Bob said, and took a step back.
“It was an interview I did in conjunction with the fiftieth anniversary of D-Day. It was a local interview, but it ended up being carried by several networks on the evening news. Anyway, I mentioned the Butcher of Tunis, and someone wrote to me, in care of my local station, and said that the Butcher was still alive. She—the writer—claimed to have known him. Claimed to have seen him around town sometimes. The woman didn’t give her name or address, but the postmark was Bedford.”
“Old Irma!”
Both Melvin’s orbs swiveled my way. “Irma Yoder?”
“She was the Fuehrer’s floozy,” I said, “in a manner of speaking. Himmler’s harlot, Goering’s gal. It’s a long story, Melvin, and there will be plenty of time for it after your honeymoon to Aruba. Courtesy of moi, of course.” Melvin mellowed.
Scott ran a well-manicured hand through his silver mane. “So we arranged to have our fiftieth reunion here. We thought we’d poke around and see if, through a little detective work of our own, we could find the Butcher, or at least the woman who wrote the letter.”
“But why Hernia? Why the PennDutch?”
“That’s my fault,” Bob said with a grin. “I was in charge of the reservations. I checked on motel
s in Bedford, but my wife Sandy wanted to stay at an authentic Mennonite bed and breakfast.”
“Good choice, dear. The motels in Bedford clean your rooms for you. Think of all the fun you would have missed.”
Everyone laughed, except for Melvin. “I’ll be holding you to the long version of your story as soon as Susannah and I get back from Aruba.”
I smiled patiently. “Of course, dear.”
With any luck, the honeymooners would be hijacked by Middle Eastern terrorists. Everyone but Melvin would be released. Of course, no harm would come to Hernia’s former chief of police, but he would spend the rest of his days filling hookahs and watering camels in some remote desert outpost.
Twenty-Seven
It may sound crass to you, but Susannah’s wedding proceeded as scheduled. The only one who mourned Johanne Burkholder was Samantha, and thanks to Diana Lefcourt’s generosity, she was safely ensconced at the Retreat of the Fractured Soul. If only Diana had remained there herself.
“Where’s the pastor?” I hissed to Lodema Schrock.
The folding chairs on Elvina’s front lawn were filling up fast. There was less than half an hour remaining in my sister’s single life, and unless somebody got their behind back from a fishing trip to the West Virginia mountains, my sister was going to be married by Yul Brynner in drag.
Lodema clutched her oversized pocketbook protectively to her chest. “I tried, Magdalena, I really did. I left messages at all the fishing camps along the New River and its tributaries. Apparently one of them got through, because the reverend returned my call late last night. Unfortunately, there’s been a lot of rain in those mountains, and a flash flood has left him stranded in a little place called Podunk.”
“Bunk,” I said.
“I beg your pardon?”
I glanced at the bright blue sky. “When it rains in West Virginia, it generally rains here. Have you ever considered the possibility that your husband’s fish stories are— well, fishy?”
“Why, I never!”
“Which may be why he goes fishing every now and then. It’s none of my business, dear, but you might consider the horizontal mambo now and then. I know it’s boring, and a bit messy, but what’s three minutes out of your life every month or so?” Imagine! Me, Magdalena Portulacca Yoder, giving advice on sex!
