by Tamar Myers
I turned to Barbara. “Can you confirm that?”
“It seemed like hours to me.” She grinned.
I grinned back. Perhaps not unknowingly, but con- spiratorially, nonetheless.
“But of course it wasn’t, because you had one of the fastest deliveries on record. Still, it seemed like quite a while, did it? That Jonathan was out cold, I mean.”
“Yah, but frankly, Magdalena, it is not so clear anymore.”
“What’s not clear?”
“I remember the pain, yah? And the joy, that too. But the memories are mixed up. It seems like—well, in a way it seems like it happened a long time ago.”
“But that was only yesterday!”
“Yah, and in some way, it seems like it happened just a few minutes ago.” She yawned. “Ach, suddenly I am very tired.”
“So, you’re saying you’re not a reliable witness?”
“Yah.” She yawned again.
“Don’t poop out on me now!” I wailed. “How about you, Jonathan? You didn’t happen to look at your watch, did you? Maybe just before, and then again, after you kissed the floor?”
“Ach, Magdalena, I don’t wear a watch.”
Of course. No Amish person in good standing would wear such a worldly ornament.
“Well, was there a clock in the delivery room? Maybe you glanced at it!”
Jonathan had stood, still cradling little Jonathan. “My Barbara needs to take a nap.” He nodded in his wife’s direction. “Will you take Little Mose back to the nursery with me?”
I sighed. “It would be my pleasure.”
I gingerly took the newborn from his mother’s arms. Unlike kittens, small babies seldom land on their feet. At any rate, you can be sure I took great care not to drop him, and held him somewhat away from my scrawny chest. But even with the latter precaution, Little Freni was not pleased. She hissed like a leaky pot on a hot stove.
“Shhh,” I said, repeatedly masking the hisses. Barbara and Jonathan gave me odd looks but said nothing. Perhaps they thought my behavior was typical of English spinsters holding babies. But just for the record, despite all the hissing and shushing, or maybe because of it, by the time the four of us reached the nursery, Little Mose was fast asleep.
Nurse Hemingway rolled her eyes when she saw me. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Yes, it’s me,” I said. I tried to hand her Little Mose, but she took a step back, as if we might be contagious.
“You can put him there in the bassinet. The one on the left. He no longer needs the incubator.”
I did as I was told. “Say, Hemmy, you wouldn’t be free for a cup of coffee would you? I mean, you get a break, right?”
She glanced at an enormous watch with an orange face and a bright pink band. It looked entirely unprofessional. There was obviously not a drop of Amish blood in her veins.
“Actually, I don’t get a break for another two hours. And then it’s supper.”
“Well, I could come back. Or, I tell you what—why don’t you come by my place for supper?” I would probably have to cook it, but Nurse Hemingway was clearly not a woman of discerning taste. I didn’t see my homemade victuals as a problem.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” she said, and took Little Jonathan from his namesake.
“Why not? I run an inn. I have guests all the time. Come on, it will be fun.”
She looked like the raccoon I surprised in my grain silo, and I’m not just talking about her makeup either. “Miss Yoder, I didn’t want to say this flat out, but I don’t like you.”
"What?” I hardly knew the woman, but for some reason that hurt me to the core.
“Please don’t make me say it again.”
I jiggled a pinkie in my right ear. “Perhaps I misunderstood you. I thought you said you didn’t like me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your hearing.”
“But I’m a barrel of laughs! Aren’t I, Jonathan?” Jonathan looked like a doe caught in my headlights. “Well—”
“Oh, go on, and tell her, dear. Everybody likes me, right?”
“Ach!”
“Well, I never!”
“But I like you,” he said, almost shyly. “And my Barbara likes you.”
“And your mama!”
“Ach, yah!”
Nurse Hemingway flashed me a triumphant little smile. “Well, I don’t like you. You’re so pushy and rude.”
“But I’m not!” I wailed. I turned to Jonathan. “Am I?”
“You see?” Nurse Hemingway crowed. “That’s exactly what I mean. You push people into corners and you don’t give them an ‘out.’ ”
“That’s not true. You just don’t understand our ways because you’re from Pittsburgh.”
“Have it your way—of course.” She turned her back. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Humiliated, I said good-bye to Jonathan and left.
After leaving the nursery I pretended to need the ladies’ room, and then after waiting a few minutes, I doubled back. Nurse Hemingway was still on duty, alone with the infants. Apparently, she didn’t have bat ears like Miss Dudley.
“Well, you don’t have to swear,” I said when she was quite through.
“What do you expect me to do when you scare me half to death? Dance with joy? Look, Miss Yoder, it isn’t going to work. Nagging is not going to make me like you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, dear. I didn’t come back because of that—although I still don’t agree with you. I came back because I have a few questions to ask.”
She bent over and started to undo Little Jonathan’s diaper that, incidentally, sorely needed it. I could smell it from the door. At any rate, as she lowered her head a lock of bleached blond hair fell across her face.
“Dang,” she said. Only it was a lot worse than that.
I gasped. “I’m telling! It’s one thing to swear at me, but you were looking right at the baby. What if he grows up to be a Presbyterian? Or worse yet, a Roman Catholic?”
She straightened. “Well, it’s your fault. You’ve got me really worked up.” She smiled unexpectedly. “Look, there’s some rubber bands on that little desk in the corner. Bring me one, will you?”
“I thought you were from Pittsburgh.”
“I am.”
“But you said—”
“Bring me a dang rubber band,” she snapped. “Is that too much to ask?”
I got the rubber band. “Pittsburgh born and raised?”
She caught the stray strand with the rubber band and secured it under her white cap. “Look, Miss Yoder, I don’t have time to bond. I’ve got a job to do here.”
“But you’re not from Pittsburgh, are you? Pittsburghers call them gum bands, not rubber bands. It’s one of their foibles that makes them so delightful.”
“Okay, so I’m not from Pittsburgh, what of it?” “So, you lied.”
“Big deal. I only did it to be accepted. You people are so cliquish.”
“Where are you from, dear?”
“New Jersey. You have a problem with that?”
I took a step back. Things were starting to fit together.
“There were three babies, weren’t there?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not. I’m deadly serious.”
“Look, I don’t have time to argue nonsense. But here are the facts. There were four of us present in the delivery room, babies not included, and all four of us can testify there were only these two. These cute, adorable little twins.” She made goo-goo sounds at Little Jonathan. There were two reasons now for me to gag.
I backed up another step and almost knocked over Little Mose’s bassinet. “Sure, there were four adults in the room, but only three besides you. I just talked to Barbara and Jonathan. Barbara admits that she was not the most reliable witness, and Jonathan confessed that he flat out fainted, which leaves—”
“He said that?”
“Yes, he’s certain of it.”
Now it was she
who backed away. “He was only out for a few seconds.”
“Says you, dear. But I’m beginning to think he may have been unconscious a lot longer than that. Say, long enough for you or that gnome of a doctor to spirit away the third Hostetler baby.”
“That’s absurd.” She was edging back toward the desk. No doubt she planned to call security. Well, let her. There is safety in numbers.
“And speaking of the dinky doc with a potbelly,” I said, thinking aloud, “I don’t think I trust him as far as I could throw him. Probably even less than that. If he’s diabetic like he claims, why did I catch him pigging out on pancakes and those phony fruity syrups?”
“You did?”
She was grappling for the phone behind her. “Well, there could be a number of explanations for that. Maybe the syrup was that sugarless kind or—” She paused.
“Or what? Because Wanda Hemphopple wouldn’t
know sugarless from a hole in her beehive. Fat-free either. That’s what makes the food there so good.”
“Maybe this will help explain things,” she said. In her right hand a pistol gleamed.
Twenty-eight
“Well, big mouth, any more questions?”
“Uh-uh, mind if I sit down?” It was a legitimate question. My knees were knocking like the cylinders on Papa’s old Edsel the year Susannah put sand in the gas tank.
“Actually, I do mind. You’re taking a walk with me.”
I braced myself on Little Mose’s bassinet. “And if I refuse?”
“Then I shoot.”
“But there are babies in here for crying out loud!” “Oh, don’t worry, I’m a very good shot. My ex was a cop. He taught me to shoot on a civilian range. I can sign my name on a target. It’s a lot more fun than just making bull’s-eyes.”
That took care of my urge to duck behind a bassinet. “You won’t get away with this, you know. Nurse Dudley has ears like a bat. Pop me off aind she’ll be back here in a flash.”
Nurse Hemingway laughed. “Good. I hate the woman. And there are plenty of bullets in this thing.” “Any silver bullets?”
She smiled grudgingly. “Don’t bother to kiss up; I don’t like you any better. Now put both hands behind your head and move to the door. Quickly!”
I did as I was told. As I started for the door, hands on head, I noticed for the first time that the nursery blinds had been drawn. Had they been that way from the beginning? Or had she used that special control at her desk? It didn’t matter in any case. As soon as I stepped into the hall, I’d make a run for it. Good shot or not, she would have a lot harder time hitting me out there. Without the babies to worry about, I could zigzag like a chicken drunk on sour mash. And if I could make it to another room, I could lock the door, or jam it with a piece of furniture. I may be skinny, but I’m strong.
“Hold it right there,” she barked, just before I reached the door.
I was still in the room, and a ricocheting bullet could have put an end to one of Freni’s two remaining grandbabies. I had no choice but to obey.
Like a lamb led to the slaughter, I stood there and waited to die. It is true what they say: my life, pitiful as it was, flashed before my eyes. A childhood of taunts for being too tall, a critical, overbearing mama, a somewhat wimpy papa, a selfish sister, a bogus marriage to a man who I thought adored me, but who then betrayed me, and did I mention sex? And not just with the washing machine either, but with the aforementioned love of my life?
I suppose a more virtuous Magdalena would have felt regret for all the folks she’d wronged, for all the paths not taken, but alas, as I stood there, waiting to take that bullet to the back of my head, all I could think of was that what I had come to take for granted with the Maytag, I had missed out on experiencing with Aaron.
“Don’t move, or I’ll blow your head off,” Nurse Hemingway growled, in what I now clearly heard as a strong New Jersey accent. A second later she jammed a hypodermic needle through my clothing and into my derriere.
I have vague memories of staggering around, stepping into unfamiliar clothes, and climbing into a strange car. I think I may have sung a little. Hymns, I think. “Bringing in the Sheaves” comes to mind. So does “Ninety-nine Barrels of Beer on the Wall.” Go figure.
At any rate, at some point I fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke it was dark, my heart was pounding, and my mouth felt like the Sahara in a dust storm. My wrists were shackled in handcuffs, and I was seeing double. Through the ringing in my ears I could hear Nurse Hemingway’s jarring accent.
“Don’t worry, I already gave you the antidote. You’re going to live.”
I struggled to speak, but my tongue flopped about in my mouth like a freshly caught perch in the bottom of a rowboat.
“It’s tubocurarine chloride,” she said. “It’s used in surgery as a muscle relaxant. That pathetic hospital in Hernia didn’t have any—hell, they didn’t even have an operating room—but that didn’t stop me. I carry my own with me. In my line of work you never know when it will come in handy.”
The fish flopped about in the boat some more.
“What do I do? Ha! I thought you had that all figured out. I steal babies, that’s what I do.”
“Thyew thwatl"
“I babynap. Newborns only—that’s my specialty. There’s a big market for that. Especially white Anglo- Saxon babies, whose parents are unlikely to have had much exposure to drugs or AIDS. You Mennonites and Amish make perfect pickings.”
“Thyew do this by yourthelf?” The fish in my mouth had been replaced by a tongue, albeit one that was not very obedient.
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is a two-person operation. I move into a territory, scope it out, and then, if I find potential targets, I send for Doc. You might be surprised how many small towns are hurting for doctors. No questions asked. And if it’s an itty-bitty dump like the one you have in Hernia—geez, what an appropriate name, Doc has no trouble getting me on staff. Anyway, after we’ve skimmed what we can from the baby crop, we move on to the next burg.”
I was aware that we were indeed moving. It was dark outside the car, and still difficult for me to focus, but from the landscape that streaked by the windows and the occasional blurry sign, I determined that we were somewhere on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. “How do you thkim off babith?”
“That’s the hard part, and that’s where I earn my share. You have to have a real feel for that. Sort of a third sense. Unwed mothers are usually a good bet. And religious fanatics. You wouldn’t believe how many stool pigeons have given their babies to the Lord.”
“What? You mean the angel Levi Gindlesperger met at the Sausage Barn was really Dr. Bauer?” I don’t mean to sound prejudiced, but those folks at the First and Only True Church of the One and Only Living God of the Tabernacle of Supreme Holiness and Healing and Keeper of the Consecrated Righteousness of the Eternal Flame of Jehovah needed help in visualizing their heavenly hosts. I thought Gabe the babe was an angel when I first met him, but he had pects, not a paunch.
Nurse Hemingway laughed wickedly. “How stupid can you get!”
“Apparently pretty stupid, dear, because you’re going to be spending a whole lot of time behind bars.” It was an effort to move my head, but I did. “And what’s more,” I said, looking at her double image, “you wouldn’t look good in stripes.”
“Shut up!”
Of course, I didn’t. “But ten thousand dollars! You were going to give the Gindlespergers ten grand, right? Speaking purely as a businesswoman, that seems a bit generous. How did you expect to make a profit?”
“Ha! That just shows how little you know about this business. I can get as much as seventy-five for a healthy baby boy.”
“Seventy-five thousand?”
“That’s for the whole package. Fake birth certificate included. For girls, it’s usually less. Fifty maybe, sixty tops if both parents have blue eyes and blond hair. For boys, it’s the other way around. Dark hair brings in more. It’s that whole dark and handsome thing I guess.�
��
“That’s outrageous!”
“Tell me about it.”
“Girls should be worth as much as boys!”
All four of Nurse Hemingway’s shoulders shrugged.
“Hey, I don’t make the rules. It’s what the market can bear.”
I fumed for a few minutes. The steam coming from my ears clouded the car windows, but it did my eyes some good. Gradually the two Nurse Hemingways melded into one. Thank heavens there was less of that bleached blond hair to look at.
“But Freni’s grandbaby—Barbara and Jonathan’s baby—is it a boy?”
“A girl. But both parents have light hair, and the mother has blue eyes. Besides, we really had no choice. The juice I gave Mr. Hostetler to drink didn’t kick in until the third baby was born. He’d already seen the two boys. I’m telling you, that man is built like an ox.”
“You spiked his punch?”
“So to speak.”
“Because he wouldn’t sell his children?”
“We never asked him. As you can see, there was no need. Multiple birth situations where the fetuses are healthy and close to full term are fairly easy pickings. Especially when the parents are uneducated.”
I saw a sign for Breezewood, Pennsylvania. We were headed east, toward New Jersey.
“The Hostetlers may not be educated, dear, but they’re not stupid.”
“Whatever. But it was you who caught on, not them.”
“Apparently, Dr. Pierce caught on as well.”
“He was kind of cute, don’t you think—if you like older men?”
“I couldn’t tell if he was cute or not, dear. Blood is unbecoming.”
“Maybe you won’t feel so sorry for him, if I tell you he was in on it from the beginning.”
“Dr. Pierce was your third partner?”
“Nah, he was too straight for that kind of thing. But he sold us his patients’ files. No questions asked, that was the deal.”
“Why would he do that?”
“It seems he had a cash flow problem. He was recently divorced, you see. Apparently she took him to the cleaners. He was about to lose that fancy- schmancy house. Drove him to drink. Anyway, the damn bastard had a conscience and—”
