by Tamar Myers
“Matilda and Bertha are exceptionally cute,” I said in their defense. After all, their mother, now a collection of packages in my freezer marked “roast” and “ground chuck,” was unable to speak up on their behalf.
“I hate cows!” exclaimed Darla insensitively. “They’re big, they’re noisy, and they stink!”
“And they chew like you,” I couldn’t help snapping. I wasn’t getting anywhere with Darla, and frankly that made me cross. More often than not, I can get people to spill the beans if there are any to spill—and Darla, by my reckoning, had enough beans in her to supply a midwestern chili fest.
But Darla didn’t divulge.
Freni was also in a bit of a mood at lunch. Things had gone from bad to worse for her after Susannah and I left the night before. Apparently she had picked on Barbara one time too many, and John, for the second time, had stood up to his mother. But even John, at five foot eleven, couldn’t stand up to Barbara. Not to hear Freni tell it.
“Of course there are two sides to everything,” I said soothingly. “I just wonder what Barbara’s side is.”
Freni slammed down the institutional-size kettle of mashed potatoes with enough force to crush a rhino’s skull. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, put yourself in Barbara’s shoes and see how you’d feel.”
“Like I was in a small boat,” said Freni without cracking a smile.
I helped Freni fill the gravy boats.
“That woman is driving a wedge between me and my John,” she said bitterly. She was slicing cucumbers at the time, so I prayed for her fingers.
“That woman’s name is Barbara, and she loves your son very much.” I ducked. It’s almost as good a form of regular exercise as jumping to conclusions.
“And I don’t?”
“Sure you do, Freni. You love John more than anyone could ever love him. You gave him life.” It sounded cliched, but might well be true. How was I to know of such things? “And I’m sure John loves you just as much.”
“As much as her?” asked Freni. The paring knife bobbled in the air.
“More than. One’s love for one’s mother can never be matched.” I thought of Mama walking around China in her size-twelve shoes, and suppressed a giggle.
“I’m not asking for more,” said Freni. “Just as much.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I don’t want you to think that I’m funny, like some of the English.”
“I’d never think that,” I hastened to assure her. Freni sharpens all her knives on a grindstone daily. “But, Freni, you might consider being just a little bit nicer to Barbara for a change. John will love you even more for that.”
“I’ll consider it,” said Freni. After wiping off the cucumber knife, she resharpened it.
“And just think, it could be worse.” I should have let Susannah sew my lips shut the last time she threatened to do so.
“Worse? How?” The knife, while not aimed at me, pointed in my direction.
In for a penny, in for a pound. But a ton? “They could have children. You know, little Barbaras.”
Mercifully, the phone rang then. I answered it, even though Freni was closer. A sliced phone cord is hard to explain to the telephone company. “Hello, PennDutch Inn, how may I help you?”
“Who is this?” the caller demanded rudely.
I despise people with bad phone manners. I am hopeful that when they die, they will go to a place where there are only rotary phones and thirty-digit numbers. “This is the Duchess of York,” I said politely. “Randy Andy isn’t handy, but my financial adviser is. Would you care to speak to him?”
“Magdalena, is that you?”
“Last time I checked. I don’t suppose you are Martha Sims by any chance?”
“Well, of course I’m Martha. Didn’t you recognize my voice?”
“Actually, I didn’t. I identified you by the video I’m watching, supplied by the secret camera hidden near your phone.”
Martha was silent for so long, I almost started to doze. “Of course you’re only kidding, Magdalena, aren’t you?”
“Of course. That camera started malfunctioning some time ago. Now, what is it you want, Martha?”
Martha sighed loudly into the phone. “This was only supposed to be a brief but cheery social call. I called just to say hi and ask how you’re doing.”
‘‘Hi back at you, Martha. I’m doing just fine, thank you, and yourself?”
Martha sighed again, sans the drama. “I’m fine, Magdalena. By the way, did you enjoy the lunch?”
I can be quite correct if I have to. “Lunch was very interesting, dear. Thank you again for inviting me.”
“I hope the food agreed with you. You didn’t seem to eat a whole lot. I would feel terrible if something you ate caused indigestion.”
“Everything was just fine, Martha. I feel perfectly well.”
“Oh.” She almost sounded disappointed. “Well, Magdalena, I really have to go now. I have a million things to do.”
“Goodbye, then, Martha. I think I’ll get back to twiddling my thumbs.”
“You’re such a gas, Magdalena.”
“Try me after a Thai lunch, dear.” I hung up not a second too soon. Freni still hadn’t put the knife away, and it was beginning to wink at me seductively.
Susannah and I filled up our plates and took them outside. We weren’t trying to be antisocial or anything, but neither of us likes to eat in crowded situations, and the dining room was packed for lunch.
“You’re getting awfully chummy with her, aren’t you?’ Susannah accused me as soon as we’d sat down at the picnic table under the Siberian elm.
“She’s old,” I said sympathetically. “It’s hard for her to change.”
“She isn’t that much older than you,” said Susannah nastily. “And you change all the time, Mags.”
“Freni is thirty years older than me! I think that’s a lot.”
Susannah burst out laughing. “No, I don’t mean Freni. I mean Darla. It was you and Darla I saw up in the loft, giggling together like a couple of schoolgirls.” I’m sure I could detect a little jealousy in her voice.
“The woman is to be pitied,” I assured her. “And what do you mean, I change all the time?”
Susannah tore the crust off one of Freni’s rolls and tossed it to a flock of eager sparrows. “Sometimes I think you’re getting nicer, Magdalena. I mean, to me.”
I hate the maudlin part of being family. “It just seems like that,” I said airily. “But that’s just surface stuff. I’m still the same old grouch I always was.”
Susannah threw the rest of her roll on the ground, whereupon a starling materialized out of nowhere and flew off with it. I hoped she didn’t see it as an omen. “Mags, you do think I’m innocent, don’t you? I want you to level with me this time.”
“I always level with you,” I lied. “Look, Susannah, I don’t think you’re capable of murder. But to be perfectly honest with you, the fact that Mose saw you traipsing out to the barn three times that morning, and you claim it was only once, does need explaining.”
“But you’re not going to call Melvin and have him help you do the explaining, are you?” The desperation in her voice actually tugged at my heart.
“Of course not. Melvin Stoltzfus couldn’t explain his way out of a revolving door. Why you date him is beyond me,” I added unnecessarily, and perhaps with just a tinge of malice.
“I’m a fool,” said Susannah simply. “And just so you know, I’ve decided to play it cool with Melvin for a while. You know—date him less, that sort of thing.”
I must have stared at her for a full minute, and when I was sure her proclamation was not going to be followed by some sort of retraction, I gave my sister a big hug. It is darned hard for me to hug, so the recipients of my hugs would do well to think of themselves as something akin to gold medal winners. “I love you, Sis,” I surprised even myself by saying.
‘‘I love you too, Mags.”
> We finished our lunch in peace and harmony.
I was just leaving for the barn when Freni called me back inside to take a phone call.
‘‘Who is it?” I asked hopefully. If it was Mel Gibson, I would find a way to break my contract and throw the movie people out on their ears. Then Mel could stay a spell.
‘‘How should I know? He’s English.”
“Is he personal English, or business English.”
Freni shrugged and almost dropped the receiver. “How should I know. All the English sound the same to me.”
I took the phone, prepared. When salesmen call and try to sell me new windows, I tell them I live in an igloo. If they try to sell me package photo deals, I tell them it’s against my religion. If they ask whether or not I have a leaky basement, I invite them for a cruise on my indoor yacht. Nothing quite ticks me off more than unsolicited business calls on my private phone. I don’t call those goons at home, so why should they call me? Although once I did suggest to the caller that I return her call that evening, at her home, and she was more than amenable. When she asked me to wear a garter belt and black hose when I called, I hung up.
“Hello. Who’s calling please?” I asked.
“Don’t hang up, doll. It’s me. It’s me, Jumbo. I mean, Jim.”
“Yah, this is the Hotel Inter-Continental in Helsinki, Finland,” I said. Finnish accents have always been my forte.
“Cut the act, doll. I didn’t punch in enough numbers to reach saunaland.”
“No, we have no rooms available on the thirtieth. We’re hosting a convention of comic book collectors from Lapland. I suggest you try a Swedish hotel.”
“Look, I know you’re sore, doll. And you have a right to be—”
“You’re darn tooting I’m sore, Jim. You acted like a creep.”
“And a scudzo, doll. I behaved like a troll.”
I refrained from stating the obvious. “What is it you want, Jim?”
“A second chance, doll. I want to make it up to you.”
I have my weak points. “On a ladder?”
“Very funny, doll. Look, I just want a chance to start over. Pretend like we never met before. Think you can go for it?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“More than meets the eye, doll. Come on, what do you say? Give a guy a break. I was nervous, doll, that’s all.”
“So was I, Jim, but I didn’t fillet you with my tongue.”
“Sounds exciting, doll. But seriously, I guess I got this kind of complex or something. You know, on account of I’m somewhat on the short side.”
“I never noticed, Jim.”
“You didn’t?”
“Of course I did. My point is, however, I never would have made an issue of our height difference if you hadn’t.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you’re right. But not everyone is like you, doll. Guess I just got a little tired of all the jokes, and when I saw you, and how gorgeous and all you are, I kinda panicked, and acted defensively.”
“Me gorgeous? I gripped the phone tighter. “Flattery will get you nowhere, buster.”
‘‘Yeah, doll, I shoulda figured that. But I meant every word. You’re really special, doll.”
“So is Freni’s bundt cake.” I tried to think of food to keep from melting.
“You’re one of a kind, doll. I should have realized that. So, what do you say, can we try again?”
“When?” I was fast becoming a slush pile.
“Tonight, doll. Same time, same place.”
‘‘Tonight? Tonight’s Monday!”
“So it is, doll. That a problem for you?”
“No, no problem, Jim.”
“See you then, doll.”
The hand that hung up the phone was shaking. I could not believe what I had done, or not done. Perhaps I should have told Jumbo Jim to go take a drive, blindfolded, in reverse, on the autobahn. If only it had been one of those obnoxious salesmen. I would have told him I had a telephonically transmitted fatal disease for which there would never be a cure. And then, if he didn’t get off the phone pronto, I would have screamed directly into the mouthpiece. Last time I did that to Melvin, he wore earmuffs for a week.
Chapter Twenty-two
Heather was not the one to take my troubles to. We stopped shooting for the day about five, but Heather and I remained in the corner of the barn that had been set up for use by the makeup crew. Although she generously agreed to touch up my hair, provided I give her a lift back to her motel in Bedford, we couldn’t seem to click.
“You have to forgive me, Miss Yoder, if I seem down in the dumps. Today is Don’s funeral, you know.”
“You can call me Magdalena. And I’m sorry about your missing the funeral. I guess I should have talked to Arthur about giving you the time to fly out to the West Coast.”
“It’s not that. Don’s married. I mean, he was. I mean, he was when he died. His wife will be at the funeral.”
Well, call me old-fashioned, but even though I can overlook a lot of hanky-panky and carrying on, I simply cannot abide adultery. “He got what he asked for, then,” I said.
The furrows Heather dug in my scalp with her comb were deep enough to plant corn—between them and my wrinkles it would be a good harvest. I may have yelped just a little. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”
“A married man should not fool around. Under any circumstances.”
Heather decided to go for a bumper corn crop. “What if the wife is unappreciative little bitch?”
“We don’t swear here, Heather.”
Instead of a part, Heather made a groove deep enough for the transatlantic cable. “What would you know about being married, Miss Yoder?”
I calmly pointed to her rather intrusive belly. “About as much as you do, sweetie.”
“Arrrgh,” said Heather.
“That’s much better than swearing, dear. I appreciate your sensitivity, I really do.”
“Brrrrghagh!”
“Keep up the good work, dear, but try to be a little more creative.” After all, when I was only seven, and Susannah not even born, I created a whole language of my own. I even had my own alphabet, which I sometimes confused with the one I had just learned at school.
“I’m not swearing, you dweeb!” screamed Heather. “I think I’m in labor.”
“Nonsense,” I said stoically. “Your water hasn’t even broken yet.” Not that I knew much about such things, but I had heard a little. And I had helped deliver calves several times.
“It has now,” said Heather. She was beginning to grunt and pant like a loose hog being chased from a corn field.
“Are you sure, dear?”
“Aaaaaaagh!” screamed Heather, louder than any hog I’d ever heard.
I took a deep breath and told myself not to panic. I had been home alone with Mama when she’d gone into labor with Susannah, and even though Freni had arrived in time, and chased me from the room before I’d had a chance to see anything, I had learned two valuable lessons—having a baby takes a lot of time, and for some inexplicable reason, water has to be boiled. Of course it wasn’t until years later that I figured out Mama’s making me boil water and Freni’s chasing me from the room were somehow connected with Susannah’s untimely arrival. The connection I pieced together in retrospect. Sometime around my thirtieth birthday.
“Geeeeeeyah!”
“I’ll go boil water,” I said. In my shameful haste to retreat, I ran into, or nearly ran over, Jumbo Jim.
“Slow down, doll.”
“Jim! What on earth are you doing here?”
Jim grinned up at me. “I had a feeling you might not show up at Ed’s Steak House, so I thought I’d buzz by here and give you a little encouragement. Nobody answered up at the house, but I heard noises coming from here. Is it milking time?”
“More so than you think.”
“Well, as soon as you’re done, let’s go, doll. You ready?”
“Ehrrrr-gaaaaahg!” bellowed Heather.
&nbs
p; Jim jockied around me for a closer look at the cow. What he saw instead was Heather down on her knees, clasping her abdomen. “Hey, doll, you weren’t fighting over me, were ya?”
“She’s having a baby, Jim.”
Jim stood stock still for a moment, and then sprang into action. “All right, doll, you run up to the house and call the paramedics. Forget about boiling water. And come back right away. Bring some clean towels and sheets with you.”
‘‘Yes, Jim.” I bolted again for the door.
“And you,” I heard him say to Heather, “you lie down with your head elevated, knees up—”
I dialed three times before I could get my fingers to cooperate enough to punch in the right numbers. Thank God Zelda answered the phone. She promised to relay my message to the paramedics in Bedford right away. Then I thrashed around the house looking for clean linens, but since it was Susannah’s turn to do the laundry, there weren’t any. In desperation, I tore the sheets off my bed, knowing they would be cleaner than Susannah’s, and grabbed a couple of towels. Although at times it felt like I was moving in slow motion, I was gone only a couple of minutes.
“I made the call,” I said between raw, heaving breaths. Jumbo didn’t as much as look up. “Better late than never, doll.”
“What do you mean?”
“Unless the paramedics can fly like Superman, they won’t make it in time.”
I squatted down beside him for a closer look, but there was nothing to see. Something was wrong with this picture. Susannah tells me that in movies women are always having babies without having to take off their underpants or pantyhose first. In real life, however, shedding one’s undergarments is probably advisable. “Shouldn’t she at least take off her underpants?” I asked.
“Not in front of a man!” Heather gasped.
“You did once before,” I reminded her sternly.
The next time Heather screamed, which was a second or two later, Jim and I pulled her wet underpants off. There was the baby’s head.
“Push,” said Jim.
Heather grunted. I said nothing.
“Push!” he commanded.
I shoved him uncertainly.
