As the World Churns (13 page)
It was soon quite apparent that Rebecca was not an Amish teenager, but a teenager who happened to be Amish. “I can talk to my friends if I want to, Miss Yoder. You are not my mama.”
“No, but I am the town mayor. This phone belongs to the municipality, and I am hereby ordering you to hang up immediately, or I will embarrass you in front of this group by placing you under citizen’s arrest.” Okay, so maybe I was going a little bit overboard, but better safe than sorry, right? Besides, I was such a goody two-shoes growing up that a threat like that would have had me shaking in my brogans. Surely, Miss Bumgardner would crumple like a starched bonnet left out in the rain.
“Yah?
Do you think I care, Magdalena Yoder? I will tell them that you pretended to be God.
Ha, so there.”
“But I didn’t! I was only pretending to be a heavenly hostess. You drew your own conclusions.”
“Then I will tell them that you hired those inalienable legals to take care of your cows.”
“
The
who
?”
“Mexicans,” she hissed.
“But I didn’t!”
“Again with the lies, Miss Yoder.
My brother, Amos, had to go into Bedford this morning to deliver eggs to the IGA. I rode with him in the family buggy as far as here. When we passed your place, we saw two of these Mexicans leave your barn and head for the woods.”
“What?
When?”
“Just after milking time.”
“And you’ve been blabbing on the phone ever since then?”
“It’s my
rumschpringe
-if you must know.” She was referring to the community-sanctioned period of rebellion every Amish young person is entitled to before baptism at age twenty, when they must choose whether to put away the world for good.
“You’re
sixteen
already?”
“Ach, no.
I am seventeen next week.”
Although I do not watch television, I do listen to the radio upon occasion, therefore-oh, whom am I kidding? I confess! Gabriel talked me into going with him and Ida to see a theatrical production in Pittsburgh last month.
Fiddler on the Roof
.
Frankly, I was pleasantly surprised by the number of traditions his people and my people have in common. In addition, some of the tunes were quite catchy.
“Sunrise,” I began to sing, in my not too unpleasant voice. I began softly at first, building to a crescendo by the time I got to the word “years.” One by one, the good folks in the queue awoke, and by the time I had finished this astonishingly moving ballad, I had everyone’s attention-even that of three stray dogs. Sam, however, was the only one who clapped.
“Brava,” he yelled from the doorway of his shop. “Brava!”
Rebecca Bumgardner, who had turned a frightening shade of fuchsia, was definitely not amused. “I am not your little girl, Miss Yoder; you did not carry me!”
“All the same, dear,
tempus fugit
.”
Having jumped to the wrong conclusion, more than one person gasped. It goes to show you how much the outside world, with its obscene speech, has already rubbed off on these gentle people. I didst protest my innocence, and whilst doing so, Rebecca took off running. I cast my reputation asunder and took off after her, but, alas, I could not overtake the fair maiden. By the time I showed up at Chief Ackerman’s office door, I was panting like a two-headed bride on her wedding night.
Chris was on the phone when I walked in, just saying good-bye.
He stood and smiled.
“Not a bad parody, Miss Yoder.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your singing.
The way you hammed it up, pretending to be a female impersonator.”
“I did no such thing!”
“That was supposed to be a serious rendition?”
“Yes.”
“Oops. Of course I was listening with only one ear, seeing as how I was on the phone, and these windows seem to have exceptionally thick glass that distorts sound.”
“Harrumph. I’ll have you know that others have said-well, never
you mind
. And please, I’ve told you a million times to call me Magdalena.”
“
Magdalena, that
was the hospital on the phone. Doc opened his eyes this morning. It was just for a second, but still, that’s supposed to be an excellent sign. The nurse said that the next seventy-two hours are critical. But if Doc does wake up, there is a chance he could make a full recovery.”
“Praise God and pass the mashed potatoes!”
“What was that?”
“Oh, just something Alison says when I ask her to recite grace. It was the first thing that popped into my mind.”
“Yeah, well, I’m really glad about Doc too. So, have you come up with any leads so far?”
I told young Chris about the supposed clone and Rebecca’s sighting of illegal aliens. He dismissed the former out of hand.
“Are there any Hispanics in Hernia?
If so, no one’s ever mentioned them.”
“Alice Beckerman’s father was born in Paraguay. But his parents were Amish emigrants from Pennsylvania. I don’t think that counts. You see, Chris, folks in our community are still willing to do menial labor. When the Amish need to put up a barn, the entire community pitches in-sometimes even non-Amish get in-volved-and the barn is built in literally one day.”
“That’s incredible.”
“You’re darn tooting-oops, I didn’t mean to swear. I sort of got carried away with pride-oops, that’s an even bigger sin. Before these lips sink my shapely ship-oops! Spit it out, man-why are you asking about Hispanics?”
Young Chris smiled. “Miss Yoder, have you ever been in therapy?”
“I was shrunk once by a visiting shrink, but I’m not so sure it took.
But again with the questions.
You’re not planning to convert to Judaism, are you? I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that-especially in your case, given that you’re doomed to Hell anyway. Of course, that’s not me talking, but the Bible.”
“What?”
“Never mind.
Get back to the Hispanics.”
“It’s just that several people have called in, reporting two brown-skinned men crossing their fields, or loitering about at the edge of their woods. No one has seen them close up, so they can’t get any more specific than that.”
Then a candle was lit in my feeble little brain. “They’re Gertie Fuselburger’s hired hands. She promised to look after them. Implied they weren’t lacking for a place to stay. But I have a hunch they slept in my barn last night.”
“And you’re okay with this?”
“I most certainly am not! You can be sure Miss Fuselburger is going to pay extra for the privilege of bunking her help in the most exclusive accommodations this side of the
“Forgive me, Miss Yoder, but do you honestly consider sleeping on hay to be an exclusive experience?”
“They’ll each get two burlap bags, which they can keep, and a large coffee can-the six-seater outhouse I have now is just for show.
Plus, the ambiance of sleeping in a replica of an authentic Amish barn.
What other inn that you know of offers such perks?”
He smiled again. “You’ve got me there. But I would think that allowing Miss Fuselburger’s
employees
access to the cows all night could lead to some interesting problems.”
Just because my police chief has a very attractive head does not mean it’s empty. “Oh? What sort of problems?”
14
“Well, for starters, they could poison the cows.”
“You mean like with jimson weed?”
“
Yeah,
or anything. And it doesn’t even have to be lethal- heck, it doesn’t even have to be anything at all. What I’m saying is that if the other contestants find out about this-about letting those men sleep in the barn near their cows-they could demand the cows all be tested. That means that the competition could be delayed.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Miss Yoder, please don’t say that.”
“Are you superstitious?”
“Is the pope German?”
“Tell me, Miss Yoder, what have you managed to learn from your guests?”
“Well, the Pearlmutters danced the bedroom bossa nova
six
times last night; both Dorfman brothers tried to show up for breakfast wearing only wife-beater T-shirts and jam-jam bottoms; Gertie Fuselburger left her chompers unattended in the downstairs powder room; and as for that dear, sweet Candy Brown, I think she’s lying about being Polish. Neither she, nor her husband, had ever heard of pierogies. Now why would someone lie about being Polish, I ask you? Where there is one lie, there are sure to be many-that’s what Granny Yoder always used to say, although she seemed to have no trouble
not
telling me that my birth mother was really a gypsy girl from a traveling carnival. If you ask me, withholding information is just another way of lying. But when it comes to lies, the one that really takes the cake is the whopper the Dorfman brothers think we’re stupid enough to swallow. Ha, a cloned cow indeed!”
“Excuse me, Miss
Yoder,
do you think the Dorfmans are serious about the cloned cow story?”
“They at least
want
us to believe that Harry was able to turn a plain cow into a show-quality specimen via some secret process. What’s even worse is that they’re hoping to create a media sensation by announcing their hoax at my-I mean, our-Holstein competition.”
“Hmm.
That might not be all bad.”
“Et tu
,
Brute?”
“You see, Miss Yoder, the kind of person who’d assault an old man like Doc is the same kind who tends to love media attention. It wouldn’t surprise me if that wasn’t Doc’s handwriting on your barn stall, but the assailant’s. At any rate, wouldn’t Hernia benefit from the additional coverage? You know what they say: there is no such thing as bad press.”
“I take it then that no one has ever publicly accused you of being Bigfoot and interbreeding with Melvin the Mantis?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind.
Look, I have an idea that may flush this creep out into the open before tomorrow and the official start of the competition. If it works, I’m pulling the plug on the Dorfman entries.”
The handsome young man leaned forward eagerly. “What’s your plan?”
“What do cows say?”
“Moo?”
“Bingo.”