"We serve food family style here," my tongue said. "You would be wise to remember that I am the mama in this family."
"Is that some sort of a veiled threat, Miss Yoder?"
"Oh, not at all, dear. I think it's quite clear: if you continue to complain, you'll have to leave the table."
I fully expected there to be an uproar, but everyone fell silent except for Mother Malaise, aka my mother-in-law. "You see, dis von's a tyrant."
"I am not!"
"Eet's a good ting," the
real
tyrant had the chutzpah to say. "Das vhy I vant you to be my replacement someday."
I couldn't believe my ear pans. "You
do
?"
"Of course! Who else? You're meshuggeneh like me, no? Und you like to control zee people around you, ya? Bossy, dat is vhat vee are. Dat eez our God-given talent."
"I think she might have a point," the Babester said.
"But I'm not apathetic!" I wailed.
"I thought you were going to stop wailing." The Babester looked away when he spoke, which was a wise move on his part.
"I
am
, but there is a time and a place for everything. It's in Ezekiel--that's in your Bible too."
"Dun't vorry," Mother Malaise said, exhibiting remarkable generosity. "Someday you vill be apathetic, and by den Sister Disgruntled vill heff moved on to greener pastures, so you can heff her name. Eet vill feet you pearfectly."
I turned to the guests. "Eat, dears. This isn't a floor show." I turned back to mother-in-law. "So, you ran all the way over here on your--uh--petite--legs to recruit me for that distant day when Sister Disgruntled will stand before her Maker and account for her time spent in your loony bin?"
"Mebbe not so distant, ya? Sister Disgruntled is eighty-four and loves bacon--fey! But you are right dis time; I heff come here because of a very beeg problem."
"What is that?" the Babester asked.
"Zee ooncles!"
"Zee vhat?" I said. It was unconscious on my part, believe me.
"Zee ooncles!" Ida shouted. "Zee brudders of zee modder of Agnes."
"Ah, the uncles," the Babester and I said together. "What about them?" I added.
Ida inclined her head toward my guests, as
if
any of them would have what my mama referred to as "gentle ears." She waggled a brow that could have used a good trimming with hedge clippers.
"Dey are in zee boof."
"Ah," Gabe and I said, again in unison.
There followed a moment of silence, after which my dear husband dared speak first. "Ma, what is a 'boof'?"
Mother Malaise clapped her liver-spotted hands in annoyance. "Dey are nekkid."
That
I understood. "Holy guacamole," I cried, swearing like a sailor, "they promised to keep their robes on! They said that they looked forward to having fun playing monk midst all your nuns."
"My, my," Olivia opined, "monks running amok amongst nuns. Isn't that a bit risky? Sort of like having a rooster loose in a henhouse?"
I glared at her. I couldn't help it.
"They're more like capons, dear--not that it's any of your business."
"What's a capon?" Tiny asked.
"Just a kind of chicken, dear. Which reminds me"--I turned back to Barbie Nyle--"I read on your guest survey that you play the piano. As you can see I have no Steinway, but I'll do my best to get you a henweigh by three o'clock."
"What's a henweigh?" Olivia demanded rudely.
"About four pounds--plucked. But I've had some old fryers that have topped the scale in the six-pound range. Tough old birds though."
It was Olivia's turn to glare. "I suppose you think that you're funny."
"Au contraire, dear. I don't have a funny bone in my body. In fact, I eschew humor. Now, about those ooncles--Have you spoken to Agnes?"
"Oy vey," Mother Malaise said, and rolled her eyes. "Do I look like a cabbage? Of course I speak to her."
"Nu," I said, just a tad impatiently. Sometimes learning a foreign language comes in very useful.
"Und she said that dis is America, de land of de free, und dat her ooncles vere yust exercising der rights."
"Rights, shmights, she's wrong. It's your convent, and you make the rules. Besides, they could be a bad influence. Who knows? Maybe some of your nuns will bare all, and pretty soon the place will turn into a nudist colony. Boy, wouldn't that just be a fine "how do you do"? Movie stars can officially check in here, but spend their time there gawking. Maybe even a few will shed
their
clothes. If that happens, and you get some good pictures--Well, it wouldn't surprise me if the
National Enquirer
would be willing to pay millions."
"You tink?"
"Too much, it seems."
"Hon," Gabe said, "I know what you're doing, and it isn't fair to her."
"She's a grown-up, dear. Ida, you're old enough to make up your own mind, aren't you?"
"Ya?"
"You don't sound sure. Either you are, or you aren't. If you aren't, you can always come to me for advice, and my advice is to throw Agnes and her funny ooncles out on their respective ears. The last thing you need to see is Brad Pitt or George Clooney in the altogether, if you know what I mean"--I paused to waggle my eyebrows--"because at your age such a sight could precipitate a heart attack. Besides, if you were successful in selling some photos to the tabloids, you'd be so rich that you'd probably move back to New York, and then what would I do about my most reliable--if somewhat kooky--babysitter?"
"Magdalena!" Gabe said sharply.
Ida spent all of ten seconds pondering my weighty words. She then threw her small, but pudgy, hands in the air--a sign that either she has conceded one of your battles, or else she believes that she is victorious.
"I vill return to my convent," she trilled, "but vee vill no longer be apathetic. From now vee vill be passionate about embracing our outer selves. Vee shall be known as zee Sisters of zee Complete Package."
"Ma! That has certain connotations."
"Ya?"
I hadn't a clue, but that buttinsky Olivia whispered in my mother-in-law's ear. The stout nun recoiled in surprise.
"Oy! Not gut. Den vee vill be called zee Nude Nuns of Narnia."
"Nix! C. S. Lewis put a lock on Narnia decades ago."
"Vell, I vill tink of something."
"How about the Sisters of Subcutaneous Inflammation?"
"Hon!" Gabe protested, but to no avail.
"I like," said Mother Superior. "Vrite that on a piece of paper for me, Magdalena. Tell me, vhat should my new title be?"
"Well, since you'll be
head
of the convent, and you are Caucasian, how about if the
pus
tulants just call you Mother White-head? You will, of course, wear a white headdress."
"Mags," Gabe bellowed.
I scribbled the convent's new name on an embroidered hankie I pulled from my dress pocket and handed it to her. "As the others will be merely pimples with wimples, it might be easier to have them revert back to their given names. There will be less confusion that way--and less paperwork. And less paperwork always saves one a passel of money."
The five-foot-tall thorn in my side took off with the speed of a space probe. Frankly, I was so relieved to get rid of her that I didn't much mind the dressing-down I received from Gabriel in front of my guests, or their added clucks of disapproval. Only Tiny seemed to find any humor in what I'd done--no doubt because she was the youngest, and my actions had been so immature.
I must add, however, that the mysterious Surimanda Baikal wisely held her tongue, and for that, she endeared herself to me.
23
As usual, Mary Berkey's myriad children were delighted to see a car drive up to their house. It was a miracle I didn't accidentally run over any of the urchins as they pranced joyfully in front of my moving horseless carriage. If I was to be their day's entertainment, then I was glad to be of service.
Their mother, however, was a mite less enthusiastic. "Oh, you are back way too soon. I cannot possibly have the dress ready--there are too many pleats, yah?"
"Yah--I mean, yes, I'm sure there are more pleats in it than there are in a polka band worth of accordions."
Her blank look was not encouraging.
"I understand," I said. "I'm not here for
that
dress. I'm here to buy your dress."
The children giggled.
"
My
dress?" she said.
"Not the one you're wearing, of course, but another one--just as long as it's clean or only lightly worn. It's for me, in case you're wondering. And no, I'm not about to switch over to the horse-and-buggy side; I merely want to look the part for a special occasion. It just so happens though that the special occasion is today, which really limits my options. Fortunately, you and I are approximately the same size. My bosom might be a tad larger, but it's hard to tell given that you don't wear a b--" I stopped, having remembered the kids, although I needn't have worried.
"A bridle," said Veronica, finishing my sentence. "She said that Mama doesn't wear a bridle!"
Of course our vertically challenged audience found this immensely funny. Some of them even neighed like horses and pawed the air. Frankly, if they were my children I'd have told them to am-scray because we were having an adult conversation. But the Amish are far more indulgent than I am, and Mary, being a widow, is especially loath to discipline her offspring lest they abandon her someday.
"But, Miss Yoder," she said, seemingly oblivious to their antics, "I have only two other dresses: my Sunday-meeting dress and another such as this."
I gave her the once-over. "Is it clean?"
"Yah. But I have yet to iron it."
"Then time's a- wasting." I dug my wallet out of a very uncooperative purse, and from its parsimonious mouth pulled three twenty-dollar bills. "Here, this should cover it, don't you think?"
She waved the money away.
I smiled kindly. "You only own three dresses, dear, and you have more mouths to feed than your average breakaway Mormon family. I wouldn't feel right accepting the dress as a gift."
Mary Berkey covered her mouth with one hand as she laughed softly. Around her the children giggled like her very own backup choir.
"Oh, Miss Yoder, I do not want just sixty dollars for the dress. It is all handmade. It is worth much more."
"Hmm. Okay, I'll give you eighty. I can buy a nice spring dress at JCPenney's in Monroeville for $79.99. And that's before any kind of sale."
"Yah, maybe. But you cannot buy an Amish dress in Monroeville."
"Touche. Well, I can see that we're related."
She nodded solemnly, as did the pack of urchins. "There are many Yoders in my family tree."
"And isn't family what it's all about?"
She continued to nod, and so did her cheering section.
"So then," I said brightly, "how about giving your cousin a special price."
"I think one hundred twenty-five dollars is a fair price for you--my cousin."
"For just one dress?"
"Yah, but I will sell you a bonnet to go with it for two hundred dollars."
"You have got to be kidding!"
"I do not joke, Miss Yoder. And, of course, you will want the beautiful traveling cape; every Amish woman must have her cape, yah?"
"Yah? How much?"
"Only three hundred fifty dollars."
"Why, that's highway robbery!"
"Miss Yoder, the bonnet has many more pleats than does the dress. Also, both it and the cape have been worn by me, so they will give the outfit an authentic smell."
"You want me to pay
extra
for the scent of a woman?"
She had the chutzpah to look me right in the eye, without a bit of shame. "This is my offer. Take it or leave it."
"Okay," I groused, "but let it be known that Magdalena Portulacca Yoder Rosen doesn't drive the hardest bargains in the state. That honor is yours, my dear."
Mary Berkey, like me, was trained to be humble about her accomplishments, but I saw a competitive glint in her eyes, if only for a second. Well, she did have a lot of mouths to feed, and the Amish do not accept public assistance, such as welfare. I was in a hurry, so she could win this time, but when I returned to pick up clothes for the English,
then
we'd see who was better at this game.
"When I come back in a couple of days, I plan to play hardball."
Mary smiled. It was obvious she'd heard that expression before, which just goes to show you that most folks are more complicated than we give them credit for.