No Use Dying Over Spilled Milk (21 page)

“Levi Mast was not a hippie!”

“That’s beside the point. The point is, you’ve been telling everyone that Levi was possessed. Yost too. Do you realize what that has done to this community?”

“But the bishop thinks it’s possession, Magdalena. And so does Stayrook, who is an ordained minister.”

“But you don’t, do you?”

She wouldn’t answer.

“You didn’t want to tell anyone that you suspected drugs because that would remind them of your Samuel, and how he ran off with the hippies, right?”

She nodded.

“Then why didn’t you just keep your mouth shut altogether?”

Annie’s face looked just like the one on my rubber doll after Papa backed over it with his pickup truck. Of course, Molly didn’t have a mustache.

“So I may have embellished things a little from time to time, Magdalena. And maybe left a few things out. But I don’t see any harm in that. When you get to be my age, and are living by yourself, you need to do—” She paused to wipe tears from her eyes with the corner of her apron.

“Do what, dear?”

“Well, certain things so that people will pay attention.”

I patted her sleeve. “Negative attention isn’t what we really want, is it, dear?”

She jerked her sleeve away and began gathering up my dishes.

“Just you wait and see, Magdalena. You might not understand now, but you will. Forty-six and still not married. You’ll see what it’s like to be lonely.

“Now when Samuel was here—” The apron made another pass. “When my Samuel was here, things were different. But an old woman alone is just that. You’ll see soon enough.”

But I won’t, I thought. I’ll have my Pooky Bear and we’ll rock away our old age on the porch of the PennDutch, provided it isn’t winter. I glanced at my watch. How had I let so much time get away from me? Even if he crawled, Aaron could be at the Troyers’ by now.

“Thanks for a delicious supper,” I said, jumping up. I did my duty by grabbing what dishes were left and carting them over to the sink.

“Ach, you’re not going yet, are you, Magdalena?”

“Why yes, dear. Tempus fugit."

“Please, no slang.”

“I’m expecting company myself, Annie. I have to get back to the Troyers’.”

“But you can’t leave me alone tonight. Not now that you’re here.” She must have seen the resistance in my eyes. “Can’t you stay at least a little bit longer?”

I reached for my purse. “Maybe next time. I’ve really got to go now, dear.”

Annie’s touch on my sleeve was softer than a cool spring breeze. “Please stay, Magdalena. Please stay at least until I’m asleep.”

“What? What’s going on here, Annie?”

“Tonight is my Samuel’s birthday.” She swallowed hard. “It’s also the anniversary of when he left to go with those hippies off to India. The supper you just ate was for Samuel. I make it every year, just in case he might decide to come back.

“I used to think that time would take care of everything. Maybe dim my memory. At least heal the pain. But it doesn’t, you know. Not very much, at least. I can still see Samuel riding off with those hippies in their car painted like a rainbow. Riding off and laughing.” She shuddered. “Today it was thirty years. I thought he’d come back today. Of course, he didn’t. But you did, Magdalena. You came and ate Samuel’s supper with me. You made tonight bearable. Please, Magdalena. Please stay a little longer. Just until I’m asleep. Please?”

“Well, I—uh—”

“Please, Magdalena. You’re my cousin’s child. You’re all I have. You’re my only friend. You can’t abandon me now.”

It would have been impossible for me to leave just then. There was something in both Annie’s voice and her words that dredged up all the guilt that Mama had tried but failed to produce in me. Even Mama’s favorite standby, the thirty-six-hour-labor story, was impotent compared to this.

I suppose a lot of it had to do with the fact that Annie Stutzman was alone, a veritable hermit, in a community where aloneness is unheard of. Whether it was shame or defensiveness that motivated her I don’t know, but Annie Stutzman had succeeded in all but alienating herself from her friends and neighbors. To put it bluntly, she had become a pest. And even though it was clear to me that the distance that existed between Annie and her community was one that she was primarily responsible for creating, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. At a time in her life when Annie should have felt particularly loved and cherished—gathered up to the bosom of her church, so to speak—she was alone and lonely.

What made it all so tragic was that it needn’t have been so. True, Annie’s children had left the community, possibly even the faith, to get away from their father’s legacy, but had they remained behind in Farmersburg, the community would have continued to offer their loving support. Of that I am sure. After all, there probably isn’t one Amish family in Farmersburg, or anywhere for that matter, that hasn’t, in its history, had at least one troubled soul defect from the fold.

Although it broke my heart to hear the woman claim me as her only friend, it was, as I said, the guilt that gave me no choice but to stay. How could I abandon Annie, as Susannah says I abandoned her?

Please understand that I never intended to abandon my sister. In fact, for years I honestly believed that I hadn’t. After all, I was also in shock when our parents died, and felt just as cut loose as Susannah did. True, I was ten years older than my sister, but I had the burden of the farm placed suddenly on my shoulders. I tried to look out for Susannah, I really did, but I obviously failed.

If I had given more of myself to my sister in those early days, I’m sure she wouldn’t have run off and married that Presbyterian. She surely wouldn’t have felt a need to throw herself at anything in pants, and wouldn’t, at that very moment, be trying to validate her worth by consummating a marriage to a man she didn’t even know, and whose ears were large enough to span two time zones.

“Of course I’ll stay with you, dear,” I heard myself say. If my Pooky Bear was in town, and had meant what he’d said, then he would wait.

“Ach, Magdalena, you are so sweet,” Annie cooed.

My guilt barometer plummeted further. I am not sweet. I only agreed to stay to assuage my guilt for having abandoned Susannah. I certainly was not doing it out of kindness. Nor did I intend to do it cheerfully.

After I washed the dishes and helped Annie finish one of the quilts she was working on, I literally tucked her into bed. The fact that I made her a cup of cocoa and read her some comforting passages from the Bible is incidental. I’m sure Annie knew I was eager to leave. Consequently, I will accept no credit for charity.

As soon as her eyes closed I was out that door like a stallion who smells a brood mare. Only the other way around, of course. If Annie Stutzman woke up in the middle of the night I would be only a pleasant memory, making, I hoped, pleasant memories of my own.

It was snowing. Not flakes, just that fine powdery stuff that is the result of intense cold. Even my headlight beams revealed only a vague general whiteness, as if the clouds were being fed through flour sifters. But the snow was coming down at a good rate and had obviously been doing so for some time. In the time it had taken me to assuage my guilt, several inches had piled up, and I had to clear off the windshield before going anywhere. In retrospect I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I had taken the time to clear the rear windows as well. But I was in hurry to see my Pooky Bear and couldn’t be bothered with such minor issues as personal safety.

Mine is an old car, and it took a few miles for the heat to kick in. Until then my teeth chattered so hard I was afraid I’d lose a filling. When it finally came, the first blast of warm air on my ankles made me groan with joy. Only heaven can possibly offer a sensation more delicious than warm air swirling around your feet on a zero-degree night.

If it hadn’t been for the distraction of such bitter cold, I might have noticed the faint smell of cheese before I even got in the car. If the air in the car had been warmer—at least moister—I’m sure I would have smelled it long before I did. As it was, I didn’t notice the telltale odor until I was smack dab in the loneliest stretch of road between Annie’s place and the Troyers’.

Then I noticed the smell. And then, before I could react, a hand clamped around my mouth again.

I had the presence of mind to take my foot off the gas before I bit the hand that gagged me.

The man screamed.

“Serves you right.”

I braked expertly, despite the slick conditions, and pulled to the side of the road.

“Out, buster! And I mean now.”

“Keep driving, Magdalena. Do exactly what he says and you won’t get hurt.”

“Stayrook?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re Amish, Stayrook. You don’t believe in violence any more than I do. What are you doing here? What do you mean, I won’t get hurt?”

Something cold and metallic nuzzled my neck.

“He might not believe in violence, Yoder, but I do. And I say drive.”

I recognized the voice of Arnold Ledbetter. He was a little man and I could probably pin him down in a wrestling match, but I was not going to argue with a gun. Little men wielding guns have been responsible for some of the largest trophies, and I didn’t fancy having my head mounted on the wall of Daisybell Dairies. Not now that I knew Aaron loved me, and happy-ever-after beckoned.

I willed my foot back on the accelerator and pulled slowly back onto the road. It was snowing so hard now it was impossible to see the line that divided the highway. The fine white silt sifting down from the sky was as opaque as heavy fog, and I wouldn’t have seen the lights of an approaching car until they were on top of me. I prayed that I was still within my lane.

There was nothing I could do but creep along. Arnold must have realized my helplessness, because he allowed me to drive at my own rate. Even just a few miles per hour faster and we might have decorated a fence post once the blizzard stopped.

“Where’s that damn turnoff?” Arnold demanded.

I took a deep breath. “What turnoff?”

The barrel prodded me again. “I’m not talking to you, Yoder. This is between me and him. You shut up and do what you’re told.”

Mama would have been proud of me. For once I kept my mouth shut. My lips were clamped tighter than if I’d been offered a piece of her rhubarb pie.

“Turn left just up ahead,” Stayrook said suddenly.

“What?”

The point of the gun barrel pressed against that soft spot behind my ear. “Do what he says.”

In a split second I chose to obey. Please don’t think I’m a coward, but as I saw it, a bullet to the brain was certain death. Decorating a fence post, on the other hand, was still iffy. However, there might well be a deep snowbank between us and the fence, which would bury the car, and we might not be discovered for days. But even in that case I stood a better chance of surviving than did they. Two large helpings of pot roast, four large homemade rolls, and three pieces of chocolate crazy cake smothered in whipped cream certainly gave me a head start in staving off starvation. As for the fourth piece of cake, resting securely within my purse, I would keep it a secret until the two of them were too weak to do anything about it. Ditto for the rolls in each of my pockets.

Unfortunately, Stayrook was intimately acquainted with the local roads, and outside of some light skidding, which I deftly managed, we made the transition to the intersecting road without event.

“Not bad, Yoder,” Arnold said. The admiration in his voice disgusted me.

“Now turn right,” Stayrook directed.

I did what I was told. This time we didn’t even skid.

“Way to go, girl,” Arnold shouted.

I stuck my tongue out, but since the rearview mirror was fogged over, Arnold’s half-moon glasses probably were as well. Undoubtedly it was a wasted movement.

“Just keep going straight until I tell you,” Stayrook said softly.

I knew he was trying to be reassuring, but frankly, I was insulted. Obviously, straight was all I could manage without direction. I couldn’t see more than five feet in front of me, even with the high beams on. Did I look like the kind of idiot who would turn willy-nilly into a blank wall of white?

“We’d better not be headed to that Amish parking spot,” I said meanly. “You can shoot me for all I care, but I’m not about to make out with either of you two buzzards.”

Arnold laughed rudely. “Fat chance either of us would want to, Yoder. You’re not exactly prime rib.”

“You mean like Elsie Bontrager?”

“Ach,” Strayrook said, the distress in his voice quite clear.

“Elsie was a fine piece of work,” Arnold said. “Too bad she wouldn’t play the game. Still, she came in useful.”

“I’ll bet she did,” I growled.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Then say nothing quieter. It’s hard enough to think with all that snow. Why the hell did you stay so long in that old biddy’s house?”

I tapped the brakes just hard enough to launch us into a short skid, and Arnold into the back of the front seat. Annie might be a busybody troublemaker, but she was my kin. Nobody, especially a gun-toting criminal with upside-down glasses and a bad toupee, was going to bad-mouth my blood and get away with it.

“You goddamn bitch!” Arnold bellowed.

That did it. Nobody swears in my car without paying the fiddler. The last time Susannah tried it, she ended up walking almost the entire length of Stucky Hollow Road. Not that I didn’t end up paying dearly for my stand. Susannah has yet to let me forget that Stucky Hollow Road is eight miles of gravel lane. But was it my fault my sister chose not to wear shoes that day?

I wear a seat belt, but my car was too old to have come with an air bag. Still, since I was the one with the plan, I was able to brace myself when my foot stomped on the brakes with the same force it stomps on roaches (not that we have any at the PennDutch, mind you). What happened next was positively exhilarating, although frankly, I was disappointed with the acoustics. The teenage boys in Hernia who stand on their brakes are rewarded with loud squeals from their tires, as well as from their girls. Because of the snow cover, my car slid silently, and the grunts and curses from the backseat were no match for the shrieks emitted by Hernia High cheerleaders.