Play It Again, Spam (24 page)

each potato, leaving a ½-inch shell. Place shells in prepared baking dish. Place scooped-out

potato in medium mixing bowl. Beat at medium speed 30 seconds. Add milk, Parmesan cheese,

and pepper; beat just until -combined. Stir in SPAM® mixture. Fill potato shells with potato

mixture. Bake, uncovered, 25 to 30 minutes or until thoroughly heated. Top with cheeses. Bake

five minutes longer or until cheese is melted. Serves 6.

NUTRITIONAL INFORMATION PER SERVING: Calories 396; Protein 18g; Carbohydrate 54g; Fat

12g; Cholesterol 56mg; Sodium 704mg.

21

Tell me about the Nazi," I said weakly. Thank heavens gorgeous Gabe had the good sense to move us out on the porch. Still

concerned that I might have a concussion, my guardian angel had carried me there in his arms.

Old Irma had walked. Having to use her God-given legs, while I used Gabe's, had not put the old biddy in a better mood.

"Some of us had lives, Magdalena."

"Tell me about it, dear. You may have lived longer than Methuselah, but Diana Lefcourt has you beat. She was Methuselah."

Old Irma pointed to her head and made a circular motion. "She was kicked in the head while trying to milk a bull," she

muttered to Gabriel.

"I was not! That was Melvin Stoltzfus, and you know it. Are you going to tell us about your Nazi, or are you going to be the

one who lets him get away?"

"He wasn't my Nazi. Although he did come to visit sometimes. Brought flowers to my apartment on Rue Ordener. My Nazi

was much older."

I gasped. "So those stories are true! You were the Fuehrer's floozy!"

Old Irma made a face which, given the ravages of one hundred and three years, was quite a feat. "I never met the Fuehrer.

My Nazi was Franz von Weimar, assistant, chief of military intelligence in France."

"An oxymoron, dear. Even so, as Weimar's wench you were a traitor to your country."

"I worked for my country."

"You're German?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Magdalena. I was born right here in Hernia, the same year your granddaddy was born. If you didn't

interrupt so much, you would know by now that I was an American spy."

"Get out of town!"

"That's exactly what Franz said when he found out. He loved me, you know. Of course I didn't love him. To the contrary, I

hated him-hated what he stood for. But I had to pretend that the sun rose and set in his eyes."

Suddenly it all fit together. John Burk was really Johanne Burkholder, and he was Old Irma's illegitimate son. No doubt

Burkholder had been Irma's alias, and when she had her baby, or babies, out of wedlock she gave them her fictitious name.

"Well, you liked him enough to have his baby."

"I most certainly did not!"

"Two babies, then - or was it three?"

"I never had a baby in my life!"

"That's not what I heard."

"Those silly rumors have been floating around ever since I returned from Europe. And just because I didn't talk about my life.

Well, I assure you, I am nobody's mother.”

"Then who is the Nazi? Who is Johanne Burkholder?"

"Johanne - although apparently he goes by the name John now - was an acquaintance from my cabaret days. You see, I

was a very accomplished singer. Very popular too, I might add, and - "

"And humble" - I clamped a hand over my mouth, lest I provoke her into silence.

"No, I wasn't humble. Not in those days. I had that certain je ne sais quoi that men found irresistible. But I wasn't the tramp

you seem to think I was. I didn't sleep with anyone. I merely flirted. Held parties - open houses, really - that were both gay and

intellectually stimulating. We called them salons in those days."

"We call them saloons these days."

"Bite your tongue, Magdalena. You have no respect for the older generation."

"Bite your tongue and your gums will bleed." Gabriel placed a poker-hot hand on my shoulder.

"Please, ladies."

"Oh, all right. Continue, dear," I said graciously.

Irma stuck her considerable Yoder nose in the air. There are Yoder noses, and then there are Yoder noses. Small planes

could land on Irma's.

"Well, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, Franz von Weimar was a great admirer of mine, and so was his

protégé young Johanne Burkholder. I do believe the boy was even more in love with me than was his mentor."

"Tch, tch," was all I could manage before my angel gently covered my mouth with his hand. I would gladly have remained

mute the rest of my days to keep that hand there.

Irma's nose made a quick dip, like a polygraph needle, but she scarcely paused. "Anyway, young Johanne was posted

elsewhere, and of course I had no idea where, because he was a spy like me, you see. I did get the occasional letter, delivered

grudgingly by Franz, who was getting rather tiresome. Then one day the State Department decided things had gotten too hot in

the City of Light, and yanked me back stateside. Boy, was I ever relieved. Unlike some" - she glowered at me - "I would never

have gone to bed with Franz von Weimer."

"Ahn wohad nawgh!" I wailed into Gabriel's palm.

"And then this morning while I was making breakfast, he suddenly appears. Johanne, I mean, not Franz. Right there in my

kitchen. Well, I was so surprised I cut myself." She held up her left hand, whose index finger sported a beige bandage.

"You better let me check that," Gabe said. Men can be such babes in the woods.

Fortunately my guardian angel had to remove his hand from my mug to examine the wound. I chose my words carefully.

"That's barely even a scratch, dear."

Of course I meant to be encouraging, and of course the old crone misinterpreted my tone. "Well, it bled a lot! And I was only

slicing bananas with a table knife."

"Your skin is thin," Gabe said gently.

"Touché!" I can't tell you how delighted I was that Gabe had seen right through her.

Alas, my joy was short lived. Gabe, the babe, was definitely lost in the woods.

"No, I meant that literally. When people age, their skin becomes thinner, easier to cut and bruise. But you did a good job of

cleaning the wound. It should heal nicely." He replaced the used bandage which, remarkably, stuck. Only insults seem to stick to

me.

"Now you're interrupting, dear."

"Ah, so I am. Please, Miss Yoder, continue."

"Well, I recognized the boy right away. I know, he's not a boy now, but he still stands the same way he did all those years

ago. Some folks think it's the eyes that stay the same, but that's not so. Eyes are like paper - life writes its story on them.

Johanne's eyes told me he had seen things - done things - that no human being should do. He stood the same way, however.

Slouched, with his neck kind of sticking out. It didn't matter that he'd gained a few pounds and lost most of his hair. I can recognize

anyone by the way they stand."

"Ha!" I caught one of Gabriel's beautifully manicured hands and placed it over my mouth.

"You cut yourself," he said, seemingly oblivious to the fire in my face. "What then?"

"Well, like you said, I washed the cut. Then I invited Johanne to sit down and have a cup of tea."

"Weren't you afraid?"

"Afraid of what? This isn't Vichy France. This is my turf."

"Yes, it is. Yet you ended up here." He gestured with his free hand at the house. "Was that your idea?"

"Actually it was. Johanne said we needed to talk, but my place has turned into Grand Central lately." Old Irma pointed

meaningfully at me with her proboscis, as well as her cane. "So I suggested we come here to talk. I mean, now that the Millers are

gone, it's as empty as Lazarus's grave. Sure, I know, there is a 'for sale' sign outside, but that Earl Whitaker is so lazy, he once

got fired from a job testing mattresses."

"You don't say," Gabriel said in his rich baritone. "Well, that's who I came here to see."

I pushed his hand gently away from my mouth. "You want to buy the Miller place?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"Thank you, Lord!"

Old Irma cackled again. "And she thinks I was loose!" My face stung. I could actually feel the red as it concentrated in my

cheeks.

"It's not what you think! I'm just glad someone - anyone - is buying this place. It's eerie to look over here night after night and

see a dark farmhouse. Besides, we were talking about Johanne, remember? This is the same man who is married to a petite

piano player named Samantha?"

"He did say he was married to a concert pianist, and that he taught history somewhere. Or was it mathematics?"

"Definitely history, dear. So you came all the way over here to talk about his job and marriage?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Magdalena. We talked about the old days. What fun it was-despite the political unpleasantness."

"That political unpleasantness cost me ten family members," Gabriel said much to my surprise. "All my father's siblings and

both his parents died in Auschwitz."

Old Irma swallowed. "Well, that's why I was there. In Paris, I mean. Don't forget I was working for our side."

"While cavorting with the other, dear."

"Magdalena!" Gabriel said sharply.

I shrunk back, like a chastised puppy.

Gabriel touched the old woman's shoulder. "Is that all Johanne wanted? To talk about good times?"

"No!" She spit the word out like a rotten bite of apple.

"What did he want?"

"Ach, he was full of questions! Who did I see from the old days? How was my German? Still good? I told him - in German -

that I could outtalk him any day."

"No doubt about it," I muttered.

Old Irma ignored me. Or perhaps she didn't hear. "He has a funny accent now, you know."

"Like from Minnesota?"

That time she heard me and rolled her faded eyes. "A funny German accent. His English is much better now than when we

met. We used to speak only in French."

I slapped my forehead in astonishment. Old Irma knew French? They must have taught that in U.S. spy school, because

Hernia graduates would be hard pressed to say bon jour without a phrase book.

Gabriel should have gone into general practice instead of surgery. My doctor has never asked that many questions in the

thirty years I've known him.

"I heard you shout at him, then he ran out the front door. Why were you so angry?"

Old Irma put down her cane. She attempted to point at l me with one of her pretzel fingers, but thanks to sixty I years of

arthritis, she pointed at the doc instead. "Because he hit her-with a lamp base, no less. Magdalena may be as mean as a stepped-

on rattlesnake, but she's family."

"I am not!" I wailed.

"Don't be ridiculous, child. Your granddaddy was my double first cousin, and both your grandmothers were third cousins

once-removed."

"Which leaves one grandparent unaccounted for!" I said triumphantly.

"Yes, your mama's daddy. We were only fifth cousins twice removed."

"Aha! You see? We are distant cousins!"

Gabriel smiled, and I had to gasp for breath. "I think I'm going to like living here. Is everyone around here like you two?"

Before I could assure him that there were no other century-old citizens quite as cranky as Irma, a car came barreling up the

long Miller drive and screeched to a halt amid a spray of gravel.

"Where's my husband?" Samantha Burk demanded. If indeed that was her name.

22

That's what we want to know, dear." I looked at Diana Lefcourt, who had driven the motorized chariot. "Where's the rescue

squad?"

"I didn't call 911 after all."

“What? "

"I knew you'd be all right, Magdalena. You already had a doctor with you. Besides, you Yoders have heads of stone."

I ignored the compliment. "Concert pianist indeed!" I said to Samantha. "I should have known you were a fake. Look at those

itty-bitty hands - even a possum has a wider span. And a real concert pianist would have been begging me for a key to Beachy