Play It Again, Spam (8 page)

“What? When?"

"You should have heard him, Magdalena. He was in here, not an hour ago, crowing like a cock with a flock of hens all to

himself. Said the 'to-do' was going to be at his mama's on account you were too stingy to spring for it."

"Why, that miserable mantis! Just wait until I get my mitts on his carapace."

"I hope you don't mind that he invited me and Dorothy. After all, I'm giving him a twenty per cent discount on the soda pop

they'll be serving at the party."

"Party! What party?"

"The one Zelda is throwing them tomorrow night. Of course Zelda doesn't make that much money, so Melvin's pitching in."

"Nobody told me about a party!"

"Well, I just assumed - I mean, Susannah is your sister."

I burst into tears. Sam stared. I don't believe I as much as shed a tear the time he smeared the peanut butter in my hair-even

though when I got home Mama spanked me with a hairbrush for wasting food. At any rate, there didn't seem to be anyone else in

the market-or if there was, they were hiding in the dry goods aisle - so while Sam looked on, I let it all out. I bawled, I wailed, I

gnashed my teeth. I complained bitterly about the inequities of life, the fickleness of fortune, and the burden of loving a sister as

thankless as Susannah. When I was quite through I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, blew my nose on the hanky I keep in my bra,

and squared my shoulders.

"Well, dear, I'll see you at the wedding."

"You mean the party, don't you?"

"I haven't been invited, remember?"

"Magdalena, please don't take this out on Susannah. The whole thing was Melvin's idea, after all."

I reached for my shopping bag, but he was quicker and snatched it away. "I'll tell you some real gossip if you promise to take

it easy on your sister."

"No deal."

"It's really juicy."

"Martha Lichty lose her dentures in the outhouse again?"

He laughed. "Better than that. So, you promise?"

I nodded reluctantly, my fingers crossed behind my back. I hate having to lie, but it is foolish to trade one's word for

something sight unseen. Besides, taking things out on Susannah is a skill I've honed through the years, and it has always been in

her best interest. And anyway, doesn't the Bible warn us not to hide our talents?

"This better be good," I growled.

Sam leaned over the counter and cupped his free hand to his mouth. "Lodema Schrock dyes her hair."

I gasped. "She does not!"

Lodema Schrock is my pastor's wife. She is a one-woman vigilante team obsessed with monitoring the morals of her

husband's flock. Rumor has it that she studied at the feet of the Ayatollah. I know for a fact that Lodema eyeballs our hem lengths,

inspects our nails for polish, and lifts telltale lipstick stains from coffee cups in the social hall at church. Reliable witnesses tell me

that the woman peeks into bedroom windows and rummages through our rubbish. When one of us is found wanting - and there is

always a "victim of the week" - Lodema appears on the unfortunate person's porch with Bible in hand and a lengthy lecture in

mind.

I must hasten to add that Reverend Schrock does not condone his wife's behavior, although, alas, he is power- less to stop

her. The poor man doesn't even know who her victims are in advance. To his credit, however, he has organized the Mennonite

Women's Sewing Circle into what he calls "the Lodema alert." As soon as she leaves the parsonage on her righteous warpath, he

calls one of us, and we in turn spread the word. Anyone with anything to hide does so, and by a series of phone calls, we are

usually able to track her well enough to predict her final destination. The real sinner then high-tails it out of town for the day.

Sam was nodding vigorously. "She really dyes her hair?"

"She comes in here religiously - no pun intended - and buys Lady Marion hair color, formula number twelve. Peach Bark, it's

called."

"Thank you, Lord!" I said, my hands clasped together, my eyes tightly closed. One should always give thanks, should one

not?

Sam laughed. "Magdalena, what are you going to do with this information?"

I opened my eyes. "File it, dear. One never knows how and when it might come in very useful."

"Glad to be of service. Now, are you going to take it easy on Susannah?"

"As easy as threading a needle in the dark, dear." I snatched the precious bag of luncheon meat out of Sam's hand, and was

out the door and in my car in the time it takes a cat to yawn. I may be tall and gangly, but I sure can run.

"Ach, there you are!"

"Please, Freni, not now." I thrust the heavy bag at her. "But she's been crying, that one."

"It's just pre-wedding jitters, dear." Although frankly, Susannah had nothing to be jittery about - if you know what I mean. I, on

the other hand, was terrified on my wedding night. I was even more terrified the morning after, when I suddenly realized it was not

just a one-time thing.

"Ach, not Susannah! The little one from Pittsburgh."

I shook my head to clear it of sane thoughts. "You mean Samantha Burk?"

"Yah, that's the one."

As if on cue the diminutive pianist pushed through the swinging door from the dining room. Then again. as small as she was,

she may have been pushing on it for some time.

"Miss Yoder, you're back!"

"Either that, or I have a twin sister who is a ventriloquist."

Freni gave me a warning frown and then scuttled over to the stove where a pot was merrily boiling over.

"Sorry, dear. Sometimes my tongue gets in the way of my brain. What can I do for you?"

"I need to talk to you."

I motioned Samantha to a high wooden stool, while I took a ladderback chair. When we were eye to eye for the first time I

could see that Freni was right; the woman had been weeping.

"I'm all ears, dear."

Samantha looked down at petite, but exquisite hands. "John is missing."

"Have you checked the barn, dear? A lot of guests find my cows fascinating."

She shook her head. "Our car is gone."

"There you have it, dear. He's gone for a ride in the country."

"Miss Yoder, I'm afraid you don't understand. We had a fight."

I glanced over at Freni, who was quietly stirring the air above the bubbling pot. If her ears got any bigger, she could loan

them to Prince Charles.

"All married couples have their little tiffs, dear," I said, finally able to speak from experience. "I'm sure he'll be back before

supper."

She shook her head again, this time more vigorously. "John has a hot temper, but he cools off quickly. We were arguing

about - well, it was something trivial - and he stormed out with the car keys. He does that a lot, you know. But he always comes

back ten or twenty minutes later and apologizes."

"So how long has he been gone this time?"

She glanced at her watch. "Almost an hour and a half."

"Count your blessings, dear." I clamped a hand over my mouth, and counted to ten before removing it. "What I mean is, the

people around here are very friendly, and everyone knows who I am. If he's lost, he just has to mention my name, or the inn, and

folks will point the way back."

"John never gets lost."

"Honey, men are born lost. They don't know which way is up without stopping to ask for directions - which, of course, hey

refuse to do. That's why God gave them each an arrow that points to the ground."

She smiled weakly. "John seldom even makes it out of the drive when he storms off like that. Usually he just sits there and

pounds on the steering wheel until he's got it cleared out of his system."

There was no need to ask her what the it was that needed clearing out. It was hot air, of course, a curious byproduct of the

male thought process. Aaron was forever clearing out his system, too, only he blamed it on beans.

"Would you like me to drive around and look for him? You could come with me, of course."

"That would be very nice, but shouldn't we call the police first?"

I rolled my eyes discreetly behind partially closed lids. "You'll have to wait forty-eight hours to file a missing-person report,

unless you have evidence to support foul play. Besides, he probably just stopped to pick you some wildflowers."

"Ach," Freni muttered, "it's too early for anything but dandelions."

I glared at my kinswoman. "There are lilacs blooming down by Slave Creek. I saw them myself just a few minutes ago."

"Did you see a blue Saturn in the area?"

"No. Sorry." Frankly, since I bought my red BMW last year, I haven't noticed any other cars. "The Devil's carriage," as Freni

calls it, was Aaron's idea - his only good idea, outside of jacking up my room prices again.

Samantha quickly wiped away an escaping tear. "I'd like to ride with you, Miss Yoder. Can we get started'" right away?"

"As soon as I make a necessary pit stop, dear."

Being the true Yoder that I am, we were out on the road in thirty seconds flat.

7

I tried to distract Samantha with a running commentary on the community.

"That's Sam and Amanda Berkey's farm. Well, she's dead now. Her father was the Amish bishop in his day - the land used to

be his. There's an old grist mill back in the woods that supplied all of Bedford County in the early l800s."

"Really?" She sounded every bit as interested as Susannah does when I recount the Sunday sermon for her.

"Now over there on your right is what remains of the Mishler farm. The Mishler brothers both outlived their wives, retired to

the family homestead, and then began selling bits and pieces off, a few acres at a time. Both men are just as sweet as shoo-fly

pie, but you'll want to stay well away during hunting season. They're blind as bats, you see, but they insist on hunting. They shoot