I screamed, this time in pain, and stood up in the bushes. Perhaps it was my screaming as well, or the fact that I somehow materialized, albeit a bit scratched and tom, through the top of the bush, but Freni screamed even louder. Just like yawns beget yawns, screams sometimes beget more screams, and I too found myself screaming louder. There we stood, one
Amish woman on a path, and one Mennonite woman in a bush, screaming our heads off, and frightening ourselves more by the second.
Had there been a third person still lurking in the vicinity, I'm sure it would have been his or her turn to be paralyzed with fear. Eventually, though, Freni and I got a grip on it, as Susannah would say, and were merely glaring at each other when Mose came panting up the path.
"What is it?" he gasped. That, at least, is what he intended to say. Heavy breathing has a tendency to modify speech.
Freni caught her breath before I could. "Magdalena tried to scare me to death! She hid in the bushes like a little child and then grabbed me as I went by." She turned to face me. "Your mama would be so ashamed! Acting like that English daughter of hers." Of course, she meant Susannah.
"I didn't mean to scare you!" I protested. "That's not why I was hiding in the bushes."
Freni blushed, and Mose turned discreetly away while she lectured me. "Magdalena Yoder! At your age? In the bushes like a teenager! Get married first, Magdalena."
I felt myself blush as well. I couldn't believe Freni's assumption - although perhaps I was a bit flattered. "I was in the bushes alone, Freni."
"That is an even greater sin!" I couldn't help laughing. There I was, being lectured on morality by Freni Hostetler, when less than an hour before someone had tried to kill me. Had they succeeded, I would have died not only a virgin, but having never even been properly kissed. I was indeed flattered by Freni's assumptions.
"Stop that at once," she ordered. "If your mama could see you now, it would break her heart."
"Mama would understand totally." I paused to let Freni gasp. "I was hiding in the bushes because someone was shooting a me. Freni's mouth clamped shut like a well-oiled mousetrap. "It's true. I was coming up to see you," I explained, "when someone shot at me with a rifle. See, there?" I pointed to the bullet hole on the tree that overhung the bushes. "And there." I pointed to the ground. "They shot at me twice." Freni's frown meant she didn't quite believe me but was undecided enough to keep her trap shut for the moment.
"She's telling the truth," Mose said. "I saw Magdalena head on over here, and then a little later I heard two shots, but I thought they were coming from over there." He nodded in the general direction of the state [ game lands. On days when the wind is right, it sounds like the hunters are right in our own back yard. 'Well, now that we're both here," said Freni without further ado, "I want my job back."
"You what?" I couldn't believe how callous she was.
"My job, Magdalena. You know, where I cook and clean, and do all the things your mama used to do."
"Leave Mama out of this," I said irritably. "I almost got shot in the head. I had to lie hiding in the bushes for an hour - which you just assumed was bundling, or worse even--and you don't have the courtesy to ask how I am?"
Freni looked me quickly up and down. "Except for that scratch on your cheek, and a few twigs on your coat, you look fine,
Magdalena."
"Fine? My heart's pounding, my knees are shaking, I look like I've been wrestling with a porcupine, and you say 'fine'?" I clambered angrily out of the bush.
"So maybe you don't look fine after all," said Freni. "You do look, and sound, a little bit crabby. Now, can I have my job back, or what?"
Getting shot at by a stranger, and then being falsely accused of lust in the laurels, could make anyone a little bit crabby.
But Freni has a way of needling under my skin that not even Susannah can come close to duplicating. There are times when Freni
Hostetler and a bad case of chiggers have everything in common. So irritated was I that I forgot I had been on my way to hire
Freni back.
"No, you cannot have your job back," I said angrily. "Not until you apologize for your disgusting accusations, not to mention your lack of general concern."
Mose turned wisely away and headed back down the path.
"In that case, I quit," said Freni.
"You can't quit!" I screamed. "You haven't been rehired, so you can't quit."
"And not only do I quit," hissed Freni, "but I refuse to come back to work until you apologize for having fired me in the first place!"
"I didn't fire you, Freni. You quit, remember? Or is your memory on its way out too?"
"Your mama would turn over in her grave if she could hear how you speak to me!"
Poor Mama seemed to get more exercise dead than she ever did alive. "Leave Mama out of this," I cried. And then I yielded to temptation. I sank as low as I've ever sunk and will probably ever sink again. "Go back home and boss your daughter- in-law Barbara around. See if you can drive her as crazy as you do me."
I whirled around before I had a chance to look at Freni's face and stomped on down the path after Mose. Mama was undoubtedly spinning like a top, but at the moment I didn't care. Anyway, she had no right to die and leave me in the first place. If
Mama hadn't gone and died under a pile of milk-soaked sneakers, Freni Hostetler wouldn't be in my face so much and my life would be that much easier. Feeling thusly cheated, I muttered one of the cuss words I've heard Susannah say and gave Mama an extra spin.
13
Just as I'd thought, Susannah hadn't got very far at all. About a mile down the road the car began to sputter and stall, and half a mile later it quit altogether. Susan- nah simply left it by the side of the road, walked home, and crawled back into bed. That's where I found her when I got back from my brush with death in the woods.
"Buyout Thorn McAn's already?" I asked pleasantly. Susannah clamped a pillow over her ears. I think Shnookums might have been somewhere inside the pillow case because I heard a faint yelp.
"Go away, Mags. Just leave me alone."
"Where's the car?"
"I didn't even make it past Speicher Creek. You knew it was out of gas, didn't you?"
"Well, I thought you'd at least make it into Hernia."
"Very funny. Now leave me alone!"
It's no fun teasing Susannah when she refuses to fight back. I settled for telling her about my near-death experience in the woods. Of course she didn't believe me. Her eyes rolled so far back in her head that she would have seen her brain, had there been one to see.
After combing the leaves out of my hair and doctoring my scratches, I cleared off the dining room table and washed all the morning's dishes. Then I went to the tool shed by the barn and got the jerry can of gasoline I keep there for the riding mower.
I am not helpless like Susannah. Maybe it's because I'm older, but Daddy taught me not only how to put gas in the car, but how to change a flat tire. In no time at all the car was purring like a kitten, and I was on my way into Hernia.
Hernia, Pennsylvania, is a nice place to live, but you wouldn't want to visit there. What I mean is, folks who live in and around Hernia are by and large fond of the place and satisfied with their lives. That Hernia lacks commercial and cultural amenities is a plus for them. Visitors, on the other hand, tend to find Hernia boring at best.
The people of Hernia have not capitalized on their Amish and Mennonite neighbors as some other communities have.
There are no gift shops selling Pennsylvania Dutch kitsch, and no model farms re-creating authentic Amish life. The PennDutch,
I'm proud to say, comes the closest to exploiting this unique heritage, and my operation is small potatoes compared to what I've seen up near Lancaster.
Of course, a lot of English live in Hernia too. Besides the First Mennonite Church on North Elm Street, there are the
Methodist and Presbyterian churches, and even a tiny little congregation of devout worshippers out toward the turnpike who call themselves the First and Only True Church of the One and Only Living God of the Tabernacle of Supreme Holiness and Healing and Keeper of the Consecrated Righteousness of the Eternal Flame of Jehovah.
Susannah and one of her boyfriends attended church there one Sunday just as a joke. They both entered the building on crutches, intending to fake dramatic recoveries during the faith-healing part of the service. Much to everyone's surprise they were healed, at least for a spell, of their penchant for practical jokes.
Four hours after they first entered the tiny cement-block building, they managed to escape with their souls and bodies still intact but their wallets violated. This is the only church I know of that accepts Visa and MasterCard in the offering plate, although it won't accept American Express. At any rate, Susannah's and Chuck's cards were accepted so often that morning, that Susannah had to scrap her plans of buying her own car, and Chuck had to take a second job working out at Miller's Feed Store.
Anyway, besides church, gas, feed, and groceries, there isn't anything in Hernia to spend your money on. Unless you're farming, the odds are Yoder's Comer Market has the comer on your pocketbook.
Samuel Nevin Yoder is my father's first cousin once removed, but I have to pay full price, just like everyone else. Sam's prices are high, I'm told by others who've shopped elsewhere, but since he has no competition, business is usually brisk. Sam's best bargains come in the summertime, when he stocks fresh produce from area farms. His most ridiculous prices, as far as I'm concerned, are for the same items he has brought in from the outside world during the winter months.
Normally I would rather eat fruits and vegetables from cans than pay the outrageous prices Sam asks for his winter produce. Apparently everyone else in Hernia feels the same, because all Sam's winter produce seems to be permanently limp and wilted. I'm sure I saw the same rubbery head of brown lettuce all season last year, and I half-expected to see it this season as well. I would have recognized it, had it showed up, because last year, after about a month of observing it, I gouged a chunk out of its base with my thumbnail.
Today, despite my principles, and my generally hard- to-open purse, I loaded up my grocery cart with Sam's produce.
After a great deal of deliberation - some of it while flat on my face in the woods - I'd come to the conclusion that I might actually hold my expenses down by unloading some of my crisp greens on Sam, in exchange for some of his limp greens. Maybe there was something to the notion that animal protein begets violence in its consumers. After all, I had never seen a violent deer, or even a violent cow, but I'd encountered plenty of snapping dogs. Since just one bite of animal-tinged pancake could turn Jeanette
Parker into a howling banshee, threatening to sue, didn't it make sound economical sense to try and placate her with rabbit food? I mean, I have never seen a bunny hopping mad, have you?
Sam seemed to think my idea was a good one. "Because you're buying so much, Magdalena, I'm going to give you a ten percent discount," he said cheerfully.
"Thanks a lot, Sam. Now I can afford that cruise to Hawaii I've been wanting."
Sam smirked. He is genetically incapable of smiling. "Say, I heard that someone took a tumble out at your place last night.
A fatal one at that. You give Alvin a call yet?"
My stomach suddenly felt like it was about to fall through me and hit the floor, and it had nothing to do with the state of
Sam's groceries or his prices. "There's a lot of big mouths in this town," I said weakly. "And anyway, it wasn't my fault, Sam. There is a banister she could have hung on to."
Sam smirked again. "Heard some other things too."
"Like what?"
"Like, for instance, Congressman Ream is staying out at your place."
"You've got good ears, Sam. What else have you heard?"
"Nothing much. Just that a bunch of hippy protesters are there as well. Sounds like you have a potential situation on your hands."
"Sam, hippies went out with the sixties. These are just a bunch of concerned citizens." I dug deep into my wallet to find enough cash. It always bothers me to have to do so. I'm always afraid I might somehow hurt the poor thing. Lord knows, I'd gag if someone stuck their fingers that far down my throat.
"Of course you know that the Congressman comes up for reelection next year, and that he's already none too popular in these parts."
"Frankly, I hadn't thought much about it. So?" Sam shrugged. "So maybe nothing. Or, maybe tangling with the protesters is a calculated move on his part."
I wrenched the last buck from my wallet. "Why on earth would he want to do that?"
He shrugged again. "Who knows why the English do anything?"
