Tea with Jam and Dread

by Tamar Myers

  Lady Aubrey’s smile showed a measure of relief. ‘My, what picturesque speech. Mister – uh—’

  ‘Call me Rudy, Your Highness.’

  ‘Well, that’s just it,’ Lady Aubrey said. ‘I’m not Your Highness; I’m not a Royal.’

  ‘Hmm. You certainly could have fooled me. I can see those teensy veins in your wrist and they look mighty blue to me.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Lady Aubrey said, her eyes twinkling.

  ‘Blue blood, get it?’

  ‘Oh, give me a break,’ I moaned. ‘Who is kidding who? Aubrey, he is not going to switch teams just because you’re making goo-goo eyes at him. And Rudy, you know what they say about—’

  ‘That’s quite enough,’ Lady Aubrey said. ‘I will not have you besmirching an entire race with those vicious rumours, which I believe were started by the French – or maybe even by the Italians. We English women most certainly do not lie comatose during the act of reproduction! Au contraire! Once during the throes of heated passion, I unclenched a fist. Why, it is possible that I might even have moved my foot a few centimetres. At any rate, I am quite confident that the earl was fully aware that I was awake throughout the entire ordeal.’

  ‘TMI!’ I cried. ‘Too much information.’ I swallowed. ‘Were both fists clenched in the beginning? Just asking.’

  ‘I think that I’m going to be sick,’ Rudy said. ‘If you’re not going to spill the beans then I will have to ask you to leave.’

  ‘Beans?’ Lady Aubrey said.

  ‘Secret,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, well, it’s like this. We really did have twin sons, and their names really were Rupert and Sebastian. Then a year ago today – to be exact – Rupert was killed in a polo accident. His horse stumbled just as a player on the opposing team was in full swing. That mallet connected with my dear Rupert’s jaw and virtually’ – she paused to let a trio of tears trickle down her right cheek – ‘tore his head off. It was a double tragedy for our family, you see, for the other player was his brother, Sebastian.’

  I was gobsmacked. I should have been gag-smacked, however, because I just couldn’t keep my big trap shut.

  ‘Something’s rotten in the country of Denmark,’ I said.

  ‘State of Denmark,’ Aubrey said.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I said.

  ‘You said country, but the word is state. That comes from Hamlet, Act One, Scene Four. The line is spoken by Marcellus just after they’ve seen the ghost.’

  ‘You’re in shock,’ I said. Perhaps in a more perfect world Aubrey and I would be Italian. I could throw my arms around her with ease and she would graciously accept my comfort and succour. But given that my people are even more reserved than hers, I would be like a tree falling in a forest – but against another tree. In this case there would be Rudy to witness the sound we would make, if any. The odds were that we would both crash to the floor without making a peep.

  ‘I-am-per-fect-ly-fine-Mag-da-len-a.’ Aubrey carefully enunciated each syllable and spit them out like ice cubes from a dispenser.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Shut up, Magdalena,’ Rudy said, ‘and let the poor woman finish her terrible, agonizing tale.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, it’s a tale,’ I muttered. ‘Why else would the earl and his other two children still be out there searching for a body?’

  ‘I heard that,’ Aubrey said as she wiped away a crocodile tear. ‘You make a good point. But you see, they do it to humour me. Until now – until this very hour – I have refused to face up to the fact that my beloved Rupert is dead. Dead! Dead! Dead!’

  At that the Countess of Grimsley-Snodgrass, Mistress of Gloomsburythorpe, Former Friend of Magdalena, aka just plain Aubrey, cast herself into the bulging biceps of one Rudy Swinefister, who just happened to be Hernia’s most liberated gay man. As I didn’t have an exclusive claim on either of these two individuals, it should not have affected me one way or another that Aubrey should seek solace in Rudy’s arms as opposed to mine. The truth is that it did matter to me. I don’t mean to belittle these two human beings but it was rather like having a friend’s new pet prefer one’s husband over oneself.

  ‘There, there,’ said Rudy. Frankly, it is just about the lamest phrase one can say when words of comfort are needed, yet we Americans use it all the time. I fully expected the countess, since she was a foreigner, to ask: ‘Where?’ Instead, Aubrey did calm down, and considerably so.

  ‘The earl, Sebastian – even young Celia – have all been ever so supportive of my fragile mental state. This trip to America, for instance; it was my son Sebastian who thought of this as a distraction for me, yet it was he who lost his identical twin brother. Can either of you even begin to imagine that?’

  ‘No, I most certainly can’t,’ said Rudy graciously.

  ‘Uh,’ I said, just for the sake of answering.

  Fortunately, Aubrey was too focused on Rudy to hear. ‘Identical twins are two halves of the same person,’ she said. ‘We sent the boys to different boarding schools so that they would develop a modicum of independence, but one would always ring the other if they had a head cold, scored at rugby, went into town – that sort of thing. They were psychically connected, you see. Always were, ever since they wore nappies. To be honest, I never could tell them apart, so I had nanny dress Rupert only in blue and Sebastian only in green. Later, when they outgrew nanny, they switched clothes and all bets were off.’ She paused to squeeze out a second tear. ‘Yes, we had ever so many laughs when the twinsies played “dress-up,” as they called it.’

  ‘How positively droll,’ Rudy said.

  ‘Oh, please,’ I muttered. Tell me, what Old Order Mennonite man (even a gay fugitive from that faith), not only has the word ‘droll’ in his lexicon but is ready to trot it out at the drop of a tear?

  ‘What was that?’ Rudy said. ‘Magdalena, I fear that you’re being frightfully unkind.’

  ‘Frightfully, dear?’ I said. ‘Rudy, you’re not Oscar Wilde, you know. You might be gay and an Anglophile, but you are not English and you never will be. You can’t ever be. British, yes, but English, never.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Rudy said. ‘Well, hmm. More’s the pity, rally.’

  ‘Stop it, Rudy, and open your eyes. Aubrey’s supportive, grieving family has every member of Beechy Grove Mennonite Church trampling through your wheat field looking for a bogus body, and she finds their behaviour admirable.’

  Upon hearing my accusation, Aubrey extricated herself from Rudy’s carnal embrace. This is not to say that the couple had been engaging in anything at all adulterous; after all, who am I, of all people, to judge? I am merely stating that constant flexing and reflexing of so many bulges of various sizes and the sight of so many throbbing veins and so much pulsating skin certainly made it hard for me not to think of anything other than those urges that should only be expressed within the confines of a marital bed. Even then, what I beheld between Rudy and Aubrey should only happen at night, with the lights off and with one, or more, of the participants blindfolded, and with at least one of them tied up, or otherwise restrained, so as to limit the amount of groping, which, as we all know, can be dangerous to one’s health.

  That said, if one is intent upon sinning, rather than committing adultery or engaging in wanton fornication, one would do well to consider an unbalanced washing machine, or a lovely deep bathtub named Big Bertha with thirty-nine jet sprays. When all is said and done, one is left with either clean clothes or a clean body.

  ‘Magdalena,’ Aubrey said, ‘I can’t take any more of your accusations; I’m going home.’

  ‘Say what? Do you mean, by yourself? And just wait a minute, by the way; it is one thing for your family to play along with you but why on earth did Celia take it to the extreme that she did? Why did she pretend that Rupert was pushed over Lover’s Leap? Didn’t that tear the fresh scar off your grief? That sounds like cruelty to me! That, for sure, was not support!’

  ‘Magdalena, Magdalena,’ Rudy said as he shook his balding head in exasper
ation. ‘Celia was undoubtedly close to her brother, Rupert, and she was trying to get back at Sebastian for killing him with his polo hammer.’

  ‘Mallet, dear,’ I said. ‘And when did you become such an expert on psychology and so familiar with the Grimsley-Snodgrass family? Have I just now awoken from a ding-dang coma?’ By the way, that was the foulest language I have ever used.

  Rudy was still shaking his head, and believe me, the Devil made me want to shake it even harder. ‘I’m not an expert on anything,’ he said, ‘although I do know something about farming. However, about Lady Aubrey and her family – all I did was listen to her, Magdalena. I didn’t judge like you did.’

  ‘Oh? You mean, like you’re doing now?’

  ‘Magdalena,’ Rudy said, ‘your slipups are showing.’

  I glanced at the hem of my skirt; my petticoat was certainly not visible. ‘What?’

  ‘That was a misfired joke,’ Rudy said. ‘I meant your mistaken assumptions – the net product of all those jumps that you make to your hasty conclusions. Your so-called exercise routine.’

  I was silent for several very, very unnaturally long minutes. If the Good Lord had wanted us to be mute he wouldn’t have given us the instruments of speech. This is a proven fact. I mean, just look at apes and monkeys. Chimpanzees – which aren’t related to us because we’re made from dirt and they’re not – screech and hoot all day, and the Good Lord didn’t even give them the entire speech package. Ditto with the so-called talking birds like parrots, ravens and magpies. How much more so then, must our Creator expect from us; we who have the power to say what is on our minds?

  ‘Oh dear,’ Aubrey said, breaking the silence. ‘Rudy, perhaps you’ve gone too far.’

  ‘Yes, Rudy, perhaps you have,’ I said. I was trying very hard not to cry. I’d brought Aubrey to Rudy’s farmhouse to be helpful, not to be reminded that I am, indeed, a capricious, judgemental woman.

  ‘Sometimes the truth hurts,’ Rudy said.

  ‘And?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing further,’ he said.

  ‘You weren’t going to add an apology?’ I said.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Why should I? I was just stating a fact.’

  ‘But Rudy, do you know all the times that I have stood up for you? I am constantly defending you – even still at church – at Yoder’s Market, Miller’s Feed Store, in the community. Aren’t you in the least bit grateful?’

  ‘I am grateful, but I don’t ask you to defend me. And I’m certainly not going to apologize to you just because your conscience is telling you to do the right thing. You speak your truth and I’ll speak my truth, and that’s how it should be.’

  I later learned that my sigh of exasperation was so intense that it could be felt a thousand miles away in St Louis, Missouri, where it stirred up a dust devil, which is something akin to a miniature tornado. This one was totally harmless. In fact, it had quite a positive effect on that community in that it caused the cancellation of an outdoor concert of sinful rock and roll. Perhaps that is just a slight exaggeration, but needless to say, I was peeved. I didn’t have a drop of English blood in me, and when my tear ducts opened there was no telling what might happen. In the worst-case scenario, the countess might have to swim her way out of the farmhouse, and at the very least, my upper lip would become soggy and fall off, like papier-mâché that has been left soaking too long.

  ‘I’m done,’ I said. ‘I quit. Out of the kindness of my shrivelled heart, I brought a foreigner here because she had an emergency and now the two of you have ganged up on me.’

  The Countess of Grimsley-Snodgrass, Lady Aubrey, smart as ever in a robin’s egg blue silk frock and a triple strand of nine-millimetre pearls, stretched her long, elegant neck to an impossible length and patted her immaculately coiffed hair. So gentle was her touch that not a strand was put out of place. And when she smiled, so evenly did her lips part that I was reminded of stage curtains being drawn open on my senior class play. Oh, to be a lady of her ilk, even for just one day, instead of being a clumsy, country bumpkin like myself.

  ‘Now then,’ Aubrey said as the smile shrank from her lips, ‘now that you’re quite done throwing your little tantrum, perhaps you’ll do me the kindness of driving me to the nearest airport.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I said.

  ‘I’m afraid there is no excuse for you, my dear; your behaviour just now was abdominal, to say the least. Nonetheless, I need a lift, since I presume that there is no taxi service this far out in the middle of nowhere.’ Her voice lilted upwards, in that peculiar fashion so favoured by the Brits and Canadians.

  I jiggled my ears with my pinkies to make sure that I had heard correctly. The need for this rather impolite but sublimely sensual activity was becoming so frequent that I was in danger of having to add ear-jiggling to my list of exercises.

  ‘Let me get this straight, toots; after speaking to me so rudely, you actually expect me to drive you to the nearest airport? Why, that would be Pittsburgh International, and it’s fifty miles away!’

  Aubrey tilted her head a wee bit, just enough so that I could get the full effect of her smirk and her partially closed eyes. ‘Of course I expect that from you. After all, you are the innkeeper, are you not?’

  I shut my eyes completely, as a proper Christian should when they pray. ‘Oh, Lord,’ I said, ‘guard my tongue from speaking evil, for indeed I find these foreigners most taxing.’ I opened my peepers. ‘Ha, I just made a pun. Taxing! Get it? You need a taxi, and—’

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Rudy, ‘how about if I drive the gentlewoman?’

  ‘The what?’ I said.

  Rudy placed his hands on his hips, which is something he never would have done as a practicing Mennonite, seeing as how we view it as a prideful stance. He even dared to look at me, iris to iris.

  ‘It means a woman of noble birth,’ he said.

  ‘How do you know she’s of noble birth?’ I said. ‘You’ve only just met her. For all you know, her mother was a lap dancer who has never been to Lapland.’

  ‘Rudy’s quite right,’ Aubrey said smugly. ‘My father was the Duke of Bigoldtoadingham.’

  ‘So what? I used to keep tadpoles in a jar.’ That’s when I hung my oversized, horsey head in shame. I had truly been acting abominably. I had been giving tit for tat, which is truly ironic, given that the Good Lord had not seen fit to bless me with the former, and I have never had the patience to learn the delicate art of tatting.

  ‘I see by your posture that you’re ashamed of your behaviour,’ Rudy said.

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed.

  ‘And you haven’t been humble like your faith requires of you,’ Rudy said.

  ‘Quite so,’ I said softly.

  ‘Nor have you been placing your oversize feet in the footprints of our Lord,’ Rudy said. He turned to Aubrey. ‘In other words, she hasn’t been doing what Jesus would do.’

  ‘He’s right,’ I whispered.

  ‘You certainly haven’t been turning the other cheek,’ Rudy said as he absentmindedly scratched his left buttock.

  ‘I’m no saint!’ I roared.

  ‘Clearly,’ Her Ladyship said, exhibiting unconscionable temerity.

  ‘Give me your car keys,’ Rudy said, ‘and we’re off.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I said. Believe it or not, I’d actually taken it down a notch.

  ‘If we don’t leave now,’ Rudy said, ‘given your infamous temper, you might start throwing things. I may not be rich like you, Magdalena, but that framed needlepoint on the wall was done by my Grandmother, Rubella Swinefister, and it is very precious to me.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I remember her; she was your German grandmother, the one who died from measles. Rudy, you are not taking my car.’

  ‘Don’t start in again, Magdalena. I have to use your car; mine is in the shop being repaired.’

  ‘Well, then, how am I supposed to go anywhere?’

  ‘I’ll drop you off at the inn; it’s right on our way to the Pennsylvania Turnpike.’
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  ‘I thought we were going to Pittsburgh and the airport,’ Aubrey said.

  ‘You have to take the Pennsylvania Turnpike,’ I said, ‘or haven’t you even bothered to open a map of Pennsylvania? I certainly would have opened a map of the UK by now if I’d visited your country.’

  ‘Tut, tut,’ said Rudy, ‘mind your Mennonite manners.’

  ‘Manners bannaners,’ I growled, having never been much good at rhyming. ‘Rudy, I don’t wish to return to the inn. I want to get back to that crazy bunch over yonder.’ I flapped my arms at the window. On the side of it Lover’s Leap loomed as a backdrop to his cornfields.

  ‘Then take Constance, my tractor,’ he said. ‘You do know how to drive a tractor, don’t you?’

  ‘What do you think? I’m a farm girl, born and raised. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that I’d been conceived on a tractor, were it not for the fact that every woman in my family, since the time of Eve, has died a virgin.’

  Rudy laughed, which pleased me immensely. ‘Well played,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I think that Magdalena’s common,’ Aubrey said. ‘I would never permit such vulgar talk around my table at Gloom-and-doom-let’s-not-bury-the-hatchet-glop-shire.’ By now I’d become a bit of an expert on deciphering the English habit of shortening their place names so that they don’t bear any resemblance to their spelling, and I was quite pleased that I was able to reconstruct the aforementioned estate name from just Gmbshr. Although, frankly, since it wasn’t quite the same word that the earl had scrawled in my guest register, perhaps at least one of my antennae should have been tingling with suspicion. But to quote Christopher Robin, I am ‘a bear of very little brain.’

  ‘Magdalena’s a queer duck,’ Rudy said, ‘but she’s really all right. You just need to get to know her as well as I do.’ He dug into the pocket of his sinfully tight jeans and yanked out a pair of keys.