by Tamar Myers
“I’m not going to argue with your bad theology, Magdalena. Nor am I going to recommend that you see a much-needed psychiatrist. I just want to know, how on earth do you plan to convert that hunky doctor by pushing him away? I hope you realize that if he burns in Hell, it’s going to be your fault.”
“Why I—I—I—”
“You seem to be stuck, Magdalena. Pat that buxom chest of yours, and knock some new words loose.”
I rehearsed silently until I was able to spit out what was on my mind. “Who are you, a murderer, to be giving me spiritual advice?”
Her laugh had an avian shrillness about it. “God works in mysterious ways. Now, enough about you. I want to know how long it took for Veronica to sing like a canary.”
“Oh, she ratted you out immediately.” Of course it was a lie, but I was fighting for my life, not to mention Gabe’s salvation.
“That really ticks me off! It was her idea to begin with. We were taking an organic gardening class together, and when she found out who I was, she kept suggesting things for us to do together. And all the while she’s asking me how I really felt about Cornelius, and did I know that his heart was barely functioning, and that if he married Priscilla, then all his money would go to her.”
“So? How did you really feel about Cornelius?”
“Well, I hated him, of course. He should’ve stayed with me; I would have loved him like no other woman could. I hated Priscilla too. That’s what Veronica kept harping on—what a selfish, conniving witch Priscilla was. A total user. According to Veronica, that schemer with the fake body parts would have killed him anyway, sooner rather than later, by having too much sex. Someone other than her may as well benefit from Cornelius’s millions.”
“I don’t understand. Why did Veronica have to involve you? She was only giving him Elavil. That hardly requires a team effort.”
“Ha! That woman couldn’t pour water out of a boot, if the instructions were written on the heel. As much dope as she smokes, she may as well have a head of cauliflower between her ears. Take what just happened, for example. There I am, all settled down in my comfy recliner, watching my favorite TV show—you really should watch TV, Magdalena—when Veronica calls me to say she has you shackled to her fridge, and can I come over to babysit you while she runs into Bedford to buy rope and dynamite. It’s a good thing I spotted you walking along the highway; otherwise Veronica would have been busted, and I’d have to kiss my share of the money good-bye.”
“Boo-hoo.”
“I’ll ignore that, Magdalena, but only because I’m so pissed at Veronica, I can hardly see straight. I swear, I’ve had to think of everything. I’m the one who thought of Elavil and wrangled a prescription. All she had to do was give it to him.”
“Why, that liar!”
“I’ll say. We made a blood pact not to rat each other out.”
“Did you, dear?”
“Are you mocking me now?”
“Moi? Au contraire. Mais vous êtes une femme folle avec un visage que seulement une langoustine pourrait aimer.”
“What are you babbling about now?”
“I was saying how lovely you look in that color. Puke green was always rather flattering on you.”
Thelma Unruh gasped in indignation.
We were crossing Main Street at Hopkins, and the speedometer was only flirting with twenty. We were also just a block from the police station, and hopefully young Chris Ackerman. It was now or never.
I took a deep breath of my own. “Look out for that dog!”
The rest, as we say, is Hernia history. Thelma swerved and completely lost control of her car, but not before I’d thrown myself onto the pavement. That’s the day the lights went out in Magdalena—but for only a few seconds. When I came to I saw the rear end of Thelma’s car protruding from what remained of Hernia’s police department. Cute Chris Ackerman was in the building at the time but managed to throw himself out of harm’s way. Thelma, on the other hand, was knocked out cold for hours.
I must have looked a sight, covered as I was with bruises and bandages. Ida certainly noticed.
“Nu, vhat happen to you? You fall off your high horse?”
“Yes, and it was quite a fall. All the king’s horses, and all the king’s men—well, what can I say? It was fun having them put me together again.”
“So now she’s a shlut!”
It wasn’t easy, but I overcame my urge to tell her to shlut up. “Is Gabriel here, please?” I asked pleasantly.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Vhat do you vant mit my son?”
“To marry him, and to give him all the foster children his heart desires. I would offer to bear the fruit of his loins, but I’m afraid my orchard has never produced a crop, and alas, it probably never will.”
“Den he is not here.”
“Ma!”
The world’s handsomest man gently pushed the world’s most undesirable future mother-in-law aside. If possible, his face was made even more handsome by the concern in his eyes.
“Magdalena, I heard. How are you feeling?”
“Like I threw myself from a moving car and landed on asphalt—wait a minute, that’s what did happen.”
“Oy, a smart mouth.”
“Ma!”
“Let her talk, Gabe. I know you probably hate my guts at the moment, but my plan is to win you back, and love you every day for the rest of my life. I even plan to tolerate the pipsqueak.”
“Gvalt! I tink I am having a heart attack.”
“This is the place to have it, dear. Your son is, after all, a heart specialist.” I looked past her. “Look, Gabe, I know I treated you awful, and it must have felt like I was terribly condescending. I was wrong about so many things, especially about us not being able to make it.”
“Like a camel wit a sheep, yah?” Ida waggled a stubby finger in my face. “Not an equal yoke, you say. Vell, Miss Yoder, the yoke is on you.”
“Shut up, Ma—please.”
“Vhat did you say?”
“Ma, this isn’t your business. Either you shut up, or you leave.”
I thought Ida would faint. In fact, I am ashamed to say that I was hoping she would, and that Gabe would refrain from catching her. Instead, she merely sputtered like a campfire under a slow drizzle, and when she was out of steam, she fled from the foyer in utter frustration. She didn’t even leave any s’mores behind.
“Gabe, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” he said, and pressed his mouth so hard against mine, it would have been useless to even attempt to protest.
The wheels of justice hereabouts turn so slowly that many of them are dust covered, but Veronica Weaver was eventually convicted of first-degree murder and permanently confined to a Pennsylvania penitentiary. I heard just last week that she won their Martha Stewart Award for growing prize-winning organic vegetables in the exercise yard.
Thelma had a better lawyer and received forty years, instead of life. However, due to prison overcrowding, she is spending the next four decades in a Maryland prison. The good news is that, while she was unconscious, Thelma saw the Light. Unfortunately (but this is only hearsay) sturdy Christian underwear is unavailable for Maryland inmates. The poor dear was quoted in Christian Convicts magazine as saying, “Having to wear heathen undergarments is tantamount to a double sentence.”
We were married on May twenty-seventh, high atop Stucky Ridge. It was a Jewish-style wedding, presided over by the rabbi from Pittsburgh, but the bride was definitely still very much a Christian. The way I figured it, if it was good enough for Mary and Joseph, it was good enough for me.
Jewish weddings, I learned, are truly family affairs. Traditionally the bride’s family delivers her en masse, if you’ll pardon the pun, to the groom, who waits beneath the chuppah. The chuppah is a cloth raised aloft as a canopy, and symbolizes the marriage bed. The one we used was a prayer shawl that had belonged to Gabe’s father, and that his mother had saved specifically for her son’s wedding—just not his wedding to me. Chri
s Ackerman held one of the corners, my cousin Sam another, and Gabe’s nephews, Benjamin and Jerry, the other two.
Since this was only a Jewish-style wedding, certain liberties were taken. Standing in for my parents were Doc Shafor and Freni Hostetler. Susannah was my maid of honor, and a very proud and happy Alison was a bridesmaid. My half sister, Zelda, also served as a bridesmaid. Gabe’s cousin Mordechai, a Long Island mortician, was his best man.
Although we had no flower girl, we did have a secret ring-bearer. In order to make it up to Susannah, for having called her pedigreed pooch names on several occasions, I agreed to let her carry him in his usual hiding place. The ring was securely fastened to his collar; not a dog collar, but that of a miniature tuxedo.
To my knowledge, the entire town was there—well, with the exception of half of Beechy Grove Mennonite Church, but that’s a tale for another day. More than making up for their loss were Faya and Ibrahim Rashid, as well as the recently arrived Conner and Patty McBain and their seven children. They, by the way, are our very first Roman Catholics—although you can’t tell that just by looking at them. Who knew? I’m sure that Ron, our lone Episcopalian, would have come, had he not been viciously murdered the year before. Even the Mishler brothers showed up, in a rare moment of decency. And of course Agnes was there; she played wedding music for us on a keyboard.
Curious townsfolk pressed close throughout the ceremony, and when, at the end, Gabe crushed the glass with one stomp, a loud cheer went up. By far the loudest voice belonged to Freni.
“Mazel tov!”
40
Mango Lassi
Ingredients
1¼ cups yogurt (plain)
4 tablespoons sugar
1/3 cup cold water
½ teaspoon lemon juice
½ cup mango puree
½ cup ice cubes
Yield: 4 servings
Preparation
Blend everything, except ice cubes, till sugar has dissolved. Add ice cubes and blend till frothy. Garnish with mint leaves.
Notes
Lassi is a yogurt drink indigenous to Punjab. It can be made salty or sweet or fruity.
Variations of lassi can exist with the addition or elimination of ingredients. For example:
Salty Lassi: 2 cups plain yogurt, 1 cup cold milk or cold water, ½–1 teaspoon salt (to taste), 1 teaspoon cumin seeds, squeeze of half lemon, handful ice cubes. Blend.
Sweet Lassi: 2 cups plain yogurt, 1 cup cold milk or cold water, 2 tablespoons (or to taste) sugar, handful ice cubes. Blend.
Fruit Lassi: 2 cups plain yogurt, 1 cup cold milk or cold water, 1 cup ripe diced pineapple, 2 tablespoons sugar, handful ice cubes. Blend.
Substitute any fruit or ingredient in the amount you like. Let your imagination guide you.
Enjoy!!