by Tamar Myers
“Don’t you swear in front of me!”
“Ha! What are you going to do about it?”
I struggled stupidly against the cuffs. “Well, maybe I can’t do anything, but God can.”
“Ha, that’s a laugh.”
I gave her the evil eye on the Lord’s behalf. “I’d be careful, dear, if I were you. Back in seventh grade Mabel Bontrager took His name in vain and—ach!” I could see what should have been my reflection in the driver’s side window. But instead of my comely visage staring back at me, I beheld the horrified face of an Amish woman. An Amish woman with a long horse face and a nose that had its own zip code.
Twenty-nine
I stared at the apparition in the window.
The evil nurse chortled. “Oh, so you’re just now noticing? I’ve got you all done up to look like an Amish woman. Bet your friends wouldn’t recognize you now.”
My arms felt like rubber, but with a great deal of effort—during which Nurse Hemingway had a good laugh—I managed to pull down the passenger side mirror. Someone’s black travel bonnet had been clamped over my own white prayer cup. I looked down at my dress. Why hadn’t I noticed? I was wearing a dark blue dress with wrist-length sleeves, and over that a black pinafore. But where were my own clothes? And Little Freni?
I reared back, craned my neck, and peered into the neckline of the Amish dress. Fortunately, the previous wearer had possessed a far fuller bust, and the neckline of the frock gaped. You can imagine my relief when I not only espied my own dress under the Amish garb, but the fuzzy head of my sleeping pussy.
“Whew!” I was stupid enough to say it aloud.
Nurse Hemingway laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not into women. I didn’t undress you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Fortunately for you, Mrs. Hostetler is a bigger woman. And she was pregnant, of course. Her clothes slipped right over yours.”
I snapped the mirror flap closed. “I don’t know what your game is, toots, but it isn’t going to work.”
“Well, it’s working fine at the moment, and that’s all that counts. I lived in that hellhole Hernia long enough to learn a few things about the Amish.” She pronounced it Aye-mish, a fact that grated on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “And one of the things—”
“Oh, is that a fact, because—”
She rudely cut me off midsentence. “I’ve learned that although Amish are forbidden to own and drive cars, they may ride in cars owned and operated by we lowly English. So, you see, Magdalena Portulaca Yoder, if anyone noticed us leaving town, they certainly didn’t see you sitting beside me. And when I’ve moved your meddling butt far enough so that you wouldn’t be recognized, even without any clothes, it’s curtain time.”
“Move me across the state line and it’s kidnapping,” I wailed, and then remembered my stolen niece. “Where’s the baby? Where’s Barbara and Jonathan’s little girl.”
“That’s for me to know, and for you to never find out.”
My heart dropped into my stomach and bounced several times. “She’s not—I mean, you didn’t—you couldn’t have!”
“There you go being ridiculous again. Like I said, she’s worth a cool sixty grand, and I’ve got a customer all lined up. No, that little sweetie is on her way right now to a pair of loving arms.”
“Just one pair? She had two pairs of loving arms right where she was. Dozens more, if you include extended family. You won’t get away with this, you know. Sooner or later you’re going to get caught, and then either you’ll fry like a flank steak, or you’ll end up in jail, for life, with a boyfriend named Jill. And seeing as how you’re so stupid, I say it’s going to be sooner rather than later.”
“Shut up.”
Breezewood zipped by in a streak of lights. The mountains pressed in again, the landscape now just shades of darkness. A few pinpricks of light marked the hamlet of Burnt Cabins, and then we plunged into total darkness.
“The Tuscarora Tunnel,” I said. “One of the longest in America.”
She said nothing.
“Say, what do you call five blondes standing in a row? You give up? A wind tunnel!”
“Shut up!” This time there were a few additional words that I can’t repeat, and the sound of the back of her hand striking my cheek. There was also the taste of blood in my mouth from where I bit my tongue. This time literally.
Yes, I can be foolish at times—sometimes even downright stupid, but I’m not completely untrainable. I swallowed my blood and kept my big mouth shut. Meanwhile, I prayed for deliverance.
Believe it or not, prayer calmed me, and I was half dozing when I felt us veer off the highway. I jerked awake. My heart, which had resumed its rightful place in my chest, was now pounding at a million beats per minute.
I can’t adequately describe my relief when I saw that we had pulled into a service area of the turnpike system. I know that my sigh was heard in Hernia— Gabe later confirmed it—and I may have lost some bladder control. But just a little. At any rate, that somewhat homely building with its neon signs advertising food and gas looked as good as anything the Pearly Gates might have to offer.
“Thank you, Jesus.”
“You can thank Him in person later,” Nurse Hemingway said with a cackle. “This is just a pit stop. For me, not you. Try anything—anything—and that baby ends up in a Hoboken Dumpster.”
I gasped. “You wouldn’t do that! She’s worth a lot of money to you. You said that yourself.”
“Just try me and see.” She ripped the key from the ignition, slammed the door behind her, and took off at a run.
“Well, when you gotta go, you gotta go,” I said to Little Femi. Already I’d learned the biggest blessing any pet bestows on its owner: the right to talk with impunity when no one else is around. A conversation between myself and a mirror might be grounds for committal, but prattling to my pussy merely made me eccentric.
Please understand the dilemma I was in. I mean, there was nothing to stop me from getting out of the car and making a run for it, except my concern for a baby that I had never seen, and who may, or may not, have been alive at that moment. I honestly believe I would have remained in the car, awaiting my certain death, had not the most remarkable thing happened. Truly, it was a miracle.
Hardly a minute had passed since Nurse Hemingway’s bleached tresses disappeared into the service center, when I saw a couple exit from the building and head in my general direction. This, I knew, was no coincidence, but an out-and-out answer to my fervent prayers. The Good Lord has sent someone to save me! Perhaps they were angels—their faces were in silhouette, but already I could tell that they were more attractive than Dr. Bauer. And vaguely familiar. I leaned forward, peering intently through the windshield that was fast fogging up.
“What a beautiful night,” the female angel said, and I recognized her voice.
“Thank you, Lord!” This time I shouted. “Thank you for answering my prayers!”
Then, without waiting for a “you’re welcome,” I finagled the door open and lunged outside. Then I plunged, right to the pavement.
I have never been drunk, not even so-called tipsy, but I have had the flu upon occasion, and once I had a middle ear infection. Therefore, I am familiar with the phenomenon of rubbery legs and no sense of balance, but nothing like this had ever happened. I literally kissed the ground. However, I managed to take the brunt of the fall on my right shoulder, and thus spared the life of my child. Little Freni barely stirred.
The Redigers, bless their heavenly Mennonite hearts, ran to my rescue. “Miss Yoder, is that you? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine as frog’s hair,” I rasped, spitting out granules of weathered pavement.
Donald helped me to my feet. “You’re wearing handcuffs!”
“What?” Gloria took a closer look. Her eyes widened, and I knew what she was thinking.
“It has nothing to do with sex!” I wailed. “I’ve been kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped?” they echoed.
<
br /> “This bleached blond bimbo babynapper, who also happens to be a nurse, nabbed me in the nursery.” They shook their heads in confusion.
“I can explain everything, but there isn’t time now. Listen, you’ve got to help me.”
Donald still had a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Of course. We’ll get you inside. There are phones in there. We can call the police.”
“No!” I twisted painfully to get the service building door in my line of vision. “She’s sadistic! She’s threatened to kill Freni’s granddaughter if I cause any trouble. What I need you to do is to write down the license plate number of this car and call the police. Tell them there’s—oh, my gosh!”
Gloria grabbed one of my shackled arms. “What is it?”
“It’s Dr. Bauer! Her evil accomplice.”
“Quick,” Donald said. “Our car is this way, we’ll think of something.”
“But I can’t leave! And if he sees—”
“Too late. He’s headed right this way.”
“Oh, Lord,” I wailed, “what am I going to do?” That wasn’t just an expression mind you. I was praying again.
Gloria tugged on my arm. She seemed almost as panicked as I. “You won’t be of any help to the baby at all if you’re dead—if we’re all dead!”
It was perhaps unforgivable on my part, but I fled with the Redigers. Since Dr. Bauer had seen me talking to others, the ax had already fallen. The only hope the Hostetler baby had at all was if I survived to tell the police and the F.B.I. everything. You understand, don’t you? I mean, at least there was a chance to save the child if I spilled my guts to the authorities. If I spilled my guts on the pavement—well, then, no one benefited.
The Redigers were parked only three spaces away, but we barely made it. Dr. Bauer was running toward us like a crazed gnome and shooting! Shooting! Right there in the middle of a service-area parking lot. Bullets were zinging past our ears and ricocheting off the pavement and surrounding cars like out-of-control fireworks. Think of it as the Fourth of July, but without the Roman candles.
Thank heavens the dinky doc was such a lousy shot. All three of us managed to get into the Redigers’ car without being hit. Their car wasn’t hit either, or if it was, no serious damage had been done. It started immediately, and by the way Donald drove, you would never guess he had even as much as a drop of Mennonite blood. I don’t know how many Gs the car was capable of doing, but it produced at least one.
“Geeeeeee!” I said as we careered out of the lot on two wheels, going the wrong way, and then jumped the median while simultaneously making a U-turn, much like those teenage boys I’d see on skateboards in Bedford.
Once on the turnpike, however, he melded smoothly into the traffic and drove at the prevailing speed. Both Donald and Gloria seemed remarkably calm, almost as if nothing had happened. No doubt they were folk of greater faith than I. Those Indiana Mennonites have always seemed to me to be a stronger strain than we here in the east. No doubt it’s those prairie winds that toughen them up.
“It’s best not to draw attention to ourselves,” Gloria said. “We could be pulled over by a state trooper and ticketed.”
“Yes, but isn’t that what we want?”
She turned in the front seat to face me, and in the light of a passing car I could see that she was wearing lipstick. Lipstick! And not just a pale pink either, but harlot red. How had I missed that before? Maybe those Hoosier Mennonites were emotionally strong, but at least one of them was spiritually challenged.
“I don’t think we should be putting our faith in the world, do you?” she asked.
"What?”
“Perhaps that wicked little man already called the police and fed them some lies. If no one believes us, and we end up in jail, how is that going to help that sweet little baby? No, I think we should keep driving until we can take refuge with some people I know we can trust.”
“Like who? Oprah Winfrey?” I’ve never seen her on TV, but she’s stayed twice at my inn. I’d trust that woman with my life, wouldn’t you?
Donald laughed. “Gloria has a cousin up the road.” “How far up the road?”
“Just a little ways,” she said. “Maybe half an hour. You’ll be all right until then, won’t you?”
I grunted. “I hope your cousin is a locksmith. These handcuffs are starting to chafe.”
“Maybe if you just close your eyes and try to relax,” Donald said. He had a soothing voice, and would have made a good radio announcer.
Frankly, a little shut-eye might do me good. The gunfire in the parking lot had sent my adrenaline soaring. Without that surge, I very much doubt if I would have been able to reach the Redigers’ car, even with their assistance. But now, safely in the backseat of their car, I felt the adrenaline drain from me like water from an unplugged bath. I leaned back against the seat. It was soft, cool leather.
Why not just stretch across the backseat and take a little nap? I was safe now, in the capable, if somewhat naive hands of the Indiana Mennonites. Perhaps sleep would do me some good—at least it would take my mind off the handcuffs. Yes, sleep, my body screamed. Sleep, sleep!
I often fight my body’s urges, but this one did not involve breaking any of the Ten Commandants, or even the so-called Seven Deadly Sins. After all, it was dark out, and thus quite permissible to sleep. Cautioning myself not to enjoy the experience too much, I closed my eyes and allowed myself the luxury of sliding sideways along the soft leather seat. My right cheek came to rest on the buttery cushion, but it wasn’t as comfortable as I’d imagined.
“What on earth?” I opened my eyes and sat up.
There, lying on the seat, was a binky. You know, a baby’s pacifier. I picked it up with shackled hands.
“Anything wrong?” Donald asked.
“I didn’t know you had a baby.”
“We don’t.”
“Well, somebody does, because here’s a pacifier.”
“It’s a rental car,” Gloria said. “That must have belonged to the previous user.”
“Yeah, probably.” But in the light of an encroaching automobile I saw a package of disposable diapers. It had been shoved halfway under Gloria’s seat. For a few seconds I was even able to read the print. Newborns to three months. “Which company did you rent this from, because—”
I heard the click of the safety being released before I saw the gun. I’m no expert, but the pistol Gloria was holding looked remarkably similar to the one belonging to Nurse Hemingway.
Thirty
Great Granny Yoder’s Toad Stroganoff
(Heart-smart and ahead of its day)
1 pound ground turkey
1 cup chopped onion
1 cup sliced fresh mushrooms
8 ounces linguine
1 can diced tomatoes
Brown and crumble meat in large fry pan. Add onion, mushrooms, and tomatoes and cook over slow-to- medium heat. Cook linguine according to package directions to al dente. Add to other ingredients and simmer until heated through.
Serve with green salad and crusty rolls.
Serves four normal people, or one Yoder.
Thirty-one
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Gloria snarled. “And now it’s going to kill you.”
I was stunned. It’s one thing for a Mennonite to slip a little and paint her lips, but this was almost beyond comprehension.
“This is a joke, right?”
“Shut up.”
“What? Donald, dear, tell your wife this isn’t funny.”
“You’re damn right,” Donald said. “It isn’t funny. Now shut up like she says.”
Telling a living, breathing Yoder to shut up is like telling the Mississippi to flow backward. In the words of Susannah, “It ain’t gonna happen.”
“You guys aren’t Mennonites, are you?” I asked, as the possibilities began sorting themselves out.
“We never said we were.”
“But you are both so clean-cut—well, Donald, you are at any rate. Your wife use
d to be, until she dolled herself up to look like the whore of Babylon. I thought sure you were Mennonites.”
The gun wavered. With all due respect to my home state, the Pennsylvania Turnpike has more than its fair share of potholes.
“Well, you thought wrong,” Gloria snapped. “Now shut up.”
“Certainly, dear.” I managed to keep my lips zipped for several seconds. “Wait, a minute. You guys aren’t part of that babynapping ring—oh, my gosh, you are, aren’t you?”
The scarlet lips parted and pursed. “Bingo.”
“But you helped save me from that dinky doc and that ditzy blonde.”
“That ditzy blonde,” Gloria growled, “is me.”
“Give me a break, dear. That was a bottle job, if I’ve ever seen one. Her roots were dark as sin. Your hair, on the other hand, is a rather attractive shade of brown. A little bit darker than mine maybe, but nice all the same.”
Gloria’s free hand reached up and whipped off a wig. I gasped. “Get out of town!”
“Do you know how hard it is to find a wig with braids? Damn things’s hot,” she grunted and tossed it over her shoulder. It landed on the seat beside me, looking for all the world like a tailless muskrat.
“It is you!”
Gloria laughed maniacally. “You didn’t really think I was a dumb Mennonite, did you?”
I figured I was already on that train—so to speak— bound for Glory, so what did I have to lose? One may as well die talking.
“Yes, I did think you were a Mennonite, but then again, I’m famous for jumping to conclusions. I often trip myself up that way. Speaking of tripping, did you hear about the blonde who tripped over her cordless phone?”
“Huh?”
“It’s supposed to be a joke,” Donald said. I could see only one corner of his mouth in the rearview mirror. He was definitely grinning.
“That same blonde studied for a blood test,” I said, “and failed.”
She thrust her gun hand closer to me. “Oh, I get it, these are blonde jokes.”