Between a Wok and a Hard Place (5 page)

her arm, little Lizzie had overcome five hundred years of breeding and gone where no Amish had dared go before.

"Ach, Magdalena! I'm so sorry! Lizzie - "

The little girl scampered off, Mary at her heels. "Lizzie! Mary!" Annie was clucking like a hen whose chicks refused to

obey.

"I'll be all right." I limped over to the Kauffmans' unpainted porch and sat down.

Annie seemed to stare at me, but I could see that her I mind was racing. How could she possibly undo the

unspeakable? She started toward me, froze, and then a second later spun around and swooped up the half-plucked

chicken.

"A wedding present," she panted, as she thrust the fowl at me.

I blushed. Chickens, turkeys, it was only a matter of size. And this one, as chickens go, was unusually well-endowed.

"Thanks, but I didn't come here soliciting gifts. I just wanted to ask you a few questions."

She literally jabbed me with the dead bird. "Take it. It's rude to refuse a gift, and my range-fed chickens are said to be

the best in the county."

I took the chicken reluctantly, holding it by one scaly orange leg. Annie had just committed the cardinal Amish sin of

pride, and I am ashamed to admit that it pleased me.

"Thank you."

"Now, what is it you wanted to ask?" she asked, and sat down next to me.

I had rehearsed my first question all the way from home. "I - uh - well - uh . . ."

"Out with it, Magdalena. I haven't got all day. Eli will be in from the field soon, and expecting lunch on the table."

"Well, this might take some time. Perhaps I could talk to you while you work."

She shrugged. "If you insist."

"What are you making for lunch?" I asked pleasantly.

Her long plaintive sigh was worthy of a teenager in top form. "Well, we were going to eat the chicken you're holding."

It was my turn to thrust the chicken. "Here. I want something else for my wedding present. Something wrapped."

She took it without protest and immediately resumed plucking. Feathers flew everywhere.

While she worked I explained that there had been a "disturbance" in town the night before involving an Amish buggy.

Did she know of any situations - emergencies, possibly - that might have required an Amish person to drive through town

in the middle of the night? I purposely did not tell her that a young Asian woman had been killed. Play it close to the chest,

Melvin had advised, and with a figure like mine that meant smack against the sternum.

Annie shook her head vigorously. "First you become an innkeeper, Magdalena. What are you now, a policeman?"

I spit out a mouthful of feathers. "In a manner of speaking," I said too proudly for my own good.

"Who ever heard of a woman policeman," Annie sniffed. "It's not in the Bible."

"I'm not a policeman, dear. I'm a policewoman. Well, actually I'm not even that - I'm just helping out."

"Who?"

"Our local chief of police."

"Ach, a friend of Melvin Stoltzfus," she said, shaking her head.

I smiled brightly. "I seem to recall that Melvin's mother and your father were first cousins."

Her feathered hands flew to her face. "Ach, how you talk! They were second cousins."

"Blood is blood," I said.

"I see that marriage has not tamed your tongue a bit."

"Nor has it yours, dear. Please, we were getting along so nicely. I simply want to know who drove through Hernia in

the middle of the night."

She looked down at the chicken, pretending to search diligently for pin feathers she may have missed. "Why do you

want to know? Was there a disturbance?"

"You might say so," I said just as cagily.

"Are you sure it was Amish?"

"Just as sure as you are, dear."

She glanced up at me, and then away. "I keep my eyes open, Magdalena, but I don't see everything."

"Perhaps not, but how's your hearing?"

Annie mumbled something about the English and their nosiness. I prudently let that one slip on by.

I stretched out my injured leg. It no longer hurt, but I grimaced anyway. Please don't get me wrong. I am dead set

against lying, which is a sin. Feigning an injured leg, however, is not the same as lying. Birds feign injured wings all the

time, and animals, as any God-fearing person knows, are incapable of sin.

My little exhibition was wasted on Annie, who was staring off into the distance. If she was looking for the urchins, she

was wasting her time. I could hear them giggling just around the comer of the house.

I was forced to groan loudly to get Annie's attention. She whirled. "What's the matter?"

I grimaced again. "This thing's killing me. You wouldn't happen to have a pair of crutches, would you? It's a long way

back to my car."

Okay, so it was fighting dirty. But Annie was a harder nut to crack than I had anticipated. Maybe if she thought her

monstrous Lizzie had done me serious harm she might soften.

Annie blanched. "Yah, we have a pair in the barn. Homemade crutches. Eli broke his ankle this spring when he was

plowing. Are you hurt that bad?"

I had hoped for guilt, not a solution. "Well - maybe if I just sit here a while longer the pain will go away. What are you

serving with the chicken?"

Annie declined to give me the menu, and scurried off to get the crutches. As soon as she was out of earshot the

giggles got louder.

"I don't think it is very funny," I said loudly. "I could have gotten hurt by that stone."

Before the words were out of my mouth a second stone came flying at me from around the comer of the house. Had I

not been just skin and bones, I'm sure it would have hit me.

"Des macht mich bees," I said in Pennsylvania Dutch. That makes me mad.

The giggles gave way to guffaws. They may have been just kids, but that hiked my hackles. I wouldn't have dreamed

of throwing a stone at a grown-up when I was that age. If Annie wasn't going to teach them good manners, I would. I

hopped agilely off the porch just as Annie emerged from the barn.

"Why, Magdalena Yoder! You aren't really hurt are you?"

Sometimes I'm actually grateful my sister Susannah parted from our pacifist ways and became a Presbyterian. Had

she not I never would have learned such useful slogans as "offense is the best defense."

"Why, Annie Kauffman," I shouted, my hands on my hips. "You should be ashamed. Your little Lizzie just stoned me

again."

Her face reddened and she dropped the crutches. "Ach!"

"And you talk about me being English," I said. "Just wait until I tell the ladies in my Mennonite Women's Sewing

Circle about this!"

"Ach, it's little Mary's fault."

"Blaming a child are we, dear?"

"Yah, but - "

"Perhaps we could come to an agreement, Annie." Dark eyes flashed warily on either side of the beak. "What kind of

agreement?"

"Tell me what you suspect happened in town last night, and my lips are sealed. As far as I'm concerned your little

Lizzie is the patron saint of pacifism."

Despite her predatory features, Annie sang like a canary. It was not a pretty song, and it was one I had heard many

times before.

Amish society, as strict and disciplined as it is, allows its teenagers tremendous freedom. The intent is to let them get

rebellion out of their systems before they are baptized into the faith as adults. It is not uncommon for Amish teens to own

cars, smoke cigarettes, and even drink during this period of flirtation with the world. Once they are baptized, however,

they must toe the line, or face excommunication and shunning. Still, over eighty percent of Amish youth choose to be

baptized and submit to Ordnung, the ordinance by which the community lives.

As a Mennonite teenager I envied the Amish kids. They ran around in "crowds," racing their buggies up and down

Hertzler Lane where we lived. They even held hoedowns - something Mama viewed as a date with the Devil. At least I

didn't have to make an all-or-nothing choice when I was baptized; I have always straddled the fence between tradition and

the world. But frankly, just between you and me, fence-straddling can be uncomfortable, and sometimes I even envy

Susannah, who fell off the fence and into the arms of the first Presbyterian to ask her out.

"Don't you have a son who is about that age?" I asked gently.

She stared at me. "Samuel, isn't it?" How was I to know she would burst into tears? Crying is simply not something I

think about a lot. In fact, I'm sure I haven't indulged myself since Mama and Papa's tragic accident. Annie, on the other

hand, shed tears like a petunia in an onion patch.

This may surprise you, but I have never been the nurturing type. "There, there," I said, and patted her on the back.

"Oh, Magdalena," she wailed, and threw herself into my arms.

5

ANNIE KAUFFMAN'S DUTCH COUNTRY CHICKEN AND CABBAGE

INGREDIENTS

1 pound chicken, boneless leg or breast, or mixture

2 ½ teaspoons paprika

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 small head cabbage, cored and finely sliced

Pinch of salt and a turn of freshly ground black pepper

¼ cup fresh lemon juice

1 medium onion, peeled and finely sliced

1 red apple, washed well, cored, and thinly sliced

1 teaspoon toasted caraway seeds

1 cup plain yogurt (optional)

DIRECTIONS

Remove all skin and visible fat from chicken:. Cut into bite-size pieces and dust with the

paprika. Heat a large frying pan, add oil, and swirl to cover surface. Add chicken and

quickly sauté to sear surfaces for about 1 minute; add cabbage, mix with chicken over

high heat for about 30 seconds.

Lower heat, add seasoning and lemon juice. Place onion and apple slices on top and

cover tightly. Simmer mixture for 15 minutes and then sprinkle with caraway seeds and

lightly mix. Replace lid and cook 10-15 minutes or until vegetables are tender. Add a little

hot water as necessary.

Serve with or without plain rice or pasta. Drizzle top with a little plain yogurt (optional),

which may be offered in a separate serving bowl.

Serves 4.

6

I hugged Annie and got the front of my dress wet, but I did not get the confession I wanted. According to her, "little"

Samuel spent the night safely tucked in his trundle bed. She was crying, she would have me believe, because she was a

sensitive soul and could empathize with the mother of the real hooligan.

Of course I believed her. I believed Mama when she told me that babies were found under cabbages. But I was only

twenty then and afraid to ask questions. Fortunately I had grown up a lot in the intervening years.

"You have more empathy than a nursery full of squalling babies," I said kindly.

She dabbed at her eyes with her apron. "You're trying to trick me into something, aren't you?"

"Absolutely not, dear. Well, even if I was, it would be for a good cause. Some mother out there is really going to have

a broken heart when her son gets hauled off to the hoosegow."

Annie stared at me with bleary eyes. There is nothing more unattractive than a woman with red eyes - well, perhaps

there is, but that's not my point.

"What does hoosegow mean?"

"Jail. Prison."

"They could do that? Put an Amish boy in prison just for having a good time?"

"I'd hardly call a hit-and-run accident a good time. I'd call it a crime."

"An accident? Is that what you said?"

"Yes. But I'm not free to give you any details." Not that she needed any, I'm sure.

The bleary eyes blinked several times. "What would happen to such a boy if he confessed to his crime?"

"Well, I'm not sure, except that the punishment is undoubtedly lighter in cases where the criminals turn themselves

in."

"Criminals." She said the word slowly, letting its three syllables become acquainted with her tongue.