I grabbed my car keys. "Freni, I'm driving into Bedford Memorial to see what's what. While I'm gone, you're in charge."
"Ach!" she squawked, but then smiled slyly. "What I say goes then?"
"You're the man," I said, borrowing one of my sister's favorite phrases.
Freni beamed. A wise guest would have followed Mr. Mitchell's example and made herself as scarce as diamonds on an Amish woman's wrist.
"What about me?" Susannah whined.
"Well, dear, Freni is the cook, and there's lunch to make, and - "
"I don't mean that. Can't I come with you to the hospital?"
I gave her one of my sterner looks. "All right, you can come, but no the pooch."
"Ah, Mags - "
My sternest look shut her up, and she stomped off to divest herself of the minuscule mangy mutt.
"And wipe of some of that makeup!" I called kindly to her retreating back. "The folks at the hospital will think Barnum and Bailey had a crackup on the turnpike."
Perhaps I should have frisked Susannah, but the last time I did that, I ended up with teeth marks that didn't heal for a week. I am proud to say, however, that my baby sister has done a lot of growing up in recent years. True, it has been a slow process, and her emotions are bonsai replications of the real thing, but she has come a long way since our parents' tragic deaths.
At any rate, when my sister rejoined me, she was wearing an outfit that actually had seams. And although she was still sporting decades-old mascara, there were isolated patches on her cheeks where the skin showed. Just for the record, she was as pale as Mr. Anderson.
"Can I drive?" she asked.
I was tempted to say "yes," but I have a brand-new BMW, and not only does Susannah have a lead foot, she was rubber wrists.
"Please, Mags. I'll take it real easy, I promise. I'll hardly even take my eyes off the road."
"No today, dear. I have too much on my mind."
"Then when?"
"When you stop smoking, dear?"
our parents died when Susannah was twenty-two, and supposedly raised, but that doesn't mean it was too late for me to feel guilty about the way she has turned out. I am a Mennonite, after all. In the guilt department we outshine the Baptists, eclipse the Catholics, and jump past the Jews.
Frankly, I feel more guilt in association with Susannah's smoking habit than I do about the fact that my baby sister has slept with more men than Mata Hari. At least that is a natural instinct. But for her to spend money for the privilege of asphalting her lungs.... on the other hand, I suppose it really is none of my business, as long as she doesn't smoke in my inn or my car.
"But I have stopped smoking," she said.
"You didn't!"
Her head shook like the paint mixer at Home Depot. "I quit two days ago. Cold turkey. Here, smell." She leaned forward and blessed me with a blast of her breath. She had indeed quit smoking. Flossing and brushing as well.
"Congratulations!" I cried. Two days isn't even long enough to defrost a turkey, but I didn't want to discourage the girl.
"Then you'll let me drive?"
I sighed deeply. "All right, but slow down when you enter a curve, and no talking on my cell phone."
"Aw, geez."
"And no giving yourself a pedicure on that straight stretch of Route 96. Remember what happened the last time you did that?"
"That's because I had a hard time getting the cap off the polish bottle. This time I'll have the cap already loose."
Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin," I said, and then immediately regretted it. A woman my age should know better than to draw attention to her flaws.
"You're no fun, Mags, you know that?"
I dangled the keys in front of her painted peepers. "Time's awasting, dear, what's it going to be? Diligent driver, or puerile passenger?"
"Man, you're mean," Susannah snarled and snatched the keys.
Susannah and my Beemer each made it to Bedford Memorial in one piece. I, however, had to spend several minutes gathering my wits. I'm still not sure I found all the pieces. I certainly was in no shape to run into the infamous Melvin Stoltzfus in the front lobby.
"Yoder!" he yelled the second we walked in the door. "I have to have a talk with you."
I cringed as heads turned. After all, there are more Yoders in Bedford County than Burt Reynolds has hair plugs, and half the room had turned to look our way. Much to my surprise, Susannah cringed as well. If I had been in possession of those missing wits, I would have suggested that we make a run for it. Praying mantises are not known for their speed.
Okay. There, I said it. As a woman of faith I am supposed to have a charitable tongue, but in all charity I cannot accurately describe my nemesis cousin without likening him to that bulbous-eyed insect. Bald, with a huge head on a rope-thing neck, his picture adorns page 52 of Pritchard's encyclopedia of Helpful Garden Insects. Unfortunately, the man in anything but helpful. If this brief description is a sin, then so be it.
"Yoder," he shouted again as he closed in on us, his victims, "it's about time you showed up."
"You see," Susannah hissed, "I told you to let me drive faster."
I ignored her. They say the best defense is a good offense, and I can be quite offensive if need be.
"What on earth are you doing here, Melvin? Wouldn't the vet give you your rabies shot?"
"Very funny, Yoder. I'm here to visit Mama who, you very well know, is having her bunions removed. I was just about to leave when that ambulance came in from Hernia. From your place, it seems."
"So?" It was a defensive response, but the wrong one. I tried again. "Is he... ?"
"He's not dead, if that's what you mean."
"That's a relief," I said carelessly.
The praying mantis took a menacing step closer. "I want you to tell me everything, Yoder."
"Tell you what?"
"That man - " he consulted a notebook - "Mr. James Anderson, what have you been feeding him?"
"Me?" I trilled.
"I just spoke to Dr. Rosenkrantz. He says it looked like a case of food poisoning."
"Don't' try pinning it on me, buster. I haven't cooked a thing in five years."
That was nearly true. While in a romance-induced haze, I cooked one meal for my pseudo-husband, Aaron. The gas it gave us could have powered a hot-air balloon around the world. Instead it merely dampened Aaron's ardor, and set world records of a different sort.
"Well, then, that cook of yours - "
"That cook happens to be your first cousin once removed, Freni Hostetler. You've known her since you were a pupa, for crying out loud."
"You know what I mean, Yoder. When the man was brought in, he was obviously at death's door, and this isn't the first time Freni's cooking has done someone in."
That was an outrageous lie. The only food-related death at my inn was caused by a vengeful guest, and had nothing whatsoever to do with Freni.
I looked slowly around the room, glaring at each eavesdropper in turn. "That's slander, Melvin, and you know it. You take that back, or I'm going straight to your mama and telling her what you did in the seventh grade."
Melvin's left eye locked on me, his right swiveled in Susannah's direction. "You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, wouldn't I?" the truth is, I had nothing to tell - nothing new, at any rate - but Melvin had been a real stinker as a kid. There were undoubtedly more secrets in his past than there were in the Clinton White House.
"Okay, so maybe Freni didn't intentionally poison Mr. Anderson, but he ate something that nearly put him in a coma. We'll find out just what that is when the lab tests come back."
"I might know the answer to that now," Susannah said.
"You do, Sugar Dumpling?"
"Yeah, Lamb Pie, but you might get mad."
Melvin's left focused on his precious pastry. "No, I won't, Sugar Dumpling."
"You sure, Lamb Pie?"
I wanted to retch. I never called Aaron Pooky Bear in public. Terms of endearment, like hand-holding and osculation, are strictly private things.
"Positive, Sugar - "
"Out with it," I snapped. "You're making me hungry, and the hospital cafeteria doesn't open for another hour."
"Well," Susannah said, glancing nervously at me, "it wasn't really a date, you see. He just asked me to show him around, so we went for a ride."
"Who are you talking about?" Lamb Pie asked.
"Mr. Anderson, of course."
"You went out on a date with someone else? I mean, someone here in Hernia?"
Funny, but Melvin either doesn't stop to think what his Sugar Dumping might be up to during her protracted absences, or else it's only local dates with other men to which he objects.
"I said it wasn't a date, Lamb Pie. We just drove up to Stucky Ridge to see the sunset. And then we took in a movie."
Melvin's crustaceous countenance crumbled. I hate to admit it, but I didn't blame the poor guy. Stucky Ridge may be the highest point around, but it is notorious as Hernia's parking spot, and by that I don't mean it's a good place to leave an unattended car. Things go on up there that would make the Whore of Babylon blush.
"Stucky Ridge?"
"Don't be silly, Lamb Pie, we didn't do anything."
It was time to hurry things along, and maybe cut off a tiff at the pass.
"I still don't see what any of this has to do with Freni."
Susannah turned gratefully to me. "Well, we missed dinner, see. And the popcorn at the movie was stale, so by the time we got back, we were starved."
"You must be on time, to dine," I said, quoting a sign I keep posted in the dining room. "It serves you right."
"Yeah, but it wasn't Jimmy's fault he didn't know the rules."
"Jimmy?" Melvin croaked.
Susannah tapped a long, narrow foot. "Well, nobody calls him James except his business associates. So, do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?"
"Hit it, Paul!" I brayed.
"So, anyway, when we got back I suggested we raid the fridge." She looked at me long enough to roll her eyes. "I know, I know, it's supposed to be off limits to anyone but you and Freni."
"Then you deserved to eat what you did. What was it, something in an unmarked jar? Because if it was, it may be older than some of your boyfriends - present company excluded. You know how Freni is about throwing things out."
Her foot tapped faster. When it starts to blur, stand back.
"It was bread pudding," she said.
-7-
"Bread pudding/ Why, that Freni! She told me it was all gone!"
"There was a whole pan of it. Still warm from the oven. Jimmy ate almost half."
"Whipped cream?"
"No, no whipped cream. But Jimmy didn't seem to mind."
"You, of course, did."
"You know how I feel about bread pudding." She made a face that required more elasticity than a spandex bathing suit. "But the tuna casserole was delicious."
"Blue and white Pyrex dish?"
She nodded.
"That wasn't tuna casserole, dear. Freni's son, John, has been working on a new starter mash for the piglets he's weaning. That's ground corn and sow's milk. He made too much in that batch, and asked if I could keep some of the stuff at the inn overnight."
Susannah turned green around the gills, staggered, and sat heavily of a molded plastic chair.
Melvin was unmoved. "Jimmy? You've been seeing this Jimmy?"
MY sister took a deep cleansing breath. Actually she took several. Weaning mash is a hard thing to purge from one's system.
"You don't own me, Lamb Pie. It's not like we're married yet."
"We're engaged, aren't we, Sugar Dumpling?"
"I don't have a ring yet."
She had a good point. I know this is going to sound shallow, but never commit your body or your soul to a man unless you get a sizable rock first. Them make sure you take that rock to a competent jeweler A.S.A.P. Aaron bought the ring he gave me for $12.99 in a Philadelphia novelty shop. Had I known how much he valued me at the time, I would have been saved a lot of heartache.
"You're damn right I don't own you, you two-bit tramp," Melvin snarled. "What's more, I don't want to marry you. The engagement is off."
To his credit, Melvin had shown commendable restraint. Perhaps it was all the Yoders in the waiting room - the Good Lord knows we can be intimidating - but without another word, not even another snarl of derision, Melvin Stoltzfus turned and walked through the automatic doors of Bedford County Memorial Hospital. As the doors whooshed shut behind him, Susannah burst into tears.
