No Use Dying Over Spilled Milk (18 page)

“You should really get to know Susannah better,” I suggested. “By your standards she’s probably out of this world. Maybe out in space even.”

Lizzie frowned. “Ach, Magdalena, I am not as sheltered as you think. Maybe I’m not in the world, but I do know what’s going on.” She put a shielding hand next to her mouth to protect her boys from what she said next. “Sometimes in the store I even glance through those magazines.”

“No way!” Imagine that, Lizzie Troyer reading about three-headed babies with alien fathers.

Lizzie nodded vigorously. “How else do you think I learned to cook English?”

“I beg your pardon?”

She pointed to my breakfast, most of which was still on my plate. “Authentic English food,” she said with English pride.

I bit my tongue. Perhaps those were alien recipes she’d been following.

Lizzie sighed and glanced sideways at the boys. “But I suppose English food is as far as I’ll ever get. Samuel doesn’t mind that on account of he has no taste buds. But wearing lipstick and red dresses—I just don’t think I have it in me. It must be so much easier going the other way around. Like the Gerbers did.”

“Come again?”

“Like Lazarus and Mary Ann Gerber. Stayrook’s folks. They were Catholics, I think. From Germany.”

“Go on.”

Lizzie excused her boys from the table and turned her full attention to me. “I don’t know much about it, really. Just that they settled here from Germany. Farmersburg didn’t have a Catholic church—still doesn’t, I don’t think. Anyway, the old Gerbers—Stayrook’s parents— took to our ways because it was easier for them than learning English. Their German was different, but they could still get along okay, if they spoke slowly.”

“I see. And they stopped being Catholic and were baptized Amish?”

“Yah. Of course, that was before I was born. But Stayrook is about my age, and I remember when he was baptized. The year before I was, as a matter of fact.”

“How interesting. I can’t imagine giving up things like a telephone, once you have them. Did they make good Amish?”

“Ach, very. Look at their son, Stayrook. He’s been ordained a minister. Someday he may even be a bishop. No, Magdalena, the difficult thing would be to go the other way. To leave the straight and narrow behind and go out into the wide, wicked world where there are no rules. You must be very frightened.”

“Terrified.”

My sarcasm was lost on her. “I will speak to Bishop Kreider if you like. He can recommend somebody better than me to teach you the Ordnung, our rules of behavior. Do you think your sister will be joining us as well?”

“Ha! Not likely. Not if chastity is required.”

She smiled patiently. “Yah, we do stress showing chastity to the poor.”

“That’s charity, dear.”

“What?”

“Never mind, dear. Would you like some help with the dishes?”

“Yah, that would be nice. But what about Susannah? Will she be eating breakfast?”

“Not here, dear.”

A gleam appeared in her eyes. I’m sorry to say I’ve seen similar gleams many times out in the wide, wicked world. “Yah? With a man?”

I bit my tongue, which incidentally was tastier than the omelette. “I’m afraid so. Oh well, I may as well tell you, because you’ll probably find out anyway. The man is Sheriff Marvin Stoltzfus.”

“Ach du lieber! ”

“You can say that again. As you can tell, I’m not exactly thrilled.”

Lizzie may not have been thrilled either, but she was certainly interested. “How long has she known this man? I mean, Sheriff Stoltzfus?”

I looked at my watch. “Let’s see, by now it’s been about fourteen hours.”

“And—and—?”

I nodded. “Now Lizzie, let me ask you a question. How long have you known the sheriff?”

I thought I would have to use CPR to get her breathing again. When I was sure she could hear me I rephrased my question.

“Well, I’ve known the sheriff ever since he was elected. That’s about three years, I guess. He’s not from around here, you know. He’s from down Sarasota way I think. That’s where they have the circus museum.”

It didn’t surprise me that Lizzie knew about Sarasota. Many Amish, especially the elderly, spend their winters down there.

“Lizzie, you weren’t satisfied with Marvin Stoltzfus’s investigation, were you?”

I could see and hear her squirming. Lizzie and I may resemble each other in the face, but she has a good twenty pounds on me. “I know that only God can deliver true justice,” she said, “but Sheriff Stoltzfus didn’t even give justice a chance. It was like he’d made his mind up beforehand.”

“Like he was in somebody’s pocket?”

She stared at me.

“I mean, like somebody had paid him not to see certain things.”

“Yah, maybe. I mean, the milk tank was only three feet deep.”

“I get your point. But why didn’t anybody call him on it?”

She shrugged. “Yost was dead, wasn’t he? Causing a fuss wouldn’t bring him back.”

“No, but it might put a murderer behind bars. Unless, of course, Levi and Yost weren’t murdered, but somehow died as a result of possession,” I said, testing the waters.

The waters ran cold. “They weren’t possessed, Magdalena. Both men were baptized members of the church. Good men. They didn’t live on the edge.”

“I’m sure they were veritable saints, dear. However, it has come to my attention that young Levi was sometimes a little loose in following the Ordnung. I hear he tipped the bottle from time to time.”

“Ach, how you talk of the dead! I don’t know who told you that, but it doesn’t make any difference. Both Samuel and I believe they were murdered.”

“Whoever killed Levi and Yost could kill again. Have you considered that?”

She glanced at the boys, who were wrestling in a heap in the doorway to the kitchen. “Yah, I’ve thought of that. Samuel thinks it would be a good idea if we moved to Indiana, and I agree. Samuel has two brothers there, and I have a sister. Things will be different there, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure. And if that’s what you really want, I hope you’ll be happy there.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Magdalena. I want you to know that I’ve enjoyed your being here. Your sister too. If you ever come out to Indiana, will you visit us?”

“In a heartbeat,” I said, then remembered her cooking.

“PennDutch Inn.” It was the silky, sultry voice of a harlot, and I recognized it at once as belonging to Hooter Faun.

“Ach du mio!” International clientele can play havoc with one’s vocabulary.

“Is that you, Miss Yoder?”

“You bet your bippy, dear. What on earth are you doing answering my phone?”

“Well, I’m the only one here at the moment, Miss Yoder. Did you wish to leave a message for someone?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Where is everyone?”

“Well, let’s see. Mose and Doc Shafor have hitched up Sadie, and they’re giving all the guests sleigh rides through the woods. That is, everyone except Mrs. Ingram, who’s upstairs nursing a bad chest cold. But don’t you worry about a thing. I made her a nice bowl of chicken soup, and put the humidifier by her bed. Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, but I gave her an extra blanket from that cedar closet downstairs.”

“Aaron! Where is Aaron?”

If I shouted it was only because pay phones often contain static and I wanted to make myself heard. “Aaron? Oh, you must mean Aaron Miller.”

“Yes!”

“Tall, right? With thick dark hair, and blue eyes?”

“And very much spoken for, dear, so you can keep your grubby mitts off him. Now put him on the phone.”

She had a charming laugh that was utterly disgusting. “I’ll say he’s spoken for! Unfortunately, Miss Yoder, Aaron Miller isn’t here.”

Four hundred years of pacifism would not have prevented me from wrapping that phone cord around her neck.

“Don’t you play games with me, you try sting trollop. You march straight up to your lovenest and kick my Pooky Bear out!”

That cultured laugh was twice as annoying the second time around.

“Why, Aaron Miller isn’t even in Hernia, Miss Yoder. I’m afraid he’s already on his way to see the woman who’s spoken for him.”

“Who? I demand to know this instant. Does she live in Bedford?”

“Why, it’s you, Miss Yoder.”

“Me? I mean, he can’t be on his way here. What about all that snow?”

“Well, he bought the snowmobile from that kind gentleman who brought me back from Somerset. He—”

“Yeah, yeah. What time did he leave?”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you. He just left about fifteen minutes ago. He plans to take the snowmobile as far as he can and then rent a car. He said if you called to tell you to expect him by tonight for sure.”

“Thanks. I mean, I’m sorry if I jumped to conclusions.”

“That’s all right. I understand completely.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“He said to tell you he loves you.”

Of course I was in a tizzy the rest of the day. You would be too if Aaron Daniel Miller of Hernia, Pennsylvania, had just declared his love for you, albeit via a helpful harlot named Hooter Faun. Not that Aaron’s declaration came as a surprise, mind you. I knew from the day we met, in his father’s cow pasture, that we were intended for each other and would eventually live happily ever after. I just didn’t know when the after would start. Men, I’m told, are often the last to see what’s in their hearts.

I’m sure you’ll agree that it is hard to concentrate when one is in a tizzy, so I hope you’ll understand when I tell you that chasing down a murderer was no longer my number one priority. Right then what mattered the most was finding someone to share my joy with. Someone to validate the most important phone call in my life.

I found Freni in Sarah Yoder’s kitchen rolling out a pie crust. Freni, incidentally, makes the flakiest pie crusts in the world. As a child I firmly believed that Freni was Betty Crocker in worldly clothes. Freni’s skill at pie making and the constant compliments she receives have got to be a monumental burden for a woman who is militantly humble.

“Freni, dear, you’ll never guess what just happened!”

“Susannah got married?” Freni didn’t even glance up from the spreading dough.

“What?”

“Annie Stutzman was just here. She says Susannah got married last night to someone named Mark. A Stutzman, I believe.”

“That’s Marvin Stoltzfus, dear, and as far as I know, they’re not married. You know how Susannah is.”

Freni, blood kin that she is, rolled her eyes in sympathy. “That child is as loose as a square lid on a round jar. Anyway—”

“Anyway, as I was saying, I was just on the horn to Hooter in Hernia and—”

“Eat!” Freni commanded, and she shoved a plate of still warm shoofly pie under my face. “I cut this for Sarah, but she decided she wasn’t hungry after all. Ach, I worry about that woman. If she keeps on grieving like this she’s going to be nothing but skin and bones.”

I, who am skin and bones, gratefully accepted Sarah’s slice. If what Susannah read in a magazine is right, it is possible for me to work my way up to a B cup simply by putting on pounds. Unfortunately that’s hard for me to do. All that jumping to conclusions and eye-rolling burns off enough calories to give me a figure like a fence post. Some of my women guests have openly declared their hostility toward someone so “thin,” but they forget that plumpness has its positive points. And I mean that literally. As for me, my Wonderbra is still wondering.

“Freni, please, you have to listen to me this time. Aaron Miller just said he loves me!”

Freni put down the rolling pin so she could devote her full attention to staring.

“It’s true, Freni. I called home and spoke to Hooter Faun. She said that Aaron said to tell me he loves me. Can you imagine that?”

Freni put a floured hand to my forehead. “Ach, you poor child. You must be starving to death. Has that Lizzie Troyer been feeding you sardines and zucchini again?”

“Freni! Listen to me!”

“But I am listening. If what that woman said is true, then why didn’t Aaron get on the phone himself? And who ever heard of a man saying such a thing to a woman anyway?” Leave it to Freni to knock the wind out of my sails during a hurricane.

“Aaron didn’t say it himself, Freni, because he wasn’t there. He’s on his way here. Right now!”

She pulled up a chair and practically threw me in it. “Stay off your feet, Magdalena, until you’ve had some real food in you. As soon as I’m done here I’ll fix you an early lunch. I’m sure Sarah wouldn’t mind.”

“Freni Hostetler!”

“It’s Poor Man’s Goulash.”

“With lots of onions?”

“Three onions. As big as your fist.”

I ignored the reference to my hand size. “Okay.”

Freni beamed. “Now hush, Magdalena, and eat your pie. I’ll be done here in a minute.”

I ate, but I didn’t hush.

“Aaron is so on his way here. He bought a snowmobile and is taking it as far as he can. When the snow peters out he’s going to rent a car. He’ll be here before tonight, I just know it. So what do you have to say to that, Freni?”

I don’t think she heard the question. Her eyes had glazed over and she was weaving. I popped out of my chair and shoved it at her, but she pushed it away.