Freni crossed her arms over her ample, apron-covered bosom and stamped her right foot three times. Except for the arm- crossing, I've seen bulls act just like that before they charge.
"Well, Freni?"
"You cook for the crazy English, Magdalena. I quit!"
"Please, God," I prayed, "let her stay quit until this crowd of English has crossed the Red Sea." Unfortunately God does not always ignore our prayers. I would much rather have had to deal with a continuance of complaints than with a corpse clutching
Mama's dresden plate quilt.
10
FRENI HOSTETLER'S BUCKWHEAT PANCAKE RECIPE
" cup all-purpose flour
_ cup buckwheat flour
3 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
" teaspoon salt
Pinch cinnamon
3 eggs
1 cup light cream
2 tablespoons bacon grease
Sift together dry ingredients. Hand-beat eggs and cream, just until blended. Add bacon grease to liquid. Stir well. By stages pour and stir liquid ingredients into dry mixture until it is smooth and of batter consistency.
Pour or spoon batter onto a hot, cast-iron griddle that has been liberally greased with lard.
Fry until upper surfaces of pancakes are pocked with bubbles. Turn and fry until reverse side is golden brown.
Serve oozing with fresh butter and dripping with maple syrup. Homemade pork and sage sausages are the perfect complement.
11
I took over in the kitchen. I stirred together some water, some vegetable oil, some all-purpose flour, some buckwheat flour, and some baking powder. I left out the salt and the sugar because both Jeanette and Linda informed me that they were worse than poison, and Jeanette threatened to sue me if these impurities ever passed her lips again on my premises. The pinch of cinnamon I just plain forgot.
I fried the mixture on a different griddle that had been sparsely coated with vegetable oil. The pancakes, if that is what you wish to call them, were flat, heavy, miserable things that broke apart when I turned them. They had all the aroma and appeal of week-old cowpies, but most of the guests loved them.
"I don't mean to offend you, Miss Yoder," said the ever polite Billy Dee, "but I don't suppose there are any of Mrs.
Hostetler's pancakes left back in the kitchen?"
Jeanette glared openly at him, and Linda unsuccessfully tried to suppress a shudder. I trotted back to the kitchen and piled up a plate of all Freni's pancakes that I wasn't capable of eating myself. When I placed it in front of Billy Dee his face lit up like a kerosene lamp with a freshly cleaned globe. "Any bacon back there?" he asked hopefully.
Of course I didn't disappoint Billy Dee. I retrieved a plate of home-cured bacon, fried crisp but not crumbly: and placed it proudly in front of him. Billy Dee was obviously delighted, but the other three reacted like I do when someone lights up a cigarette in my presence. Actually, they were probably more polite. They simply retreated to the far end of the table and huddled together in a defensive posture undoubtedly intended to ward off meat molecules that might break loose from Billy's bacon and bombard them. For the remainder of their scant meal they remained in their closed cluster and conversed in hushed, conspiratorial tones.
That was just fine with me. I loaded up a plate for myself and joined the more convivial carnivore.
"Isn't meat-eating inconsistent with your stand on hunting?" I asked him pleasantly.
Billy Dee bit into another slice of bacon. "Not at all, Miss Yoder. In the animal kingdom there've always been, and will always be, carnivores. They kill, and then eat what they kill. You know, like lions and leopards and things.
"And then there's the scavengers, like the jackals. They eat the meat the carnivores leave behind. Think of me as a scavenger. Someone else killed this pig and left it behind. I'm simply cleaning up after him."
"As can be expected, your analogy holds up only so far," I was bold enough to say. "I mean, if it's all right for lions and leopards to kill for meat, why isn't it all right for Congressman Ream and his party?"
Billy Dee smiled patiently at me. "Lions and leopards are biologically programmed to kill other animals. They do it for survival. They don't have no choice. The Congressman does."
"Ah, but the jackals are just like the lions, aren't they? They're programmed to scavenge meat. They don't have any choice either. But you do!"
Billy defiantly stuck another slice of bacon into his grinning mouth. "Think of my scavenging as a service to you and the rest of mankind. Whatever bacon I eat, there's less for you to have to worry about. I am unselfishly defiling my body so that you can lead a cleaner, purer life. I'm doing the right thing. The morally correct thing."
"Maybe, but you don't sound very politically correct." He laughed heartily. "Billy Dee Grizzle is definitely not politically correct."
"How, I mean why, did you change your mind about hunting?" I asked him. "I overheard you telling the Congressman last night that you, yourself, used to hunt."
He seemed genuinely surprised at my question. "Don't you read the papers?"
I must have blushed with embarrassment. As much as I love to read, I am too cheap to have either the Harrisburg or
Pittsburgh papers delivered. As for the little weekly rag published in Hernia, its lead story that week concerned a rash of ulcerated udders on Amos Troyer's dairy farm.
Billy Dee was too polite to let me squirm in my ignorance. "It happened almost exactly four years ago," he explained quickly. "We'd just moved up here from Texas. I was deer hunting." His eyes left my face and seemed to focus on the quilting frame across the room. "I had my daughter with me. Jennifer Mae. She was eleven years old." He paused.
"Jennifer is a pretty name," I said to encourage him.
He nodded. "She was my only kid. Her mama died when she was just seven. Anyway, Jenny Mae got tired of hunting and wanted to go back and rest in the pickup. I let her." He swallowed. "It weren't all that far. The pickup, I mean. She would've been all right, except that she got kinda turned around."
"I understand."
"No, you don't. Jenny Mae never made it back to that damned truck. She was wearing this white bow in her hair, like the one her mama used to put in for her. I didn't have the heart to tell her not to wear it. I didn't think there was a need for it, really.
She was with me the whole time, except for then, and I was wearing an orange vest."
He paused again, and this time, dreading what he was about to say, I did not encourage him further.
He went on anyway. "It was me, her own daddy, who mistook that bow for a white tail. It was me that shot my own little girl off this earth."
I expected him to break down and sob, but he didn't. "Not that it mattered in comparison to Jenny Mae's death, but it woulda been ruled an accident if it hadn't been for them folks over there."
"Jeanette, Joel, and Linda?"
"Especially her." I just knew he meant Jeanette. "I still don't know how, but immediately they were an over the place like smoked-out hornets. They had the press with them and before I could catch my breath I was charged with involuntary manslaughter. I didn't stand no chance in court."
I gave him a chance to catch his breath and waited quietly until he resumed his tale.
"I got sent up for three years. I know it ain't much, and I probably even deserved it. But the thing is, Miss Yoder, they made out like I'd almost intended to kill Jenny Mae."
"They actually said that?"
"No, not in so many words. But that's what it came down to. They made me out to be some mean, horrible monster who didn't care about what happened to his little girl. They said that by taking her along with me, I was not only choosing to break the law, but I'd publicly given up all rights to be her father."
He rubbed the comers of his eyes with the palm of his hand, although I could see no tears. "I think the worst thing is that they didn't give me no time to react or mourn her death. I was in shock, Miss Yoder. I was absolutely stunned. I just couldn't believe what had happened. And then they were on me. That's what I mean by not being able to catch my breath."
"I see."
"I don't even remember her funeral, Miss Yoder. I can't even say for sure if I was there. Miss Yoder, Jeanette and them other two robbed me of my daughter's death." He made a dismissing motion with his right hand. "Of course I can't expect you to understand that."
"But I do understand." I really did. When Mama and Papa were killed in.that horrible accident, I wanted to mourn for them with every fiber of my being. I wanted to feel the pain completely, for as long as I needed to, before having to learn how to cope with it and get on with my life. But of course I didn't have the luxury of orchestrating my own emotional recovery, not with a burden like Susannah to deal with. Following our parents' death, Susannah acted out so completely that ninety-nine percent of my energy was diverted to her and her recovery. Susannah was still a long way from recovery, and I had yet to mourn. Of course, I wasn't about to tell Billy Dee all that. We Swiss do not readily show our emotions, and certainly not with comparative strangers.
Still, Billy Dee seemed to appreciate my saying that I understood, even if he didn't necessarily believe it. He reached out and patted my hand. Needless to say, this embarrassed me terribly, and I reacted as I normally do when I'm embarrassed by talking.
"I do understand about the mourning part," I assured him. "What I don't understand is why you've turned around and joined them. Isn't that carrying the 'turn the other cheek' principle just a little too far?"
He leaned halfway over the table and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I haven't joined them, Miss Yoder, I've infiltrated them."
"You what?"
"Well, true, I have given up hunting. I can't bring myself to touch a gun no more, not after Jenny Mae's death. But I ain't anti-hunting, like they are. I still think responsible people should have the right to hunt. It's just that I wasn't responsible."
"But if you don't believe in their cause, why are you with them?"
He whispered even softer. "Because I want to keep them from doing to other people.what they did to me. I'm here to keep tabs on them, Miss Yoder. To keep their fanaticism in line."
"And they don't suspect you?" Jeanette might be obnoxious, but she surely wasn't stupid.
"I suppose they do. Still, I think they're glad to have me. I suspect they're kinda proud of having a convert in their ranks. It shows others that if I can see the way, surely they can too. I'm a walking testimony to the rightness of their position. Whether or not I'm really sincere is something they prefer not to think about."
"Unless, of course, you choose to pig out on bacon right under their noses."
We burst out laughing, and then almost immediately contained ourselves. The three down at the other end of the table were looking in our direction, and they did not appear to be at all amused.
"What's so damned funny?" demanded Jeanette, but she didn't seem to want an answer. "I should think that with a major lawsuit hanging over your head, Miss Yoder, you wouldn't have time to be so frivolous. I should think that your agenda for the day would include finding a good lawyer and a carpenter. Why, I nearly tripped coming down those stairs myself."
"There is a banister!" I almost screamed. It would almost be worth a lawsuit, however, to see Jeanette take a tumble.
Then again, the damage incurred to my stairs would offset any satisfaction.
Billy Dee reached forward and patted my hand. "Don't you go worrying none, Miss Yoder. There ain't gonna be no lawsuit.
And even if there is, you ain't gonna lose. Why heck, those stairs ain't so steep. Friend of my in Dallas fell down a much steeper stairs, only he didn't die, and it still took the jury three days to come to a decision."
"What did they decide?" I held my breath.
"The plaintiff won, of course. But like I said, they were much steeper stairs."
"How much did the plaintiff win?" I was going to have to stop throwing out those notices from Publishers Clearing House.
"Hardly anything. Only about three and a half mill, I think."
For a brief and unforgivable second, I hated Mama and Papa. If they hadn't gotten themselves creamed between a milk tanker and a load of shoes, I wouldn't be in such a pickle. Since I was sinning anyway, I vowed never to drink another glass of milk and to go barefoot whenever possible.
"Hey, shouldn't we be heading out to the woods?" asked Joel, breaking into my reverie. For a fanatic, he seemed to be remarkably moderating.
