As The World Churns Part 12

"But hey," Vance said quickly, "isn't a.r.s.enic supposed to smell like cherries?"

"Perhaps there's a.r.s.enic in that cigarette stub," Jane said. "Shouldn't you be taking it to a lab and having it a.n.a.lyzed, instead of hara.s.sing us?"

"Really," d.i.c.k said. "We never expected this kind of treatment from a four-star establishment."

Four stars? Where ever did he hear that nonsense? The PennDutch doesn't have any stars-well, except for the movie stars that often stay here. Thank goodness the reviews of my little establishment were initially quite good, which eventually led to word-of-mouth business. Since then, I've had mostly bad publicity, thanks to the murders and a few bad sports who refuse to get into the spirit of ALPO. But, like they say, there's no such thing as bad publicity. The more folks grumble about my business when they get back home, the more free advertising I get. And since Freni is getting ready to retire soon, I might consider serving only bread and water for meals. . . .

"Miss Yoder!" d.i.c.k roared. "You look like you've totally zoned out."

"I was lost in thought; it was unfamiliar territory."

"That's an old one," Jane sniffed.

I treated her to a look that should have frozen Miller's Pond. Then, after carefully pocketing the cigarette b.u.t.t, I hightailed my own tail across Hertzler Road , fairly flew across Gabe's front meadow-but still taking care to skirt Miller's Pond-and dashed up my true love's front steps. After all, the only other two people I knew in Hernia who smoked were my sister and my mother-in-law.

Unfortunately, I was still panting when my worst nightmare answered the front door. "Oy, it's only you."

"I-I-I-"

"It's alvays about you, right?"

"Aye, aye, sir."

"So now you mock me. Vhat else is new?"

"The amount of rancor with which I do. Heretofore, the bonds of holy matrimony not yet tightened snugly into place, my tongue shied not from being glib. At times it even gyred and gimbled in the wabe. But now that I have cloven to your son-if that is indeed the past tense of cleave-I feel much more inclined to treat you as if you were flesh of my own flesh. Although surely said phrase must make even the most accommodating vegetarian feel slightly queasy."

"You're meshugah, Magdalena."

"No doubt because my birth mother was an escaped mental patient who gyred and gimbled in the hayloft with Papa. At least, that's another theory-one which I have yet to explore."

"Lies! Vhatever you are saying is lies."

"I am merely saying that Gabe loves me ten times more than he loves you."

"More lies!"

"While we're on the subject, dear, could you explain this?" I fished out the stub.

"Vhat's the meaning of this? Vhere did you get my cigarette?"

"So it is yours?"

"You tink a person can buy this brand at Sam's? Of course it's mine; only in New York can one buy such a ting." She made it sound as special as the Hebrew National salamis she schlepped back in her suitcase each time she went home for a visit.

"Excuse me for not knowing the provenance of every brand of coffin nail on the market. Just tell me what it was doing in one of my cow stalls."

Her hands are even stubbier than Freni's, but she put them to good use by s.n.a.t.c.hing the b.u.t.t away from me. She held it at arm's length for a good look, which put it about a foot from her face.

"Dis isn't mine," she said at last.

"But you said it was."

"Den maybe I was wrong."

I studied her face. Gabe had her eyes, but not much else. But that was enough. Ida Rosen was lying through her dentures.

"You're lying."

"Such chutzpah I never hoid!"

"Touche. Fess up, Ma Rosen, before I call your son out to arbitrate."

"Your daughter."

"You mean my husband."

"Now you're hard of hearing as vell?"

"But you said-wait, are you talking about Alison?"

"You heff another daughter, perhaps?"

My blood began a slow simmer. "Do you have proof that Alison stole your cigarette?"

"Believe me, eef I did, I vould have come to you. Deese tings are killers. I vouldn't vant dat my shtep-granddaughter should end up like me. But dis"-a liver-colored nail traced the red edge of the filter-"dis is Kool-Aid. Cherry, I tink. Mit sugar. Alison likes to leek it from da package. I give her dis last night vhen she vas here."

Instantly, my blood temperature went from simmer to cold. "She was here? When, exactly?"

Ida shrugged. Unlike Freni, she has a neck and can do a decent job of this gesture. Her bosoms, however, seem less secured, so that any movement of the shoulders sets the volleyball-size pair on a heaving frenzy. Should one or both break loose, there's no telling what the fallout might be. I stepped back just to be on the safe side.

"I tink it vas around ten o'clock. She came to say good night to my Gabeleh. Maybe to me as vell, yah? Den my son valked her back to your place."

I growled aloud. Didn't either of the adults think to tell me about this? While it was sweet of Alison to come say her good-nights, she did so alone, with an escaped murderer gunning for our family-not to mention that brute who'd nearly killed an eighty-year-old man. Then no doubt, because she'd gotten away with it, Alison had sneaked out to the paddocks to enjoy a stolen cigarette. Someone, not just Alison, was going to pay for this oversight.

"Dun't be too hard on her, Magdalena. She is a teenager, and dis is vhat teenagers do. My Gabeleh vas no picnic lunch either, yah?"

"But she could have gotten herself killed coming over here- or worse. Melvin is a psychopath. There's no telling what he'd do."

"True. But she didn't get killed, so eet is important to keep perspective. Een Germany-but never mind."

I was stunned. I knew Ida was a Holocaust survivor, but she has never, ever talked about it. Not even to Gabriel and his sisters. To my knowledge, this is the first time she has even said the G-word since coming to Hernia, where our Amish speak a dialect of German, and which has to be a constant reminder to her of a painful past. Finally, but only after a great deal of stammering, I was able to speak.

"Ida, would you mind-"

"I mind."

"But-"

"Vee are done talking about me. So, you vill let me get back to my houseverk now?"

"Can't you at least tell me how Gabe misbehaved?"

"Vhat?"

"You said that he wasn't a picnic."

"Oy, the stories I could tell. Perhaps another time, yah?"

"Another time, then," I said.

Frankly, I was stunned into acquiescence by a trace of warmth in her voice. This was a side of Ida I had never seen before. Besides, she was so right: I should concentrate on being grateful that Alison was alive and well, and enjoying a sleepover with a friend. There would be plenty of time later to make heads roll. Metaphorically, of course.

19.

After lunch at the inn-you can be sure the Dorfman brothers donned shirts-I drove the twelve miles in to BedfordCountyMemorialHospital. Doc was still unconscious and in the ICU, but, nonetheless, it was important to me that I see him.

The hospital is famous for its good-looking interns of both genders, so my walk from the parking lot and my elevator ride up to his floor were shamefully pleasant. I might even have been joshing with a young doctor named Josh as I exited, but even if that is true, I certainly did not deserve what happened next.

First of all, how was I to know that a nurse would be walking past the doors when they opened? And, pray tell, how on earth was I to know that said nurse, whom I just happened to run into-quite literally-would be the dreadful Nurse Dudley?

"I'm so sorry," I said as I stooped to pick her up.

She turned at the sound of my voice, and then exploded like a waterlogged frankfurter. "It's you!"

I staggered backward in surprise, rebounded off the opposite wall, and then teetered back in her direction. Perhaps we might have gotten past this awkward reunion, had she not stuck a foot out to trip me, and had I not, whilst in the process of trying to keep my balance, reached out and grabbed one of her female appendages. Even then, all might not have been lost, had she not suffered a wardrobe malfunction of the first degree.

Nurse Dudley-or Nurse Ratched, as I am wont to call her- is one of those women whom one tends to find more frequently amongst the very devout-whose underpinnings are not only extraordinarily large, but inexplicably stiff, as if made from steel. A mighty fortress, as it were. A citadel of womanhood-although one is loathe to imagine what lies beneath these formidable structures.

At any rate, as I fell to the ground, my fingers not only got caught in the pocket of her uniform, but somehow became enmeshed in the engineering marvel that lay beneath. Without meaning to, I took with me a considerable portion of the scaffolding, as well as something that felt like a pound of raw chicken. A nanosecond later, as if part of a chain reaction, the other side of her bra collapsed, and out plopped another pound of poultry.

I staggered to my feet, all the while staring at the strange object in my hand. "You keep boneless chicken in your bra? What a clever idea."

"Those are my b.o.o.bs, you idiot."

I dropped the object I was holding. It landed next to its twin, where they both quivered on the linoleum like bowls of upended gelatin. "Uh-sorry about that."

Nurse Dudley s.n.a.t.c.hed her feminine wiles off the floor. "I'm going to sue you, Magdalena! I'm going to bleed you dry."

"It was an accident. You scared me, and I tripped."

"Security! Someone call security and the police."

"No, please don't. I'm here to see Doc Shafor."

"That's what you think; you're headed straight for jail."

"But I didn't know you wore a prosthetic bra."

"I don't, you moron. Not all of us are as blessed in that department as you."

"True, although I only just recently realized the extent of my bountiful goodness, having heretofore suffered from body dysmorphic syndrome. So you see, there was no ill intent on my part, whereas you, with your booming voice, practically gave me a heart attack. Indeed, methinks that it is I who should be suing you-or, at the very least, launching a countersuit. After all, as a wealthy woman, I am sure to win. Security!"

Nurse Dudley's glares have been known to start fires if appropriate kindling material is available. She fixed those smoldering eyes on me, but the rest of her body language spelled defeat.

"Okay, I'll let you see Mr. Shafor, but only for a minute. And you have to pay for a new uniform."

"No problemo."

"And for a Bosom Buddies bra."

"Certainly."

"This particular model, t.i.tan Twins number two, cost me ninety-eight dollars on eBay."

"That's just ridiculous." Fortunately I noticed that her sagging shoulders, which were undoubtedly powered by steam, had begun to rise. "But worth every penny," I added wisely.

"Just so you know," she hissed, "I'm going to get you someday, Yoder. Sometime when you least expect it."

"I'm quaking in my brogans, dear."

She appeared to take me seriously. "Good. That's the way it should be. By the way, that old goat is awake now."

"What old goat?"

"The one who made a pa.s.s at me within minutes of coming out of a coma."

I didn't waste a second getting to the old codger's room.

"Hey, gorgeous," he said as I entered the room.

I turned to look behind me.

"I mean you, silly. Magdalena, when are you going to get it into your pumpkin head that you're one fine-looking woman?"

"The same day you get it into your broken head that I'm un-available-oops. I shouldn't have used the B-word. Sorry about that."

"But it is broken. I feel like-uh-uh-"

"Shiitake mushrooms?" He laughed. "You might say that."

"I've been there, and it's most unpleasant. What does your doctor say?"