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Authors: Tamar Myers
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globes. She did. And frankly, it’s stupid to stack glass like that.”
“I couldn’t agree more, but it was her idea.” Roy lowered his voice. “She better not see you today, Magdalena. She’s been on the warpath since she woke up. So, could you just buy what you came to buy, and then get out?”
I tried not to even glance at Roy’s arms, but it was no use. He was wearing long sleeves again. It was stifling in the store, so it had to be because he had something to hide. Although in all fairness, I suppose they could have been old bruises.
“Sorry, but I didn’t come to buy, dear. I need information.”
Roy looked like a deer caught in my headlights. “What kind of information? You’re not on your Nazi kick again, are you, Magdalena? Elspeth was born after the war, and she’s been in the U.S. since she was sixteen.”
“This has nothing to do with the Fuehrer and his flunkies. I need information about two of your employees who are in the family way.”
“Ach!” Roy squawked, reverting to his ancestral ways. “You’re not here to try and form a union, are you?”
I smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. I don’t work here, remember? I just want to talk to these ladies.” Roy glanced both ways. “What about?”
“Baby clothes,” I said, thinking fast on my feet. When you wear size eleven like I do, it’s really not that hard. And yes, I know it’s wrong to lie, but fibbing to placate Freni is not so much a lie as a means of survival. The Bible says nothing against trying to save one’s own life.
“What about baby clothes?”
“Well, Barbara Hostetler, whom you know to be a dear friend and distant cousin of mine—probably yours too—just had twins and—”
“Congratulations!” Roy was sincere.
“I’ll tell her that. Anyway, as you may know, baby clothes are very expensive, so I got to thinking about sort of a joint shower—well, really, it’s a woman thing. Just tell me where I can find the two ladies in question, let me chat to them a little, and I’ll skeedaddle.”
Roy shook his head. “Rebecca Zook no longer works here. And Mandilla Gindlesperger is on maternity leave, starting today. That’s all I’m at liberty to say.”
That was all the information I needed to know right then. Zook was a solid Amish name, that family having come over in the first major immigration in the eighteenth century. Both Freni and I had Zook branches in our family trees. Freni often shopped at Miller’s Feed Store and undoubtedly knew the family, possibly even where Rebecca lived. And it just so happened that I knew Mandilla Gindlesperger.
Mandilla and I went to school together, kindergarten through twelfth grade. Only back then she was Mandilla Beechy. It was, in fact, her great-great-grandfather, Bishop Beechy, who split off from the Amish and founded Beechy Grove Mennonite Church. Because of this suspicious family connection, Mandilla always thought she was better than the rest of us—well, at least better than I. Always big for her age, Mandilla would push me off the monkey bars, stop me on the slide, stick gum in my hair, and—this was her favorite way to torment me—sit on my paper lunch sack. That was, of course, in grammar school. In high school, Mandilla began to act a little nicer, quiet even. By our senior year Mandilla was an overweight, introspective woman who sometimes cried in study hall.
I thanked Roy for the tip. “I didn’t even know Mandilla was pregnant again. Isn’t she a little old for that kind of thing?”
Before Roy could answer I was hit on the behind by a mighty force and knocked off my feet. Fortunately Roy has quick reflexes and was able to catch me.
“Get out of my husband’s arms!” Elspeth shrieked.
I struggled to stand, but was hit again.
“Elspeth, please," I heard Roy say meekly.
Sheer anger got me upright and facing my attacker. Elspeth Miller had a look of pure hate in her eyes. In her tiny, gnarled hands, she held a coal shovel.
“Get
“I couldn’t agree more, but it was her idea.” Roy lowered his voice. “She better not see you today, Magdalena. She’s been on the warpath since she woke up. So, could you just buy what you came to buy, and then get out?”
I tried not to even glance at Roy’s arms, but it was no use. He was wearing long sleeves again. It was stifling in the store, so it had to be because he had something to hide. Although in all fairness, I suppose they could have been old bruises.
“Sorry, but I didn’t come to buy, dear. I need information.”
Roy looked like a deer caught in my headlights. “What kind of information? You’re not on your Nazi kick again, are you, Magdalena? Elspeth was born after the war, and she’s been in the U.S. since she was sixteen.”
“This has nothing to do with the Fuehrer and his flunkies. I need information about two of your employees who are in the family way.”
“Ach!” Roy squawked, reverting to his ancestral ways. “You’re not here to try and form a union, are you?”
I smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. I don’t work here, remember? I just want to talk to these ladies.” Roy glanced both ways. “What about?”
“Baby clothes,” I said, thinking fast on my feet. When you wear size eleven like I do, it’s really not that hard. And yes, I know it’s wrong to lie, but fibbing to placate Freni is not so much a lie as a means of survival. The Bible says nothing against trying to save one’s own life.
“What about baby clothes?”
“Well, Barbara Hostetler, whom you know to be a dear friend and distant cousin of mine—probably yours too—just had twins and—”
“Congratulations!” Roy was sincere.
“I’ll tell her that. Anyway, as you may know, baby clothes are very expensive, so I got to thinking about sort of a joint shower—well, really, it’s a woman thing. Just tell me where I can find the two ladies in question, let me chat to them a little, and I’ll skeedaddle.”
Roy shook his head. “Rebecca Zook no longer works here. And Mandilla Gindlesperger is on maternity leave, starting today. That’s all I’m at liberty to say.”
That was all the information I needed to know right then. Zook was a solid Amish name, that family having come over in the first major immigration in the eighteenth century. Both Freni and I had Zook branches in our family trees. Freni often shopped at Miller’s Feed Store and undoubtedly knew the family, possibly even where Rebecca lived. And it just so happened that I knew Mandilla Gindlesperger.
Mandilla and I went to school together, kindergarten through twelfth grade. Only back then she was Mandilla Beechy. It was, in fact, her great-great-grandfather, Bishop Beechy, who split off from the Amish and founded Beechy Grove Mennonite Church. Because of this suspicious family connection, Mandilla always thought she was better than the rest of us—well, at least better than I. Always big for her age, Mandilla would push me off the monkey bars, stop me on the slide, stick gum in my hair, and—this was her favorite way to torment me—sit on my paper lunch sack. That was, of course, in grammar school. In high school, Mandilla began to act a little nicer, quiet even. By our senior year Mandilla was an overweight, introspective woman who sometimes cried in study hall.
I thanked Roy for the tip. “I didn’t even know Mandilla was pregnant again. Isn’t she a little old for that kind of thing?”
Before Roy could answer I was hit on the behind by a mighty force and knocked off my feet. Fortunately Roy has quick reflexes and was able to catch me.
“Get out of my husband’s arms!” Elspeth shrieked.
I struggled to stand, but was hit again.
“Elspeth, please," I heard Roy say meekly.
Sheer anger got me upright and facing my attacker. Elspeth Miller had a look of pure hate in her eyes. In her tiny, gnarled hands, she held a coal shovel.
“Get
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