No Use Dying Over Spilled Milk (17 page)

If I was a young Amish woman, I’d be nervous too if an Englisher drove up, unannounced, after dark.

“Yah? Who is it?” Barbara asked through a closed door. “It’s me, Magdalena Yoder. We met at the cemetery, remember?”

“Yah?”

“I came to talk with you, if that’s all right. Your family too.”

“My family has gone to visit a neighbor. Could you come back tomorrow?”

“Why yes, I suppose I could. But I’d be happy to talk with just you. It involves the death of your fiance, Levi, and it’s rather personal.”

The door opened a crack. “Miss Yoder, I have nothing more to say about Levi’s death; I thought I made that clear at the cemetery.”

Pointed shoes have several uses, and I managed to keep the crack open as I spoke. “Yes, I realize the subject must be very painful for you, but I know that you knew Levi’s death wasn’t an accident. I also think that you know it wasn’t possession either.”

The door opened wide enough for me to slip in. Perhaps it was the absence of the black outdoor bonnet, but Barbara Hooley looked different from the way I remembered her in the cemetery. Although the white everyday prayer cap covered most of her hair, which had been pulled back tight in the traditional knot, the hair in front of the cap was a pale golden blond. She was tall and thin, like Susannah, but far from flat-chested. What Yoder blood she had did not show up in her nose. In the eyes of the outside world, Barbara Hooley was a knockout.

“This way,” she said and led me through the kitchen to the front sitting room.

As in all Amish sitting rooms, the furnishings were functional rather than decorative. No framed photographs or paintings hung on the walls in the conventional sense. There was, however, a plethora of calendars, each with a brightly colored picture attached. Calendars are first and foremost functional, the bishops have ruled. I selected a sturdy wooden rocker beneath a calendar depicting the Grand Canyon in a February snowstorm.

Large baby-blue eyes, the color unaltered by contacts, gazed steadily at me. “Miss Yoder, my family will be coming back soon. What is it you wanted to say?”

“I’ve been investigating the deaths of your fiance and Yost Yoder, dear, and I am positive that neither of them was an accident. I am just as positive they weren’t possession.”

“Nor suicide,” Barbara said firmly. “So that only leaves murder.”

“I quite agree, dear. And although I can’t prove anything yet, I have a pretty good idea why both men were murdered, and who was behind it.”

“Please, go on.”

“You know as well as I do that the answer to both questions somehow involves Daisybell Dairies. Someone there didn’t want the cheese cooperative to succeed, and went to extreme measures to see that it wouldn’t. Just who is actually pulling the strings I’m not sure.”

“Mr. Hem, the new owner?”

I rocked silently for a moment. “Maybe, maybe not. He doesn’t seem all that competent to me.”

“Do you think it could be Mr. Ledbetter, then?”

“It could be. Anything’s possible. Do you know him well?”

She nodded. “Before the boycott, I worked at Daisybell Dairies. I graduated eighth grade when I was fourteen, and as soon as I turned sixteen Papa let me go to work. I worked there almost four years. Anyway, I was there when Mr. Craycraft died and his nephew took over.

“When Mr. Craycraft was alive he was always in charge. Even though Mr. Ledbetter was the general manager, everyone knew who was the boss. If there were any problems Mr. Ledbetter couldn’t handle, we knew where to turn. Mr. Craycraft liked it that way. He said he liked staying in touch.

“But when Mr. Craycraft died, things changed. Suddenly Mr. Ledbetter was acting like the boss, even though the nephew, Mr. Hem, moved right up here from West Virginia. If you ask me, that’s what started the bad feelings at the dairy, not what happened to Elsie Bontrager.”

“Ah. That’s very interesting. Did you know Elsie well?”

Barbara smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. Harrison Ford wouldn’t stand a chance with her. “Elsie was exactly my age and in my special group of friends. I’ve known her as long as I can remember.”

“What was she like?”

“She was beautiful,” Barbara said, and I could hear the wistfulness in her voice. Undoubtedly the woman had never looked in a mirror.

I smiled. “I mean, her personality. Would you say she was reliable?”

“Ach, Elsie was the salt of the earth. Some people think she made up the whole terrible story, but I know she didn’t. Elsie only spoke the truth.”

“Yes, dear, I’m sure. How would you describe her after the incident?”

The perfect face frowned. “That was the worst part for me. Seeing her changed so. She wasn’t the same Elsie at all anymore. It was almost as if—”

“She’d been possessed? Is that what you mean to say?”

Barbara stared at me. “Yes, that’s what I mean. That’s exactly what I mean. People began saying that she was ‘off,’ that the experience itself was so horrible that she was coping the only way she could. She was making herself crazy. But I don’t agree. It was something more than that, Miss Yoder. It had to be. Elsie was such a strong girl that even if what they say happened did, I don’t think it would be enough to make her act that way.”

I felt a shiver run up my spine. “You just said ‘if what they say happened.’ Do you think it might have been otherwise?”

Barbara shrugged. “I just mean that I never heard it from Elsie’s lips directly. One day Elsie wasn’t at work, and then I heard from someone who heard from someone who heard from someone. You know how that is.”

“Yes, of course.” It was that way the day Mama and Papa died. For some reason the sheriff who had been there at the scene never did talk to Susannah and me directly. News of our parents’ death spread like wildfire, and by the time Reverend Detweiler, our minister, drove out to break the news, we were among the last to know.

“Barbara, forgive me for being personal here, but did Mr. Hem ever—you know, try—with you—”

“Miss Yoder! Of course not!”

“I’m sorry, dear, it was just something I needed to know. So, if he didn’t bother you, then I suspect he may not have bothered Elsie, either.”

“But Elsie was beautiful!”

“And what are you, dear, chopped liver?”

She stared at me.

I decided to rephrase it in lingo she might understand. After all, not everyone gets exposed to the same cultured folks that I do at the PennDutch.

“Barbara, dear, in case no one has ever told you, you are very beautiful. There are movie actresses who spend thousands of dollars trying to look like you, but never get anywhere close. Believe me, I know. I’ve met a few.”

She colored. “Ach, Miss Yoder, please don’t. That is Hochmut. Pride.”

“Why? Is it a sin to be naturally beautiful? I don’t think so. After all, beauty is a gift from God.”

“But not to be shown off in public,” she said quickly.

It was time to change the subject. “Were you there when Sheriff Stoltzfus came out to investigate Levi’s death?”

“No. By the time I got there, Mr. Stoltzfus was gone.”

“But you have met him, right?”

“Yah. On other occasions.”

“What do you think of him?”

She sat quietly for a few minutes, composing her thoughts. I knew it was against her principles to speak unkindly of anyone. Finally she cleared her throat.

“I had a kitten for a pet once. Not a regular kitten, but a wildcat Papa found in the woods. I named him Samson. When he was little, Samson acted just like a regular kitten. But when he grew up, I learned that Samson couldn’t be trusted. After he killed three of Mama’s chickens, Papa made me give him away to the zoo in Columbus.”

“I see. Theoretically speaking, Sheriff Marvin Stoltzfus could be killing a few chickens on the side, eh?”

She gave me the blank stare I deserved.

“So, do you suppose your family will be moving away, or do you plan to stick it out?”

She shrugged. “We are praying about it, Miss Yoder. It is a very difficult decision for my parents to make. Still, if so many of us move to Indiana...”

“Do you know of any families that plan to stay regardless?”

“Yah. The John Augsburgers. They’re in their nineties and feel they’re too old to move. Their sons John and Joseph would stay too. Along with their families. Then there is Daniel ‘the Red’ Yoder and his family. They have fourteen children. Let’s see, I think Tobias and Rachel Lehman plan to stay. They only have nine children. Of course, Stayrook and Elizabeth Gerber and their children. Oh yes, Elias and Amanda Schlabach—but their children are grown. Maybe a few more.”

“Did you say Stayrook Gerber and his family? Isn’t he convinced that Levi was possessed?”

“Yah, but he is an ordained minister. Stayrook would be—”

“Stayrook Gerber is an ordained minister? Annie Stutzman told me he was a deacon.”

“Sometimes Annie gets confused,” Barbara said kindly. “Anyway, Stayrook would be staying on account of the others.”

“That’s mighty big of him.”

My sarcasm was lost on her. “Stayrook is a man of great faith.”

“Well, I’m praying that you stay. I firmly believe that’s the right decision.”

She looked surprised.

“We Mennonites pray too, dear.”

She laughed. “Yes, I know. It’s just that your feelings are so strong. You have so much confidence in what you think.”

“Well, some people have called me bullheaded.” Something occurred to me. “What will happen to the cheese cooperative if most of the people leave?”

Barbara suddenly sat bolt upright, one ear turned to the sitting-room window. “I hear my family coming back. They haven’t turned yet off Hertzler Road. Do you mind leaving now, Miss Yoder?”

I knew better than to ask how on earth she could hear horse hooves a quarter of a mile away. When an Amish girl says she hears horse hooves, the odds are she does. I thanked her for her cooperation and skedaddled into the dark cold night. Just after I turned out of the Hooley driveway I saw the buggy turning the corner. My visit to Barbara was our little secret. As far as I knew.

I owed Lizzie Troyer breakfast. After having put up with two crazy Englishers all week, the woman deserved some form of recompense. Eating her sardine omelettes and zucchini muffins was a small enough price to pay.

“What an interesting idea. I never thought of combining sardines in mustard sauce with eggs,” I said charitably.

Lizzie beamed. “You can also get sardines in tomato sauce, with jalapenos, or just plain salad oil. Even,” she whispered, “in wine sauce. For those days you might be feeling a little naughty.”

“Do tell!”

“Ach, there is so much in this world to see and do. New things to try. Tell me, Magdalena, what’s it like to be of this world?”

I exercised tremendous self-control and barely bristled. “I am not of this world! ‘As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world,’ ” I said, quoting Jesus himself.

Lizzie was not convinced. “Oh, but you are. Just look at you. You’re wearing red today!” There was no mistaking the admiration in her voice.

“Lizzie, dear, wearing red does not make me of this world.”

“But red is the traditional color of harlots,” she said knowingly.

“I beg your pardon! I am not a harlot!” I prayed that the boys were too busy with their eggs to hear. Fortunately Samuel had eaten earlier and was already out working.

“No, of course not. But you do drive a car, and can go anywhere you want. Say, isn’t that lipstick you’re wearing?”

“Just a trace, dear. And frankly, you could use a trace yourself.” I dug into my pocketbook, which was propped against my chair, and brought out a tube of Cranberry Kiss.

The last time I saw wistfulness of that intensity was the Christmas when Susannah was eight, and Papa told her Santa would spank her if she wasn’t good. From then on Susannah has broken every rule she can.

“No, I couldn’t,” Lizzie said, as she snatched the tube out of my hand.

“Sort of pucker like this, and try to outline them first. Then smack your lips together to spread it all around.”

Five pairs of eyes—Isaac, the oldest boy, had yet to leave for school—were trained on their mother as she made her maiden voyage into the world.

“Mama, are you a harlot now?” Isaac asked seriously.

Lizzie turned as red as my Cranberry Kiss and fled from the room. When she returned, not only was her mouth scrubbed clean, it was set in a firm, narrow line.

“Don’t tell Papa,” she warned.

“Why?” Benjamin asked.

“Papa doesn’t need to know everything, that’s why.”

Isaac nodded sagely. “Papa doesn’t need to know that I broke his saw after school yesterday, does he, Mama?”

Lizzie looked at me accusingly. “Speaking of school, you’re going to be late, Isaac. And don’t forget to take your lunch today. It’s in the cooler.”

“Shall I tell Papa I ripped my Sunday pants?” Solomon asked.

“Papa no, Papa no,” Peter and Elias chorused.

After the door banged behind Isaac, Lizzie sat down and let out a long sigh. “Well, you could have warned me, Magdalena. I had no idea that the world could get me into so much trouble so fast.”