“Hmm. Well I hope she has better luck than Cousin Horatio did with the Chihuahua-size lap horses he bred in the 1970s. Everyone thought that his Hold Your Horses marketing scheme was brilliant too, but there was just one caveat.”
“What was that, Miss Yoder?”
“Have you ever seen a male horse, Chief?”
“Of course I have. I’ve been living in Hernia, remember?”
“Well, not all the new owners thought that holding an aroused horse, no matter how tiny, was to their liking.”
“Oh.”
“Chief, what happens now to your Minerva J. Jay case?”
“I have no more case-and neither do you. Do you hear me, Miss Yoder?”
“We do seem to have a bad connection.”
“I’m serious, Magdalena.”
“So now, finally, you call me by my first name? What if I object?”
“You could try firing me.”
“Touché.”
“Well, good luck with the case, even though it seems hopeless. But if anyone can solve it, it’s you. That key switch was nothing short of brilliant.”
“It was rather clever of me, wasn’t it?”
“You’re just a bag of tricks, Miss Yoder. You sure you’re not a gay man in drag?”
“Pretty sure. Why? Is that a compliment?”
“Only of the highest caliber. Listen, if it’s all right with you, I’ll be spending the next couple of days in Pittsburgh, and then I’ll be back to clear out my office and pack up my house-unless you want me out of the office sooner.”
“Take your time, dear. Cheerio, tut-tut, and all that sort of rot.” I paused long enough to swallow a lump the size of one of Freni’s dumplings. “Oh, by the way, some of us are going to miss you.”
“Ditto, Magdalena.”
Then I did what comes naturally and hung up the phone.
Clad only in his black silk pajama bottoms, the Babester opened the door languidly. My, what a devilishly handsome creature he was. Had I not just recently passed a watermelon on the floor of Sam Yoder’s Corner Market, I might have jumped his bones, thereby initiating the reproductive process all over again. Speaking only on my own behalf, the most effective birth control in the world is birth.
“Hi, hon, come on in.”
“Just like that? No preamble? No preconditions?”
“Mi casa es su casa.”
“Chili con carne is about all the Spanish I can muster at this hour of the morning-well, or anytime, for that matter. Will I have to have Little Jacob deprogrammed at a later date?”
Gabe laughed and reached for his son. “My house is your house. And it’s his house too. I think he can live with that.”
“Okay, who took my husband’s crabby mechanism and replaced it with this disgustingly cheerful mood? Is there a chickadee hiding behind the couch?”
“A what?”
“I know, strictly speaking a chickadee is a species of bird, but isn’t bird cockney slang for woman?”
“No chickadee, or chick, or bird of any kind; I’m just happy to see you.”
I tried desperately to maintain eye contact. “So you are. Listen, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“Anything. You know that.”
“I do?”
“If I can.”
“Could you please watch my-our-son for the morning?”
“That’s a favor? Come on, hon, that’s not a favor; that’s Heaven.”
I handed him the bag at my feet. “Here’s all the diapers you’ll need, and several onesies, and I’ve expressed two bottles-that device really isn’t too bad in a pinch, ha-ha-but since I just fed him, I should be back in plenty of time to see that he doesn’t starve-even though he may sound that way.”
“Looks like you’ve covered all the bases-Hey, wait just one Yoder minute. This means that you’re about to do something crazy, doesn’t it?”
“I’m always doing crazy things. Ask anyone in town.”
“Hon, look, I know you well enough to realize that there’s no stopping you. So please be careful!”
“Aren’t I always?”
“No, you’re not; but you are very, very lucky. This time be careful, as well as lucky.”
Little Jacob gurgled and burbled similar sentiments.
“There, you see? Do you think I’d take any unnecessary risks with this little guy to come home to?”
“You’ve got me.”
“Sure, it’s probably just gas, but mark my words-What did you say?”
“Darling, I’ve been a donkey’s patooty-as you’d so quaintly put it. I’ve been acting like a spoiled mama’s boy, not the man that I know myself to be. Can you forgive me?”
“Well, I-”
“You don’t have to give me an answer now. Please just don’t write me off entirely until you’ve given me a chance to prove that I can step up to the plate.”
I sighed. “Don’t take this as a compliment, but you look like you’re already about to swing-maybe even hit a home run-not that I would notice such a thing at a time like this.”
“Does that mean what I think it does?”
“It means that I’m in a hurry and that we’ll talk later. Toodleoo.” I started to flee.
“Mags-”
“I don’t even have a minute, and the doctor says I shouldn’t even think about it for another month.”
“I just got off the phone with Ma.”
“And now let’s add another month.”
“She says she’s never been happier. That makes me very happy too, so I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”
“What did I do?”
“You know, making her so miserable that she ran off and became Sister Disgusting-or whatever her name is.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ma says that the rally in Cleveland was a bust because nobody cared enough to show up, so Susannah booked them all into a motel-two to a room. Ma’s roommate was this woman who had to spend more time shaving than Ma, which really made her feel good.”
“Your mother shaves?”
“Sixty percent of American women are unhappy with the amount of their facial or body hair; she is not in the minority.”
“In that case I am glad to have been of assistance.”
“Oh, she said to give you her love and to tell you that she is praying that you achieve a blasé state of mind.”
“I would say how sweet, but I lack the motivation to do even that.”
As I leaned forward to give Little Jacob a parting kiss, I smelled the Babester’s manly scent. My knees went weak, and my heart began to pound, but worst of all, I thought I might throw myself into his arms and crush Little Jacob-so powerful were those pheromones wafting to me on that gentle late April breeze. Gabriel Rosen was a Greek god (albeit a Hebrew man) in a body of steel, and I was a Mennonite magnet, completely powerless over my corpuscles of clay, if you’ll pardon the mixed metaphor of a hormonally challenged woman.
There was only one thing in the world that could have prevented me from abandoning my mission right then and there. Unfortunately for Minerva J. Jay’s killer-and Elias Whitmore’s, I might add-my cell phone rang.
Is it possible that when the Rapture comes, half the folks will not hear the trumpets of glory because their ears will be glued to their cell phones? Far be it from me to speak on behalf of the Lord, but I don’t think there will be cell phones in Heaven, in which case a good many folks may well ask for a transfer down to the St. Louis Airport, Concourse A. And yet as critical as I am of others being addicted to this horrible Pavlovian device, I am all but powerless to resist when its ringtone beckons me to answer.
“Hello?”
“Magdalena, where are you? I need you right away.” More was said, but I didn’t catch it all. The speaker was quite possibly a woman, but she, or he, was whispering so softly that even a rabbit would have had trouble hearing all that was said.