Myers - Between a wok and a hard place

I hugged Annie and got the front of my dress wet, but I did not get the confession I wanted. According to her, little Samuel spent the night safely tucked in his trundle bed. She was crying, she would have me believe, because she was a sensitive soul and could empathize with the mother of the real hooligan.

Of course I believed her. I believed Mama when she told me that babies were found under cabbages. But I was only twenty then and afraid to ask questions. Fortunately I had grown up a lot in the intervening years.

You have more empathy than a nursery full of squalling babies, I said kindly.

She dabbed at her eyes with her apron. Youre trying to trick me into something, arent you?

Absolutely not, dear. Well, even if I was, it would be for a good cause. Some mother out there is really going to have a broken heart when her son gets hauled off to the hoosegow.

Annie stared at me with bleary eyes. There is nothing more unattractive than a woman with red eyes well, perhaps there is, but thats not my point.

What does hoosegow mean?

Jail. Prison.

They could do that? Put an Amish boy in prison just for having a good time?

Id hardly call a hit-and-run accident a good time. Id call it a crime.

An accident? Is that what you said?

Yes. But Im not free to give you any details. Not that she needed any, Im sure.

The bleary eyes blinked several times. What would happen to such a boy if he confessed to his crime?

Well, Im not sure, except that the punishment is undoubtedly lighter in cases where the criminals turn themselves in.

Criminals. She said the word slowly, letting its three syllables become acquainted with her tongue.

Im sure you know as well that hiding a known fugitive is a crime in itself. Heavens, the Hernia hoosegow could be filled to overflowing before this case is through.

Ach, but I... He voice faced away, and the tears welled up again.

You what?

She shook her head vigorously. Nothing.

If you know something, you should tell me now. I came here to help, Annie.

Enos Mast.

Who?

Isaac Masts son.

Thats all she would say. Further prompting caused her to snatch the chickensone still half-plucked and head for the house.

What about lunch? I called after her. Im available.

The screen door slammed behind her.

Not only was it lunchtime, but I was missing a cook. My guests pay big bucks, and expect high returns. Fortunately, it is atmosphere they expect, not service. Until Freni saw the error of her ways and came crawling to me on her knees, I would have to implement an emergency measure. It was time to resurrect ALPO.

I smiled benevolently at the group assembled around Great-granny Yoders solid oak table. Thank the Good Lord the urchins had settled for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and were already outside screaming and hollering loud enough to wake the dead in China. And since I was in a grateful mood I gave thanks for the fact that Susannah cleaned exactly one room before falling fast asleep on a pile of dirty laundry.

It means Amish Lifestyle Plan Option, I said, ignoring the hungry looks on my guests faces. Its the quickest way there is to get to know the Amish.

I still dont get it. Wilmar Brack was a pain in the back.

Oh, I do, and I think its marvelous. Shirley Pearson, who was used to speaking at board meetings, stood up. You see, Mrs. Miller has generously offered to let us experience the authentic Amish lifestyle. We get to cook our own meals, clean our own rooms, and do our own laundry, and it will cost us only fifty dollars more a day.

Cool. I can dig it. Terry Slock, former child star, seemed genuinely pleased.

It never failed to surprise how much abuse people will put up with if they can view it as a cultural experience. Well, most folks.

Wilmar Brack stood up as well. I think its the dumbest thing I ever heard.

Shirley bestowed an icy smile on Dr. Brack. I still have the floor, I believe.

Floor shmore. This isnt some damn boardroom.

Therell be no swearing in my establishment, I said sternly.

Dr. Brack backed down.

Dorothy Dixon raised her arm, as if she were a schoolgirl. Will we get a chance to meet the Ayemish? Besides, Mrs. Hoaxstetler, the cook, I mean. You see, Ive been thinking that the Ayemish would make a wonderful setting for a series of childrens mysteries. What do you think of Hattie Hoaxstetler and the Hernia Hex as my first title? Hattie would be Ayemish, of course.

The woman was creative, Id give her that. I have always been a voracious reader, and as long as I can remember, authors have been my heroes. That was true right up until the day I met my first live author, a bizarre, paranoid woman who traveled with a contingent of six bodyguards and a pet cheetah. Since then I have come to understand that authors are just folks like the rest of us, with the same quirks and foibles, although in some cases the foibles are more pronounced. Okay, lets face it, most writers I know are more neurotic than a kitten raised by pit bulls, but I try not to judge.

In all honesty, Dorothy was far more normal than most writers Id had as guests at the PennDutch. She was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties who didnt appear to be any stranger than yours truly. I could say something equally complimentary about her husband, Angus Dixon. If they hadnt shown up with their urchins in tow, I might well have liked them.

I tried to smile pleasantly. Thats Amish, dear. And yes, perhaps something could be arranged. Perhaps a visit to Annie Kauffmans farm. That would serve her right for not inviting me to lunch.

Wonderful! Shirley exclaimed.

Will there be photo opportunities? Angus asked. He seemed rather shy for a Pulitzer prize-winning photographer.

Im sure. It isnt a lie if you dont go into specifics.

Costumes! Terry Slock sat up, suddenly excited. Man, that could be real cool. We could all wear Amish costumes to help us get in the mood.

For what? Maybe Susannah is right when she says I never have a clue.

Terry gave me a sympathetic look. Its like method acting.

Shirley graced him with an executive smile. Wonderful. Where could we buy some of those charming outfits, Mrs. Miller?

The Amish around here make their own clothes, I said. Although you can find the fabrics they like at Millers Feed Store.

She looked expectantly at me.

Its a very distant relation. You wont get a discount.