As the World Churns (24 page)

    My best friend, incidentally, was one of the few people left at the stadium. She appeared to be directing several young Amish men, telling them how they should go about scooping up cow dung.

    “Agnes!” I cried in bewilderment. “Where
is
everybody?”

    “They’re gone, Magdalena. How are you doing?
What
are you doing here? Gabriel said you were in the hospital.”

    “I was. But I’m good as new now.”

    Agnes is a short, round woman with a round face framed by round glasses. Despite the fact that she is grossly overweight, she positively brims with energy. In fact, she bounces when she walks. When she gestured me away from the Amish men, I found it hard to keep up with her.

    But when we were well out of earshot, she bounced in place until I caught up. “What was your diagnosis?”

    
“Diagnosis?
Agnes, dear, you of all people should know that, despite advancements in modern diagnostic machines, doctors are reluctant to give diagnoses. They’d rather have their egos excised.”

    “Why, Magdalena, what a judgmental thing for you to say. So you
are
all better!”

    “I’m fine as frog’s hair, dear. Now tell me where everyone is.”

    “They’ve gone home-I guess. The first annual Hernia Holstein Competition is officially over.”

    “Agnes, I’m not in the mood for jokes. Besides, you’ve never had a sense of humor-and I mean that kindly-so why start now?”

    “It’s not a joke. Your handsome husband rushed things so
much,
he was able to cram two days of judging into one. As for the festivities, well-you can see for yourself. Three Amish men on poop-scooping detail, and they’re not even cute. Whoopee.” She twirled her index finger in the air.

    “But what about the hot dog vendor and the cotton candy machine? And the three-legged stilt walker? Where are they?”

    “The stilt walker called in last night to say he’d broken one of his legs. The vendors stayed only until the winner was announced, because that’s when the crowd, such as it was, left. Everyone is angry, Magdalena. They say that they were ripped off by the high ticket prices for a show that didn’t deliver. As for the contestants and their cows-they actually came to fisticuffs. I mean the contestants did. For the most part, the cows were well-behaved.”

    I
moaned,
my new alternative to wailing. “Whose cow won? Was it a local farmer?”

    Agnes, like Freni, lacks a neck. Shaking her head must create a good deal of friction, but she bravely did so anyway. That’s how strong her emotions were.

    “A local win, suspect as it might be, would be great for the economy. I’m afraid it was one of your people.”

    
“
My
people?
I only have Mose and the Amish lad who milks for me. I don’t recall either of them entering a cow.”

    
“No, one of your guests.”

    I had to swallow hard to keep my heart in my chest.
“Who?
What were their names?”

    “Hmm. Pearlman, I think.”

    “You mean Pearlmutter? Was she uncommonly plain, to use an oxymoron, and was he to-die-for gorgeous?”

    “Yes, one might describe them like that.”

    “Rats. I was really hoping that, if it couldn’t be one of our homegrown farmers, the delightful Gertie Fuselburger would win.”

    “Now
you’re
joking-right?”

    “Nay, I joketh noteth. I think she’s a hoot.”

    “Wrong. You should have witnessed the hissy fit she threw when she was eliminated after the first round. I was seriously worried that she would have a stroke. How old is she anyway?
A hundred?”

    “Knock off a third of a century and you’ll be closer. But don’t stop there. Tell me what her hissy fit was like. And it’s not that I just want to gossip either-a good grasp of human nature is helpful to me as an innkeeper.”

    Agnes chortled.
“A good grasp?
Magdalena, if human nature had an esophagus, you’d have long since asphyxiated it. Anyway, she cussed a blue streak-even threatened to call the cops.”

    
“The police?
What for?”

    
“Something about the contest being rigged.
At the very least, she said, she’d be calling the BMC. Magdalena, what on earth is that?”

    
“Bovine Mediating Council.
It’s a little-known organization that settles cow disputes. But never mind that, could you please give me a ride home? I was planning to ride with Gabe. Speaking of whom, how did he do? More importantly, how did he manage to run through two days’ events in less than one?”

    “He spoke like an auctioneer, that’s how.”

    “Well, he is a New Yorker; they all talk fast.”

    “No, I mean he really spoke like an auctioneer. He rattled off a million words a minute. It seemed like he didn’t even stop to breathe. Everyone was complaining, Magdalena, but your husband essentially told them all to shut up. He said that you gave him the absolute authority to do things however he pleased. You should have seen the faces of the judges. That’s how the Roman senate must have looked when Julius Caesar took over as lifetime dictator. Although I’ve seen statues of Caesar, and your Gabriel is much better looking.”

    I nodded. “And if there’s a dish named after my sweetie, it better be more than just a salad.”

    We chatted amiably on the way home, as best friends are wont to do. But when we got to the juncture of
Main Street
and
Hertzler Road
, Agnes pulled over onto the shoulder, which is also the west bank of Slave Creek. Legend has it that escaped slaves followed this stream north from
Maryland
and to freedom. I am all for believing in legends-just as long as they don’t contradict my faith-but the truth is that not only does Slave Creek begin in
Pennsylvania
, it ends here as well, having emptied its meager flow into the mighty Allegheny. Still, it is a nice legend, and the only other person aware of this fallacy is Doc, and neither of us intends to breathe a discrediting word.

    “Agnes,” I said with as much pleasantness as I could muster, “why on earth are we stopping? I need to get home pronto.
ASAP.
Be a dear and press the pedal to the metal.”

    “Magdalena, I need to ask you something first.”

    “The answer is no. I will not run away with you to homestead in the wilds of
Alaska
. I hear that in the summer the mosquitoes are as big as starlings, and that-”

    “Please don’t wisecrack.”

    I sighed. “Okay, I’ll try not to, difficult as it may be. Now, what is it?”

    “I think I’m in love.”

    “That’s exactly what I was trying to get across. I love you too, Agnes, but only as a friend.”

    “What? I’m not in love with
you
! Honestly, Magdalena, when are you going to learn that the world does not revolve around you?”

    That stung. Yes, I am guilty of thinking that I am the center of the universe-but only
my
universe. It’s called having an ego, and it’s not necessarily a bad thing. As tempted as I was to retort with the argument that we all think that way, I took the high road and merely pantomimed locking my mouth with a key and tossing it out the window.

    Agnes gave me a challenging look until she was quite satisfied I’d been properly put in my place. “I’m in love with Harmon Dorfman. He’s in love with me too, I just know it. It was love at first sight. He wants me to move to
North Dakota
and marry him there. When I told him I have the uncles to care for, he volunteered to move down here.”

    I sat bolt upright, my eyes bulging from the pressure of unreleased words.

    “Don’t be such a pain, Magdalena. Unlock your mouth and tell me what you think. Tell me what you
really
think; don’t hold back a thing.”

    I didn’t even bother to look for the invisible key. “I think that you must be nuts. Not only are you off your rocker, but you must have fallen off and hit your head. Agnes, Harmon Dorfman is one of the most irritating men I’ve ever met, and I say that with Christian charity.”

    “Magdalena, I’ve always been glad that you’re not a pagan. So Harmon isn’t your cup of tea-that doesn’t mean he’s not right for me. I’m forty-six years old, Magdalena, and not pretty like you. The last date I had was in college, and he was a blind date. I mean that literally.”

    “But Harmon Dorfman walks around without a shirt.”

    
“So what?
Have you forgotten that the uncles don’t wear pants?”

    “
And
he claims to have cloned a cow.”

    “His brother claims that, not him. Besides, Harry withdrew the claim this morning when the crowd booed his announcement.”

    “Gabe let him announce it?”

    “Yes, and forgive me, Magdalena, but it was mean of your husband to allow him to hang himself like that. Gabe is a doctor; he knew Harmon was faking it.”

    “Faking or trying to pull the wool over our unsophisticated eyes? I think most folks would call that attempted thievery.”

    Agnes extended her jaw in defiance, which set her chins to wobbling. When she gets into this frame of mind, there is no dissuading her.

    “When are you leaving for
North Dakota
?”

    “Oh, Magdalena, do you really mean it? Are you really going to support me in this?”

    My sigh ruffled the surface of Slave Creek. “Yes, silly, but I’m not going to stop by to check on the uncles without you there. When you’ve seen one, you’ve seen one too many, if you ask me. I still can’t look at a turkey neck without blushing.”

    She giggled. “I couldn’t ask for a better friend. And the answer is Thursday. By this time next week, I plan to be Mrs. Harmon Dorfman.”

    I shuddered.

    Freni must have heard the car pull up my gravel driveway, but she waited until Agnes was back on the road again before making her move. Then she burst through the back door and practically threw herself down the steps, flapping her stubby arms vigorously like a plump hen that can’t quite achieve liftoff.

    “Ach, where have you been?”

    
“In the hospital.
And how are you, dear?”

    “Yah, I know about the hospital. But I called them, and they said that you checked out an hour ago. Where have you been since then?”

    “Agnes plans to marry Harmon Dorfman.”

    “Ach,” Freni squawked, and flapped her arms one last time. “That one is not right in the head.”

    
“Harmon or Agnes?”

    Her eyes glinted behind the thick lenses, which meant she was trying hard not to smile.
“Two pecans on the same branch, yah?”

    “Yes, but at least Agnes is sincere. I’m afraid she’s going to be hurt.”

    “She is a smart woman, Magdalena. Perhaps she can take care of herself. But your husband-well, what does he know of life outside his Big Banana?”

    “
Excuse
me?”