Tamar Myers - Butter Safe Than Sorry

“Did you go?”

“You bet. The Gillespies rented the Holderman barn and fixed it up to look like the high school gym. Then they brought in this rock band from Pittsburgh, and-Oh, wait a minute. You being an Old Order Mennonite-you didn’t go, did you?”

I let the Devil take over and gave her a wicked grin as I recalled my shameful behavior that night. “That’s what you think. I told my parents I was going to an all- night Bible study over in Summerville with Judy Bontrager, except that I didn’t. You see, Judy had just gotten her license. Anyway, we went to the party as well, only we hung out by the henhouse with the rest of the kids who wanted to come, but who weren’t supposed to be there.”

“You didn’t!” I heard admiration in Agnes’s voice like I’d never heard before.

“There must have been fifteen or twenty of us by the henhouse-hiding in the shadows, like we are here. But we could still hear the music. Nice and loud too, because we were downwind from the barn. At any rate, at first we just stood around and mostly talked about how cool it was that we had all sneaked away from our parents, but then Marlene Jacobs began moving to the beat, and the next thing you knew we were all twisting the night away.”

“You weren’t!”

“But I was,” I whispered. “I even shimmied and shook. My nimble young body did gyre and gimble in the wabe.”

“No way!”

“Way,” I said, even now electrified by thought of all that pulsating energy flowing through and not going to waste. “And the momwraths outgabe,” I added.

“Uh-I think now you’ve lost me.”

“You may not be the only one. But do you at least believe me?”

“Yes, and I hate you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“ Magdalena, you have everything. You have a handsome husband, you have a child, you know what it’s like to swing from a chandelier, and now I find out that you’ve even danced. I don’t know why you even bother to be friends with me. Face it: we have nothing in common.”

“Don’t be silly, dear, of course we do; we’re both fond of moi.”

“I can’t believe you said that.”

“I was only trying to be fun-will you look at that!”

We’d been keeping watch on a living room, or perhaps a den, but it had suddenly sprung to life as Pernicious Yoder III entered, followed by a young woman. It took me a moment to recognize Amy, the young teller, because this evening she was dressed casually in jeans and an Obama ’08 sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail that rode much too high-Okay, I didn’t recognize her at all until I heard her name spoken.

“Thanks for coming, Miss Neubrander,” Pernicious said. “I know this is highly irregular, and just so you don’t feel too uncomfortable, I want you to know that Mrs. Yoder is in her bedroom watching television.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pernicious gestured for her to sit, which she did, perching like a bird on the edge of a red- and-green-checked wingback chair. He, however, remained standing. He who looms has the most power, I mused.

“I suppose you’re worried,” he said, “that I might have some bad news for you. Especially given this economy-Fanny Mae, Freddy Mac-they sound like the Bobbsey Twins, heh, heh. Of course you’re too young to remember those books-so am I, as a matter of fact, but I found a box of them in the attic at my grandparents’ lake house when I was a boy. Forgive me. The older I get, the more I tend to ramble.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I hissed under my breath. “That man’s no older than I am.”

“So old?” Agnes said, absolutely deadpan.

I elbowed her-gently, of course. “Shhh.”

“The thing is,” Pernicious continued to prattle, “I’ve come to regard you as a very valuable employee. Very valuable, indeed.”

Amy smiled, but she didn’t look happy. “Thank you, sir. I try my best.”

“Yes, well, we at First Farmer’s Bank like to reward our valuable employees, to let them know just how much we appreciate them. Therefore, it is my pleasure to inform you that you are being offered a promotion. Your new title will be Chief Assistant Clerk in Training and it comes with a salary increase of six percent.”

Amy gasped softly, touching her bosom with her right hand.

“But, of course, Miss Neubrander, with a new pay grade come new responsibilities. You realize that, don’t you?” Pernicious paused and peered at Amy like a heron about to pounce on a fish.

“Yes, sir. Uh-what sort of duties, sir? I am a Christian, you know.”

Pernicious, who in my book is a wicked man, snickered. “It’s not what you think, young lady. I told you that Mrs. Yoder is in the next room watching her favorite mind-numbing shows. American Idol -ha! What a load of crap. Those kids can’t sing a note, if you ask me. Do you sing, Amy?”

“I’m in the church choir, sir-if that counts.”

“Indeed, it does! Sing something for me, Amy.”

“Here? Now?” The poor child looked like she was about to be executed, and had been asked to choose between hanging and lethal injection.

“No, a century from now on the moon. Of course here and now! Come on, let me hear something. Anything-one of your favorite hymns. Okay, I’ll give you a minute to think about it. In the meantime, I have another favor to ask you.”

Amy squirmed, pushing her way to the rear of the wingback. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t look so scared, Amy. All I’m asking is that, from here on out, any comments you make-to anyone -concerning the-uh-unfortunate event be cleared by me first.”

I couldn’t believe my ears! The unfortunate event had almost gotten the poor girl killed. Why on earth would Pernicious put a gag order on something that was a matter of public record anyway?

The answer had to lie in inbreeding. When we become our own cousins, there is a danger that our thinking will become muddled, especially as we age, which Pernicious, by his own admission, felt he was doing. Shortly after her fiftieth birthday Cousin Feodora Yoder became convinced she was married to her toaster oven. It was a harmless delusion until she took it to bed, where it shorted out, causing second- degree burns on parts of her body that even the Good Lord hadn’t seen.

But Amy was nodding like one of those toy dogs folks used to put in the rear windows of their cars. “Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”

“Good. Then we have a deal.” Pernicious bent stiffly to give her a quick pat on the knee. “Now sing, Amy.”

“Well-”

“Why don’t you stand, first-like you’re in choir practice?”

“All right.” Amy appeared to struggle to her feet, but once up, she puffed out her diaphragm, threw back her head, and belted out the most awesome, spine-tingling version of “How Great Thou Art” that I have ever heard. I could tell that Pernicious was impressed, but I’m sure that angels in Heaven were as well; in fact, quite possibly they were a mite jealous.

Amy’s voice was glorious. There is no other way to describe it-okay, maybe it was a bit like Streisand on steroids. So inspired was I, so uplifted spiritually, that I forgot who and where I was and gave myself over to the moment. That is to say, I stood up and sang along with her.

Unfortunately, it’s been said that my voice is reminiscent of a female donkey in heat, and if it doesn’t attract any handsome burros, it at least sets dogs to barking as far as a mile away. That night was no different than any other, which meant I may have hit a few sour notes. Perhaps I hit only sour notes and at an unearthly, earsplitting pitch-but just perhaps.

What matters is that when Pernicious Yoder III glanced out the picture window and saw yours truly violating his bush, he was not a happy man.