4. To serve the pancake, slide it from the skillet onto a large platter. Pour the Cardamom Honey Apples into the center. Cut into wedges and serve, distributing the topping evenly.

Cardamom Honey Apples: Peel, quarter, and core 2 large Golden Delicious apples. Cut into thin wedges. Heat 1 tablespoon unsalted butter in a medium skillet until sizzling. Add the apple wedges and cook, stirring gently, until lightly browned on both sides. Sprinkle with ½ teaspoon ground cardamom and stir to coat. Add ½ cup honey and heat to boiling. Remove from heat; stir in 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice.

11

“I’m all ears, George.”

He reached out and patted my arm. “I hope you’re not offended, Magdalena, but I don’t find you attractive.”

“Ditto, dear.”

“No, really. I’m told that you have all the attributes one would normally desire in a member of the opposite sex, but they do nothing to excite me.”

“And no offense to you, George, but your parts don’t light a fire in my loins either.”

He seemed a bit taken aback by me giving him tit for tat. “I don’t think you understand. It’s not just you I’m not attracted to; it’s all of the fairer sex.”

“In other words, you’re gay.”

“Oh, how I hate that word!”

“I’m sorry, George. Do you prefer homosexual?” We were still whispering, by the way, albeit a bit loudly.

George reared like a horse that had spotted a snake lying across the trail. “What? No! No labels, please. Call me a confirmed bachelor, if you must-or a gentleman’s gentleman. Really, Magdalena, you don’t seem a bit surprised by my revelation.”

“Hmm.”

“She could have ruined my career, you know. Who would want to trust their money to a bank managed by a-a-known-well, you know.”

“George, these days what one does in the privacy of one’s own bedroom-and I’m not saying that it’s right or wrong-is of little interest to the public.”

“Maybe in cities like Pittsburgh or Philadelphia, but here in Bedford, it most certainly does matter. This is still a Christian town, Magdalena, and here folks vote by what their Bibles say. You, better than most, should know that.”

“Yes, but trust me, George, the good folks of Bedford really don’t care about your personal life all that much.”

“You’re being cavalier,” he shouted. “I’m trusting you with the biggest secret of my life, and you won’t even take it seriously.”

I bit my tongue whilst I prayed for guidance. Although my prayers for patience usually go unanswered, sometimes, if I am able to quiet my inner dialogue, I feel that I am able to discern that “still small voice” that the prophet Elijah mentioned in the Book of Kings. To explain to George that virtually everyone in Hernia and Bedford had already guessed that he was gay would undoubtedly hurt his feelings, as well as acutely embarrass him. On the other hand, the knowledge that his personal life was not germane to his career as a banker could lift a huge burden from his shoulders and allow him to live life more abundantly.

“I do take you seriously,” I finally said. “As it so happens, I have a friend who is a banker in a town just this size, and that friend is also gay, but it doesn’t appear to have hurt his career at all.”

“Yeah, but I bet that town isn’t in Pennsylvania.”

“Oh, but it is.”

“Which town? Where?”

“I’m not at liberty to say-not until my friend comes out of the closet.”

“Aha, so nobody knows that your friend is gay!”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure that everyone does.”

“How do they know?” he demanded.

“I’m not really sure; it’s no one thing in particular. Maybe because he never married and doesn’t date. But it doesn’t matter. The point is that they know, and that they haven’t boycotted his bank on account of it. Also-and I hope I’m corrected if I’m wrong-the folks at church have always treated him warmly as well.”

“Yes, they have-I mean, they know as well?”

“Perhaps not everyone at his church; I don’t think it was ever the subject of discussion. But still, I’m sure that there have been some folks who just sort of picked up on it.”

“Picked up on what? I act just like the other men-darn, Magdalena, you were really talking about me, weren’t you?”

In a move quite uncharacteristic of myself, I grabbed his hands, which were as light and cold as yesterday’s biscuits. I couldn’t, however, look him in the eyes, which were as dark and moist as the raisins in hot-cross buns.

“Forsooth.”

“That’s a yes?”

“Undeniably so.”

He made no move to pull his hands from mine while he pondered his new reality. In the meantime, I felt as if I’d taken a child to the edge of a precipice and forced him to look down, just so he could experience the view.

“ Magdalena, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“There’s no telling, dear, because I’m not psychic, and even if I was, I certainly wouldn’t admit it, given that the Bible comes down rather harshly on that subject and I personally prefer a life of hypocrisy to one of open sin, having already spent too much time in the latter ’s trenches, but were I to speculate on your current state of mind, I’d guess that you are feeling curiously relieved, although understandably concerned about your bank’s future, not to mention run-on sentences. Rest assured, however, that naught shall differ between yesterday’s deposits and today’s, unless, of course, you consumed an inordinate amount of bran for supper.”

“No offense, Magdalena, but has anyone ever told you that you’re nuts?”

“All the time.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Au contraire. If the shoe fits, I always say, then make sure you buy a pair. By the way, I must say that the ones you’re sporting are very spiffy. I’ve been admiring them and would like to get some for Gabe. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but were they expensive?”

“Over three, can you believe that? My dear sainted mother would have a stroke if she were alive to hear that. Of course they are Ferragamo.”

“Just three bucks for a snazzy pair like that? What they say about bankers must be true, George; you are a parsimonious lot.”

“That was three hundred, Magdalena -not three dollars.”

“Oops.” Of course I was feeling foolish, which gave me the perfect amount of adrenaline to tackle yet another thorny issue. “Tell me, George, why is your assistant such a ferocious watchdog, and why do the two of you give the impression that there is something a trifle indecorous occurring twixt the two of you?”

He beamed. “That’s what you thought?”

“Ah, so she’s your beard.”

“My what?”

“Your decoy.”

“ Magdalena, that’s positively indecent of you!” He licked his thin, pale lips. “Besides, how would you know about such things?”

“Because the PennDutch Inn has catered to the rich and famous almost since it opened. You wouldn’t believe how many actors-and actresses-involve themselves in relationships that are merely for show. Why, there’s this one top-earning actor who-oops, I better stop now. This guy would sue me if I as much as whispered his name, even though everybody knows who he is.”

George’s eyes were as big and round as lemon tarts. “Would I know his name?”

I stood. “Look, dear, I really must be going. But you should know first that even though I wish you all the best, I can’t take you off my list.”

“What list?”

“Of suspects, of course.”

Forget about lemon tarts, moist raisins, and light biscuits. George’s face took on the cold, hard look of the fourteen-year-old fruitcake that Emma Kranebull gave Mama for Christmas one year. My parents used it for a doorstop until Papa stepped too close and broke his littlest piggy and two metatarsals. I was given the honor of disposing of the offending object, whereupon I threw it into Miller ’s Pond. Of course it immediately sank. Crazy Felix Neubrander went scuba diving in the same pond seven years later and brought up what he thought was a gold brick…