“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.

13

For a hoochie mama, Dorothy made a great getaway driver. Or maybe it was precisely because she had so much experience fleeing from irate wives. At any rate, when she spied the two of us running to beat the band, arms and legs flailing, and one of us puffing like the Little Engine That Could, our town’s legendary harlot hopped into the driver’s seat and revved up the engine. The second the door slammed shut on Agnes’s prodigious posterior, Dorothy stomped on the accelerator and we shot down the face of Evitts Mountain like an out-of-control carnival ride. Although I’ve no way to prove it, if I was a wagering woman (’tis a sin to do so), I’d lay money on the fact that we skipped a few hairpin curves, traveling as we did in a more or less straight line.

Nevertheless, if Pernicious Yoder III was following us, with Dorothy at the wheel, he was plumb out of luck. Not only did she know her way around Bedford, but she knew every nook and cranny. In one particularly dark and ominous cranny, she finally stopped.

“Okay, now what?”

“I think I peed my pants,” Agnes said.

“Oh Agnes, you didn’t,” I wailed, past caring what others thought of my distressed vocalizations.

“Was that fun, or what?” Dorothy said.

“You enjoyed that?” I said.

“Heck, yeah. I haven’t had so much fun since Sam and I were kids, and I used to drive getaway for him when he’d paint the overpass.”

“That was Sam? My cousin Sam of grocery-store infamy?”

“Why do you think the other kids called him ‘Cop’? It stood for ‘Champion Overpass Painter.’ ”

“But what he painted was mostly love messages to me!”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t control everything he did-although I did try my level best. That’s why I had to finally marry him. But even that couldn’t stop him from thinking of you; he’d call your name out at that critical moment.”

“What moment would that be?” Agnes said.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I said.

“Oh shut up, Magdalena,” Dorothy said. “It’s you who makes me sick. As long as I’ve known you-which is my entire life-you’ve played the part of the hapless victim. First you thought you were too tall, too skinny, too ugly, yet all the while you really were the most beautiful girl this five- horse town-and I mean that literally-has ever seen. You could have gotten any boy you wanted, but oh no, you thought you were too good for any locals.”

“What?”

“It’s true, Magdalena,” Agnes said. “In high school all the boys were throwing themselves at you just like the skinny girls threw their Twinkies and Hostess fruit pies at me.”

“Well, I wasn’t even allowed to group date until I was sixteen, so there.”

“Then what did you do?” Dorothy said.

“Well, you have to admit, most of the Hernia boys were rather-”

“There you go,” she snapped, “dismissing the locals as beneath you.”

“Although she did end up marrying one,” Agnes said. “I mean, Aaron Miller counts, because even though he moved away for a long time, he was born and raised here.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“For nothing,” Dorothy said, “because he just proves my point. Aaron Miller just happens to be the most handsome man to walk the face of the earth. And who did he pick to commit adultery with?”

“Whom!” I screamed. “And that was only pseudo-adultery, given the fact that one party”-that would be I-“was as innocent as a wide-stanced senator.”

Dorothy snorted. “If you say so. But, Magdalena, as you well know, Aaron Miller is a bit like a five-dollar present that’s been wrapped in ten-dollar paper and topped with a twenty-dollar bow. To say that he’s short on charm would be putting it kindly.”