No, there was only one person in all of Hernia with whom I could entrust the life of my precious little boy.

“You want me to do what?” Sam said.

“Shhh, I don’t want him to hear you,” I said.

“No need to worry about that,” Sam said. “Even Superman couldn’t hear us with the volume up that loud.”

He was right. We were standing up by the register, at the front of the store, and Little Jacob was at the back in Sam’s office watching cartoons. As we don’t have a TV set, he seldom gets to watch it. Needless to say, he was utterly entranced.

“Sam,” I said, “you’re my last resort. You’ve got to help me think of a way to get him out of town-out of state-without anyone suspecting until he’s long gone.”

“Yes, but why me?”

“Because you love him, and because I can trust you.”

“You can?” Sam’s watery blue eyes attempted to lock onto mine.

“Yes,” I said wearily, “but don’t be reading anything into that. I’d sooner cheat on Gabe with a drunken henweigh than allow you to plant one kiss on these ruby red lips of mine.”

“Uh-is that so? What’s a henweigh?”

“About four pounds if she’s plump.”

Sam roared. “You see? That’s what I love about you!”

“Well, then love me from afar, but help your godson close up-you know what I mean.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah.” Then he closed his eyes and scratched his balding head with the stub of a number two pencil that lived behind his ear. “Wait a minute-what time is it?”

“According to that enormous clock behind you-courtesy of Blough Brothers Butter-now that’s a mouthful-it’s two fifteen. And a few seconds.”

“That’s it!”

“Sam, that is indeed the largest-and ugliest, I might add-clock I’ve ever seen not attached to a tower, but even my somewhat diminutive offspring couldn’t fit in there. Besides, even if he could, how long do you propose he stay sequestered? And of course, you’d have to remove the works-”

“ Magdalena, there you go again, getting all sorts of exercise from jumping to conclusions.” There were no customers in the store, but Sam did a visual of all three aisles first just to be sure. “You see, Henry Blough, the owner, is my second cousin once removed on my father’s side of the family, and something else-but I forget-on my mother’s side. He’s related to you too, for your information. Anyway, I’ve been stocking his butter for the past twenty-three years. It’s the only kind of ‘store bought’ butter my Amish customers will buy, and you know why?”

“ ’Cause it’s the best?”

“You’re darn tooting.”

“This is all very nice, Sam, and remind me to buy some more soon, but what does this have to do with saving the life of my child?”

Sam flipped his fingers from his forehead to indicate what he thought of my highly developed intellect. “It has everything to do with it. You see, the butter truck is due to arrive just about now-always before two thirty. They unload my butter, the last order of the day, and then zip on down back to Maryland and the family farm.”

“The farm’s in Maryland?”

“Yes, and surrounded by three other farms that are all owned by relations of some sort, and they have every animal you can think of-even llamas. Little Jacob’s going to love it. Trust me, Magdalena, I wouldn’t suggest this, unless I was a hundred percent sure that the boy would be safe.”

I knew Sam believed his own words, but could I? “What exactly is your plan?”

“We put Little Jacob in an empty butter carton and carry him to the back of the truck-he can get out as soon as he’s in the truck, but he has to stay out of sight. Meanwhile you stay visible up here; pretend you’re shopping. Of course, the TV will be blaring cartoons the whole time. After the truck has pulled safely away, I’ll fix up a dummy of sorts-Hey, I can use the scarecrow from last year’s Halloween display. We’ll wrap it in a blanket and you’ll carry it to the backseat of your car and lay it gently down. Pretend it’s him. Then you drive straight to Agnes Miller ’s house.”

“Agnes’s house?”

“Yes, it will buy you more time. Everyone knows you hang out there. After a while you can call Gabe from there. But make him come over to Agnes’s before you tell him what’s really going on. Dollars to doughnuts, the inn is bugged.”

I shivered. “Sam, you’re a genius. You’d be a diabolically evil criminal if you had chosen to go that route.”

“The only reason I didn’t is because of you.”

“Stop it, Sam! Not now.” I put my face in my hands and prayed. Then I walked assuredly back to where my son was enjoying himself more than he had in perhaps weeks, and kissed him on the forehead, both cheeks, and even on the corners of the lips.

“Mama!” he said, pushing me away. “I can’t see.”

“You’re going on a trip,” I said. “You’ll see pigs, and sheep, and goats-even llamas. It’s going to be lots of fun.”

“Do the llamas have TV?”

“I’m sure somebody there has TV.”

“Will I get to watch cartoons?”

“You know what? I hope that you can! But first we have to play a little game of hide and go seek.”

The truest love of my life looked up at me for the first time since I’d entered the room. “Do I get to hide?”

“Oh yes, dear. Uncle Sam and the butter man are going to hide you in a cardboard box and put you in the back of the butter truck. That way the others can’t find you.”

“Who is the others, Mama?”

“Everyone, dear. This is going to be our little secret until you’re out of Hernia and on your way to this special farm.”

“Are you coming with me?”

“If I come with you, someone might see us, because I’m too big to fit in a box. But I’ll be there as soon as I can to get you.”

“But I don’t want to go without you.”

He threw his arms around my neck, and put his head against mine. His little-boy scent of sweat, as yet unsullied by puberty, nearly broke my heart. This was the human I had actually grown inside me-from scratch! I’d almost sooner cut off my arm and send it away in an empty butter box, except that such a ghoulish act would do nothing to keep my progeny safe from the maniacal Melvin.

“Lots and lots of cartoons,” I said. I didn’t care if it turned out to be a lie. I needed to keep my boy safe.

“Okay, Mama.” He kissed me on the lips and then leaned back in my arms. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I want to fit in a butter box too,” I said in an exaggerated pout. I tousled his hair. “Hey, do you think President Obama has a llama? A llama with drama?”

Little Jacob giggled. “Mama, you’re silly-you know that?”

While my heart went south to Maryland in a butter box, I drove north to see Agnes. My dearest friend remained remarkably composed when I poured out my anguish, and although they didn’t help anyway, she remembered to serve me hot chocolate and ladyfingers. It was Agnes who told me how to break the news to my son’s father; she even got him on the phone.

“Gabe-”

“Hon, where have you been? Are you all right?”

“We’re fine as a frog’s hair split three ways, dear.”

“Frogs don’t have hair.”

“It’s so fine you just don’t see it.”

“They don’t have hair.”

“Okay, if you’re going to split hairs-”

“I’m not; you are.”

“Gabe, just shush up and listen. Please.”

“Huh?”

“I’m leaving you, Gabe.”

“What?”

“Our marriage is over. Surely you’ve seen this coming.”

“The heck I have!”

“Well, I have. Our differences are just too great; we’re never going to get past them. The best thing we can do for Little Jacob is to go our separate ways now and get on with our lives while he’s still young enough to adapt.”

“Adapt? To what?”

“To whichever path we decide to head down-individually, I mean. I imagine that you wouldn’t mind it if he learned more about Jewish customs and-”

“Ding dang dong,” Gabe shouted into my ear. “Frumpy Felicity feverishly fricasseed fryers!” Of course those weren’t the actual words he said, but they do alliterate with them. The real words were boringly repetitive and I would never repeat them.