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.
“Look, we can discuss this better face-to-face,” I said. “I’ve decided to stay at Agnes’s tonight. Little Jacob is in her bedroom watching cartoons, so I haven’t told him yet. Why don’t you come over right now and we can discuss this more in person?”
“What? In front of Agnes?”
“No, silly. I’ll send her over to visit her weird uncles.”
“You serious, babe? Because you’ve just socked me in the gut with a punch out of nowhere and-”
“Come,” I said and hung up.
19
First Gabe was incredulous. Then he was angry that I had not consulted with him before shipping our beloved son off to the butter farm-No, angry is an understatement. But I’d expected some of that, so I was as ready as one can be on that score.
It was, however, the fear he felt and the torrent of tears it brought on that came as a surprise. Nothing in my life had prepared me for an experience of this nature.
I’d never seen anyone cry like that, male or female. In my culture we are reserved, stoic even. We bear up under our burdens or give them over to the Lord, who shoulders them for us. Yes, there are times when we are overwhelmed, and Satan is nipping at our heels, when we might succumb and weep quietly-but always in the privacy of our own bathroom or bedroom. We never, ever sob openly-in a living room, and most certainly never with streams of water cascading down our cheeks.
Agnes, dear friend that she was, prepared for Gabe his own version of hot chocolate and ladyfingers. I knew that Agnes belonged to the First Mennonite Church of Hernia, which was vastly more liberal than Beechy Grove Mennonite, but just how liberal, I had no idea. Gabe’s hot “chocolate” turned out to be “Irish coffee,” and his ladyfinger was a shot glass of straight- up liquid comfort served on the side. Considering how distraught he was, I held my counsel like the good little wife I was supposed to be. For the time being.
It was decided that I would spend the night with Agnes on the pretext that Gabe and I were still fighting. Surely by the morrow we would receive word that the eagle had landed and I could return home, but with lips sealed so tightly that even waterboarding couldn’t pry them open.
Sure enough, around seven a.m.-I’d already been up for three hours-I got a call from my little one.
“Mama?”
“Darling! Are you all right? Are you safe?”
“I’m at Cousin Hilda’s farm and they have every kind of animal, just like you said. After breakfast we’re going to feed the Obamas.”
“Uncle Sam’s cereal?”
“I don’t know, Mama, but then we’re going to hunt for eggs in the barn, ’cause they don’t keep their chickens penned up like we do.”
“That’s wonderful, dear. So you are all right?”