Free Butter Safe Than Sorry by Tamar Myers Page B

cow, for goodness' sake; modesty doesn't play into this."
    The first squirt that hit the pail startled Peewee into letting go so that his rhythm was broken, but soon he and Cowabunga were working in tandem, and it was a beautiful sight to behold.
    "You're a natural," I said. "It's like you've done this before."
    "Maybe I have--in another life."
    "Don't be silly, dear; there's only this life. Reincarnation is--Well, it's simply an impossibility."
    While still maintaining contact with Cowabunga's stomach, he managed to turn and look at me. The strong flow of milk remained consistent.
    "Yeah? How so?"
    "Because of the gift of salvation, that's why."
    "Come again?"
    I sighed, despite my best effort to be patient. "Let's suppose that you were saved by faith in Jesus Christ in your past life, but that in this life you were a steadfast heathen who refused to believe. Worse yet, what if that in this life you believed in some other deity--like a Hindu god--when you died. What would happen to your soul? Would you go to Heaven or to Hell? Since the answer to the latter is impossible to sort out, it's quite clear to me that the Good Lord, whose foresight far exceeds mine, would have avoided this conundrum altogether by giving us only one life."
    Peewee had the temerity to burst out laughing, although the flow from Cowabunga did not let up even then. "But that presupposes that all Hindus are headed for Hell! Isn't that being a tad judgmental of you, Miss Yoder?"
    "Indeed, it is not! It isn't me who makes the rules; they're in the Book."
    "Ah, but not everyone goes by your book. Take that so-called Russian woman--or the aforementioned Hindus, for that matter--what if they never had the chance to read your book?"
    "That is a problem," I conceded, "which is why I give generously to the church mission fund. I once briefly considered becoming a missionary myself, but they wanted to send me to the Congo. The Congo ! Can you imagine that?"
    He smiled but said nothing.
    "It's not that I couldn't have survived," I said defensively.
    Still nothing.
    "So what makes you think she's a fake Russian?" I asked.
    "She doesn't speak Russian, that's why."
    I stared at him. "How do you know?"
    "I was a Russian major in college. Russia was still the big bugaboo then--communism was going to take over half of the world, and we needed to be prepared. Nobody anticipated China. Anyway, I went into advertising and never used my Russian except to eavesdrop on the odd conversation, and the one trip we took to St. Petersburg, but I still remember enough to make myself understood." He snorted with laughter. "So I used the basic introduction stuff on Her Imperial Highness, but I may as well have been speaking Swahili. She made some excuse in English about not feeling well and then hightailed it out of there like a deer coming face-to-face with a wolf."
    "You don't say! When was this?"
    "This morning, just after she checked in. Wherever she's from, don't you think that get-up of hers is a little over the top? By the way, I can tell you right now that the ladies don't much like her."
    "Oh?" After returning to the inn to check in Surimanda Baikal, I'd hurried straight over to Yoder 's Corner Market to engage in a little of what I call "good gossip," and so had missed out on whatever might have gone on back here at the PennDutch.
    I know, there are those who probably frown on "good gossip," but frankly, I see the dissemination of good gossip as my civic duty. After all, a timely and accurate dispersal of facts may well prevent the spread of erroneous commentary that could hurt both the feelings and reputation of the subject. Better to defuse the malicious gossip vendors with the truth, I always say.
    Peewee laughed happily. It was Cowabunga who snorted now.
    "Yeah," Peewee said, "at least I can speak for Tiny. I tell you, Miss Yoder, she got her nose out of joint the second she laid eyes on that woman. 'A phony,' that's what she called her."
    "A phony what?"
    "A phony