Thoughts from Mark "Hat" Rackley

I’m Pink Lady Apple Yeggs and my friend, and brother-in-law, Deviled Yeggs suggested that I record each project that I set up in the hopes of reforming the people who continue to work for Lily the Pink Enterprises.  If for no other reason, it would show how God is at work.

Sophia Yeggs did some investigating, using the repair of a fence at the County Line Farm as a cover.  It seemed that there were people living in an abandoned farm in Stout County.  Tuesday Wednesday, undersheriff of detectives in Stout County, was not worried about tax evasion as much as she was worried about human trafficking or child endangerment.  When the people living there are so completely off the radar, any sort of illegal activity could be going on.  This was reported in Helping Aunt Tuesday.

Tuesday contracted Paddy McCreary, a young detective that works in my brother-in-law’s detective department.  He was chosen because he had always worked on the east or northeast sides of town as a patrolman.  He had just received the detective shield.  And he was willing to work undercover, when it meant getting under the covers with a variety of young women.  From what I have heard, he still gets visits from women along the county line who are yearning for some enjoyment of that nature.

When Paddy reported that he had made contact with the people on the abandoned farm, they had the meeting in my office. My office was out of Stout County and less likely to get back to the sheriff.  My office was also not in a precinct office or City Hall, where curious ears might be listening.  Since it was in my office, I attended because I’m nosy.

Paddy came back with a bizarre tale about how this group of Amish, essentially Amish except for the central theme of a traditional family was absent.  He was stripped, ordered to partake in communion, and then every girl that slept with him, and there were a lot of them, took communion when it was her turn.  Their stated goal was to get pregnant.  Paddy would have no rights as a father, nor would they ever ask him for financial help.

But Paddy was able to talk to two of the ladies.  One was the Grand Oma, Abigail, who ran the community.  The other was a twenty-year-old girl, Hannah.  Hannah was barren, having had four years of liaisons with no pregnancy so far.  The rest had done their business wordlessly, with many people watching.  Those two stayed after the crowds had left, and both talked.  Abigail was guarded in her answers, but Hannah was forthcoming.  He felt Hannah had fallen in love with him, and he knew that he was in love with her.  He did not want to storm the community, not allowed by agreement with the community, just to see if Hannah loved him in return, enough love to leave the community.  This was reported in Paddy’s Escapade two weeks ago.

So, I said that I would go into the community.  Abigail and I were close to the same age.  She had grown grandchildren, maybe great grandchildren.  I was just starting to get grandchildren that were talking, Scarlett Ibis was very talkative, very inventive, and only three-years-old as of only days ago, earlier this month.  I would walk in from the County Line Farm.  I had yet to visit with Clyde and Barry, but they both knew me.  They often watched Vespers services.  They had social anxiety issues, stemming from their experiences in military service.  They had done drugs, but they were clean.  They had accepted Jesus at one of the FHAT (Feeding the Homeless at Tracy) dinner meetings and they wanted to find steady employment.  The Daltons hired them to be their ranch hands.

But after a brief visit with those two lovely men, I took a team with me.  Dev Yeggs insisted that I not go by myself, as Paddy had done.  Arabella and Michael were watching us from a crow’s nest, of sorts, on top of the barn.  Clyde and Barry were ready to come running in our direction if they saw anything strange.  But my team was made up of seven people.  I was the leader.  Missy, who is a little past halfway through her pregnancy is forever by my side, or so it seems.  Zuzka is tall and intimidating, but she is a fun-loving silly person most of the time.  Jemima, my niece by marriage, because she wants permission to set up cameras in the field between their community and the farm for time lapses of storms developing in that direction.  Joseline Johnson, who is also physically intimidating, shorter than Zuzka by six inches, but full figured and muscular.  Catherine ver Waarloosd went along to see if this community was anything like what she and Thomas had left when they escaped the Valley of the Windmills.  And Kanok, because Kanok said so.  It was not lost on me that the one thing that five of the six adult members of our team are recent mothers or pregnant.  Sparkle was a little less than a year and a half old.  Stormie was less than a year.  And Misty and Olu Kulteni were seven and four months old.

We all wore dresses that were similar in style to the Amish attire, solid colors, aprons that were pink.  We wore pink hats.  We thought it in poor taste for our dresses to be the same style exactly and wearing kapps.  Until recently, Jemima had been wearing her hair in a bun, but we all chose some sort of bun hidden by the hat, to signify humility and submission, as the Amish kapp signifies.  We were hoping this conveyed honor and respect for those we were visiting.  Zuzka and Joseline pulled a wooden cart containing non-alcoholic Lily the Pink cider.  Paddy had said that they adhered to the Amish tradition of no alcohol, but they liked apple juice.  I hoped they would like the cider.

Halfway across the field, we saw a group of ladies approaching.  Two were young adults near Zuzka’s and Missy’s ages, but the others were teenagers.

I greeted them.  “Hello, we became aware that we had neighbors across this field, and we came in peace, bearing gifts.  We wanted to meet our neighbors.”

One of the older women said, “We know who you are and what you do.  What is in the wooden crate?”

I smiled, “We have apple cider.  It is iced down for immediate consumption.  There is no alcohol in it.  We would not wish to offend.  Can we speak to the Grand Oma?”

Their eyes widened.  Unless I had spies in their midst as they had spies along the County Line Road and possibly beyond, how could I know that there was something called the Grand Oma?  The one who had spoken turned to one of the teenagers.  The young girl picked up her skirt to near the knee level and ran like the wind back to the farmhouses.

I was amused, “Oh, my!  She is very light on her feet.”

Their spokesman said, “Yes, we have some sports here.  All our ladies are fit.  And what about you?”

I smiled, “We have a large pool.  People like me swim laps, but we can set it up for water polo.  Joseline, here, is the goalie for one of the teams, at least when she is beyond her maternity leave.  She has a baby girl at home.  And our undefeated beach volleyball champion is Zuzka, who has taken time off to have a baby boy.  Missy and her ladies are into martial arts.”

Their spokesman said, “Volleyball is something I have heard of, and with her height, I can imagine she is good at that.”

The girl who had run to speak to the Grand Oma was waving for us to continue.  The spokesperson’s other people helped pull the cart.  Kanok was getting tired, and we gave her a ride on the cart.  Blaise had designed the cart with features that made it light weight, but the ice chest was made of wood so that our recipients would not be offended by using modern convenience, but we did use ice.

As we approached the house that we had rightly attributed to the Grand Oma, she was standing at the top of her steps.  Her arms were not folded, but they were not outstretched.  She was letting us know that we had to prove ourselves or we would be unwelcome.

I smiled, “Greetings.  We were visiting the County Line Farm across the creek.  We brought you some ice cold apple cider in plastic bottles.  There is no alcohol.  We just thought we could talk, one neighbor to another.”

After Zuzka helped Kanok off the wagon, Kanok ran around next to me and she bowed and said, “Sewasdee Kha.”

The Grand Oma got visibly agitated.  She must think that Kanok was worshipping a false god or doing an incantation of some kind.

I said, “My daughter Kanok is from Thailand.  ‘Sewasdee’ is a greeting.  It can mean Hello or Goodbye, but the ‘kha’ is what a woman says when they show honor to the other person and want them to talk.  It is kind of like placing the period at the end of the sentence, but in a polite way, letting you know that you now have control of the conversation.”

Grand Oma softened, and placed her hands together and said, “Sewasdee Kha.”

Kanok giggled and said, “She did good, Mommie Pinkie.”

I said, “I’m…”

Grand Oma spat, “I know who you are.  You are the Pink Lady who runs the house of ill repute in Tracy, and you sell the Devil’s Brew, an Abysmal Elixir of Daemon’s Blood.  I only allowed you to enter our community to see what sinful pleasure you might be trying to sell.  State your case and then you and your freak show can leave.”

Zuzka turned to Joseline, the two ladies each being over six feet tall.  “I not see freaks?  Jos, do you see any?”

Jos shrugged. “You are a bit tall, but I for one have always been myself.”

Missy turned to me.  I was laughing.  “Mommie Pinkie, are you alright?  This woman just insulted you ten ways from Sunday.”

I laughed, “In some ways, I deserve it.  My sexual indiscretion with the man who is now my husband led to my own home being turned into a brothel.  I am tired of defending my actions and protesting that I was neither a prostitute nor the madam of those who were.  And putting three euphemisms about alcohol into one insult is impressive.  One or two, common place, but three?  I think if I gave her time, she could add an Infernal Nectar of Demonic Spirits.”

Grand Oma smiled, “I am getting older, not old.  Yet, I need to take a breath every now and then.  But you have not answered my question.  How can I know that you do not have some alcohol in your cider that you have brought here?”

I smiled, “Alcohol is formed, as you may know, by adding yeast to the cider, or whatever you are making.  The yeast combines with the sugars to form ethyl alcohol.  I hesitate to say ethanol, since we make that in carbon recovery and sell that to the gasoline producers.  They are basically different grades of the same thing, but do not mix them.  At Lily the Pink, we have cooking vats and fermenting vats.  To make non-alcoholic cider, we divert the cider to a holding tank and then directly to the bottling line.  It never sees the yeast.  There is no way there is any alcohol in the vat.  Those vats are strictly used for non-alcoholic cider exclusively.”

Grand Oma smiled, “Samantha, take the little girl… I am sorry, what is her name?”

I chuckled, “Kanok.  It means golden in Thai.”

Grand Oma said, “Samantha, tell Sara to organize some games for the little ones and introduce them to Kanok.  Explain that her greeting means “Hello” and her bowing only means the gift of mutual respect.  And have Edna get some young adults to roll the wagon into the barn.  Have her dispense the cider to everyone for their morning drink.  They need to hydrate.  This will be a tasty treat.  And have Catherine come here to assist me.”

Catherine said, “But I am already here.”

Grand Oma huffed, “That would be confusing.  Have Eliza assist me instead.”

Samantha, the swift runner, took Kanok by the hand and took her to one of the other houses.  Then we saw her run like a flash to the barn.  She and Eliza returned in a few minutes.  Edna and several other ladies took charge of the wagon.

Over the next hour, I explained how I came into possession of my first Bible, how I was abandoned by my mother, how Gwen Quinn came into my life, how Scrambled came into my life, and how Baldwyn took over what was my property to create the brothel.  Only then did Uncle Delly (Red Delicious, the crime boss) accept my proposal to turn the warehouse into a cider operation.  And then the story of how I was pregnant, and Gwen and I were desperate.  We accepted Jesus, but we could not leave the house to attend a church.  And my contribution to the brothel was insisting that the prostitutes work for me part-time, making cider.  Once the brothel was shut down and we were emancipated, the ladies already had skills that could translate to a variety of industries.  Most of them stayed, and they never wanted to be reminded of what they used to do.

Zuzka and Missy talked about how they became prostitutes, and Joseline, Catherine, and Jemima explained what their reasons were to call Lily the Pink home.  All five ladies were going to college with a full load this semester.  And we had not been emancipated for four years yet.

Then Abigail, dropping the Grand Oma title, explained how they had dabbled in naughty activities with another woman and with each other for pleasure.  She mused how Evelyn should be named Evil Lynn, but somehow, she was still a friend.  Then the four young girls on Rumspringa tried correcting that sin with another sin, in sleeping with a young man and his father.  With all four pregnant and the elder back in Ohio shunning them, they asked the Mennonites for help.  They continued to work along the County Line Road.  Cevilla, pronounced Se-vee-yah, was their first elder, spiritual leader.  Without a lot of cash, they traded favors for the other two houses and eventually their herd of cattle and the chickens.  They became financially independent, but they had no contact with men.  The few they met were unwilling to accept an Amish lifestyle.

Something was definitely in the water, in that three of every four children born to the original four ladies was female.  They used the county line road businesses and unofficial apartments hidden in the back of many businesses for the Rumspringa for their children.  The boys paired off with the girls for marriage and the Mennonites helped them build Halfway, the community between the Mennonites and the four Omas, but then Cevilla died in childbirth with her eighth child.  That left them with three Omas, and Abigail became the new Grand Oma.

But the idea of carefully selecting a boy to pass on seed to the next generation of girls was Cevilla’s idea, before any of the children was old enough.  She did not think any of their daughters should not have the chance to be a mother, and none of the Omas had ever gotten married.  Odd, they had referred to themselves as Omas, when they were only mothers, not grandmothers.  Now, the three remaining Omas were grandmothers.

Abigail admired how I remained faithful to Scrambled even though I was imprisoned, and he was unable to see me until the emancipation.  We talked about fidelity, and she realized that she missed that chance to bond with a man and become one flesh with him.  I didn’t preach, but she was going to pray about it, and bring up alternatives with Gertie and Gretel.  It was not good for them to make an excuse for something that was a sin.  But she insisted that no one was there against their will.  After Rumspringa, they were given the option and a few stayed in along the County Line Road area.  A few went into Tracy, never to be seen again.  But most stayed, turning Halfway into a full-fledged town, with a couple of shops where tourists shopped for handmade items or the cheese that is made in Grand Oma’s community.  In season, they sold venison sausage.  For this, some houses in Halfway had electricity, but they used solar power with batteries to run the refrigerators at night.  And yes, Abigail had tasted the Original Lily the Pink cider before (non-alcoholic).  She thought there might be a trace of alcohol in it, and she was being a bad girl.  We had a good laugh over that one.  She laughed at my confession of the only time that I got drunk, the night we determined that we had the formula that tasted right.

Then my business mind kicked in.  I suggested that we could reserve some rooms to host ladies for Rumspringa.  We had nightly vesper services.  If they did not mind being bused, we could bring them back for Sunday worship.  They could learn about cider production and live outside the confines of the community.  They could interact with ladies who had been prostitutes and learn how horrible that type of life could be.  Then I suggested that she plant Pink Lady Apple trees in the empty field.  With the wind just right, Arabella and Michael had heard the voices of children playing.  That is how I had found them.  I left out the part about Tuesday Wednesday being curious.  With a grove of apple trees, that would muffle the sound a little and prevent long range visual contact.

Then Jemima asked if she could come into the field on occasion to set up her cameras.  She promised that she would not take photographs of them.  But then, Abigail suggested that she climb Old Baldy.  The hill behind her house led to a hilltop where the trees had been cleared years before they ever moved there.  If she was just there to take photographs of the weather, Abigail would have her son, Erasmus, the elder at Halfway to build an observatory atop the hill that would give Jemima a view of the weather in all directions.  And if Jemima would teach this science to her youngsters at the community of the four Omas, then that would be an even trade.

Catherine slipped away with Samantha as her guide.  Catherine said that her daughter was Samantha.  But Catherine’s reason for coming along was to observe how the community functioned, to compare the Valley of the Windmills with the Community of the Four Omas.  She found enough similarities to realize that her community had probably once been Amish and then they were enticed into the evil that was the preacher, but maybe even the preacher before him.

Missy was near or even a bit past halfway through her pregnancy.  She enjoyed the conversation.

Zuzka and Joseline enjoyed entering the exercise periods with the children that were of childbearing age and a little older.  They talked with enough of the young ladies to confirm what Abigail had told me.

But as we talked about the children and grandchildren, I asked a dangerous question, “I bumped into a young man along County Line Road, Paddy McCreary.  I asked him a lot of questions before he broke down and told me he had been here, or this might be where he had been.  He said that he fell in love with a girl named Hannah.  He thought that she loved him too.  Do you have a Hannah?”

Tears appeared in Abigail’s eyes.  “Oh, poor Hannah, not her.  Anyone else.  Not her.”

I asked, “Do you draw the line with her regarding anyone leaving if they want to leave?”

Abigail’s eyes filled with tears.  “I so wanted her to find a mate and move to Halfway.  She is the only lady here that is of childbearing age that has never become pregnant.  In the past six months, she has not slept with a man.  There were always other eligible ladies who had a better chance of producing a child.  With this last man, Paddy McCreary, there was time to spare.  Samantha, I think Hannah is in the kitchen.”

Samantha went to the back of the house and quickly returned with a lovely lady of about twenty-years-old.

Hannah asked, “Oma, you wanted me?”

I gasped.  We had already discussed why Kanok called me Mommie Pinkie, to remember her birth mother.  Missy, Joseline, and Catherine called me Mommie Pinkie because we were all one big family.  Zuzka called me Mom because she was married to Otto.  And Jemima called me Aunt Pink because she was married to my nephew, Easter Yeggs.  Hannah called Abigail, Oma, and not Grand Oma.  Could this be the reason that Abigail did not wish for Hannah to leave?

Still with tears in her eyes, Abigail asked, “Hannah, this is Pink Lady.  She lives in Tracy.  She was talking to Paddy McCreary…”

Hannah gasped.  Abigail asked, “Do you need to confess something?”

Hannah began to have tears form.  Hannah nodded, “The Saturday night when he was here.  The other ladies let me spend the night with him.  I know you say to not have any emotional attachment.  You are just there to have the man provide the seed, but we were alone.  We talked about so many things.  He is working on a house on County Line Road.  He thinks he can fix the house up.  It had been an inn and a boarding house.  Then it was a sinful place for a short time, and he got the chance to renovate the house.  And I think he was about to say that he was not a construction worker, but he was afraid someone might hear.  He is college educated.  He knows that I am barren.  That does not matter to him.  He said that he could go into town to do his job, and I could run the house as a boarding house.  We could even rent rooms for Rumspringa.  Oma, I love him.  I would like to go live with him.  I hope he loves me.  He said he did.”

I said, “He told me that he would risk violating the trust in finding you to tell you that he loves you, too.”

Abigail wiped away the tears.  “I am not angry with you, child.  I am happy for you, but you are my special grandchild.  You are the only one of all the children and grandchildren who has not been with child.  I was hoping that you would become Grand Oma someday, so that everyone would call you their mother.”  I thought of Grannie Fannie.  I had moved her to the grandmother role to ease into retirement from being the head cider operator.  In the process, she loved her role since she had spent her life avoiding getting pregnant.  She had no interest in retiring now.

Abigail said, “You may leave with Pink Lady if you wish.  I cannot stop you.  Know that the door will always be open and you can visit any time you wish.  And do not ever forsake your trust in Jesus, my child.”

Hannah nodded.  I do not think she could talk at that moment.  She and Samantha ran back into the house.  While she was gone, Abigail remembered all the things Hannah had done when she was little.

Hannah emerged with a small suitcase.  With their minimalistic lifestyle, it was probably all that was hers.  Then, Abigail stopped her.  Abigail went into the house and emerged with a white kapp.  “You may not keep any of our traditions, but when married, you would wear a white kapp in an Amish home.  And here, you would wear a white kapp once you are pregnant.  I wish both for you, Hannah.  You know how to keep in touch.”

Alarm bells were going off in my head.  Paddy did not really own the gargoyle house.  For a short time, they would let him stay there to fix things.  But to run the house as a boarding house was possibly something that the big city of Tracy might not think appropriate for a young detective.  But if I convinced my son, the mayor, that Paddy would suddenly have the money to give the city a legitimate price for the house…

I finally spoke, “Abigail, would the Mennonites be willing to help Paddy with the renovations?”

She brightened, “Forget the Mennonites.  My son is the elder at Halfway.  He could have people at the house tomorrow to make estimates.  And while they are working, I will have daily updates on how Hannah is doing.  That will help me ease into the reality that she is gone from the community.”

I smiled, “Gone, but never far away.”

I learned that Edna was Hannah’s mother and daughter of Abigail.  Eliza had run to get her while Hannah was packing.  They had a long, tearful goodbye.

We left the wagon with them.  It was a little more high tech than they might think with frictionless bearings for the axle.  Blaise said that you could not completely get rid of the friction, but it pulled smoothly.

The eight of us walked back to the creek and Clyde was waiting for us to let us through the fence.

We dropped Hannah off at the Gargoyle House.  Paddy was shocked.  We told him that the people from Halfway would probably be there the next day to give him an estimate.  And then I whispered to him, whatever they tell you, I will write out a check to you for the cost.  ”When you have paying customers. You can start paying me back.”

And we were going to have to rush the wedding plans through.  Hannah was not as barren as everyone thought.  She just needed the right partner.

And Clyde has escorted Hannah to the community of the four Omas several times.  They are thinking of a barn wedding, not in Abigail’s barn, but in the barn with the llamas and goats.  The reception would be where Hannah and Paddy had first met.

Credits

Much of this story is retelling old stories or covered in the previous stories in this three-part story.