This story was written in response to a challenge on The Racine Street Irregulars to send Fraser and Kowalski on a trip to some wildly bizzare place in your part of the world. Since I live in the Mid-Atlantic, what better or stranger place to send them than to a quaint little town in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country.
This work of fiction was written entirely for the enjoyment of fans, and I do not intend to earn a profit from it. The Due South characters are the property of Alliance Communications. The original characters are mine. You may not reproduce this story in any form -- electronic or print -- without my express permission. Please do not archive this story without my permission.
Comedy isn't easy to write,
as I found out during this, my first attempt at it. I would welcome your
feedback!
Josephine March
(march_josephine@hotmail.com)
Chapter 1 - The Sure-Kill Distressway
"Well, Ray. Aren't you glad we got off to an early start?"
The time was 7:15 a.m. The date was July 13 - a Thursday. The temperature? Even at this somewhat early hour, it was already pushing 90 degrees - Fahrenheit, of course. The relative humidity was just a shade less than what you might encounter in a sauna. The location? Well, the immediate location was a light-blue Toyota Corolla, rented the day before from Thrift-Eeze Rent-a-Car at the airport. More generally, the car was traveling on an undistinguished four-lane road from hell with an unpronounceable name that ran to the west out of the city of Philadelphia. At least the vehicle was pointed west. It had not moved more than about a yard in the past fifteen minutes.
"C'mon on, ya lousy..." Detective Stanley Raymond Kowalski, Chicago PD, banged on the air conditioning vent with his fist. The air conditioner in the small car had stopped functioning almost as soon as they'd encountered any traffic. It was now busy emitting bathtub-warm air which it barely had power enough to stir up into a breeze.
"Ray, banging on it isn't going to fix it. Why don't you just open the window?" Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, was a patient man. His only concession to the heat had been to roll up the sleeves of his flannel shirt.
"What? And let the hot air suck the rest of the air conditioning outta here? C'mon on!" Ray hit the horn again as they inched forward another few yards. "I wonder if it's gonna be this way all the way to Pittsburgh. Shit!" Ray's foot had stayed on the accelerator an instant too long. He braked hard, barely missing the car in front of him - a silvery-gray BMW convertible being driven with the top down.
He leaned on the horn as he came to a stop. An arm and hand, the middle digit extended in an unmistakable salute, crept slowly up out of the convertible's interior, directly over the driver's head, where Ray would be sure to see it.
"Did you see that? She gave me the finger!" Ray contented himself with another blast on the horn, unwilling to open the window. The driver of the BMW was obviously a woman, judging from the broad-brimmed straw hat that covered her head. It was impossible to tell what she looked like, and she did not turn around or make any other gestures.
"Ray, as a police officer you should know that aggressive driving leads to road rage."
"Road rage?" Ray shook his head. "Frase, I passed road rage about two miles back. I'm at some new level. Road rage doesn't begin to cover it." Ray suddenly flipped on his turn signal, floored the accelerator, and pushed the little Toyota into a slot in the adjoining lane with scant inches to spare. Ya' wanna drive for a while?"
"No, Ray." Fraser sighed and began to roll down the window.
"And don't do that! You'll let out all the cold air. Shit!" Ray swore again as his current lane stopped moving while the lane he had just vacated began to inch ahead. He glanced at the car that had inched up next to him, then took a second look. It was the BMW convertible. The beautiful blonde who was driving it glanced over at him with frosty disdain. "Shit!" he observed again.
"What is it now, Ray?"
"One good-looking woman on this entire Godforsaken road in this entire Godforsaken city, and I have to go and piss her off. Would'ja look at that?" Ray smiled weakly at the blonde and tipped his sunglasses. She turned her head deliberately and re-focused her attention on the road.
Before Ben could say anything, the traffic in their lane began to move, and they left the blonde behind.
Chapter 2 - Aunt Reggie's . . . Or Bust!
By 11 a.m. the mercury had climbed to nearly 100 degrees. The relative humidity had inched up a few more points. Ben and Ray emerged from the trees into the parking lot at Valley Forge. The black asphalt shimmered in the haze. The air was redolent of exhaust fumes and melting tar, and the shrill voices of school children carried everywhere.
"Well, that was inspiring, Ray," Ben observed as they slid into the furnace-like interior of the Toyota. "Thank you for taking the time to let me tour the park."
Ray started the little car and nudged the air-conditioning to full blast. "No problem, Frase. But we're gonna have to haul it if we want to make it to Aunt Reggie by this evening. It's a long way to Pittsburgh."
Ben was looking through a thick stack of maps and brochures. The two friends had delivered a prisoner to the authorities in Philadelphia the day before. Their plans called for renting a car and making a leisurely drive back to Chicago. Ben's ideas of making a leisurely drive involved stopping off to be edified by sites of scenic, historic, and cultural import. Ray's, apparently, involved hauling ass on the turnpike.
"Hey! There's that blonde!"
"Which blonde was that, Ray?"
"The one in the BMW. The one I saw in the traffic jam this morning."
Ben took a discreet look, then looked again. Benton Fraser would never do anything as ungentlemanly as ogling a woman. But he wasn't made of stone, either. The woman's face, shaded by the large straw sunhat, was also covered by dark glasses. But the rest of the view was downright inspiring. Tall, slender, and leggy, the young woman was clad in the briefest of white cotton shorts that served as the perfect showcase for her curvaceous rear view. Her lovely breasts were concealed, yet revealed, by a pale-blue sleeveless cotton shirt left unbuttoned and tied just under the bust line. Her silver-gilt blonde hair cascaded halfway down her back. Her legs were accentuated by pale-blue leather mid-heeled sandals. She was carrying a handful of brochures and moving towards the BMW with a purposeful, athletic stride that made her legs appear to go on and on and on.
"Magnificent," breathed Ben.
"What was that, Frase?"
"Magnificent! Valley Forge is a magnificent place, Ray. You can picture Washington and his rag-tag band of men arriving here in December and emerging the following spring as a real army - disciplined, tough, ready to take on the British and win."
"Oh," replied Ray. "I thought you were referring to the blonde."
His friend replied with a withering look.
"Anyways, aren't you sorta' on the wrong side?"
"The wrong side, Ray?"
"Yeah. I thought you'd kinda be pullin' for the other side. The Redcoats. I mean, the British." Ray had a sudden mental glimpse of his best friend's dress uniform.
"Nonsense, Ray! The name of Valley Forge is revered by freedom-loving people the world . . . Maryland plates."
"What?"
"Her car has Maryland plates, Ray."
Ray peered ahead at the back of the little silver car, now rapidly disappearing from view. "I think yer right."
"She's probably doing a little sightseeing, just as we are, Ray. Turn right up ahead and head west on U.S. 30."
"That's not the way to the Pennsylvania Turnpike."
"Well, no, it isn't." Ben shuffled through the pile of brochures on his lap. "This road heads in the same general direction as the Turnpike, and according to this brochure, it will take us directly through the Pennsylvania Dutch farms of Lancaster County and eventually through Gettysburg."
"Gettysburg! Ohh, no, Frase! One battlefield a day is enough. It must be a hundred degrees out there!" As if to emphasize his point, Ray hammered on the air conditioning vent with his fist again.
"Ray, you really should let me open a window." Ben sighed and unbuttoned another button on his flannel shirt. "Was your Aunt Regina expecting us at any particular time?"
"My aunt WHO?" Ray stopped pounding the vent and stared at his friend with some astonishment.
"Your Aunt Regina. I thought you said we were going to visit your Aunt Regina Kowalski in Pittsburgh. And look sharp! The turn is coming up momentarily."
"Ahh. You mean my Aunt Regina. In the U.S. of A. we pronounce it 'Reg-EE-nah,' Frase." He shook his head. "Only you Canadians are screwy enough to rhyme a woman's name with an unmentionable body part."
"Just what body part would that be, Ray?"
"Ahh, just ferget it. Everybody calls her Aunt Reggie anyway."
"Aunt Reggie it is, then," replied Ben, still puzzled. "And is Aunt Reggie expecting us at any particular time?"
"Nah. Not really. I told her we'd give her a call later this afternoon, let her know what our plans are. But she's pretty flexible. A great old girl, my Aunt Reggie."
Chapter 3 - Take a Left at Bird-in-Hand and You'll End Up in Paradise
The two drove along in a comfortable silence for several miles. Ben had finally opened a window, and the circulation of air through the overheated little car seemed to cause Ray to relax measurably. The stop-and-go traffic through Philadelphia's Main Line suburbs finally yielded to open, rolling farmland.
"Only a few more miles and we'll be in the heart of the Pennsylvania Dutch Country," Ray observed finally.
"Have you been here before?"
"Yeah. Several times, when I was a kid visitin' Aunt Reggie. We'd drive over here sometimes and spend a few days. It's a pretty nice part of the world." Ray glanced over at Ben and then was silent for a few moments. "Hee, hee, hee!"
"What is it, Ray?" Though they were the best of friends, Ben had seldom heard his edgy colleague laugh out loud.
"Wah-ha-HA-HA-HA. Heh...heh..." Ray peered at him over his sunglasses. "I know just where I'm gonna take you, Frase. Hahahaha!" He hung on to the steering wheel as though for dear life while removing his sunglasses and attempting to wipe away the tears with his sleeve. Since he was wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt, he ended up wiping them away with his bare arm.
"Where, Ray?" Ben attempted to retain his composure - not easy when one is seated next to a raving lunatic.
"OOOH, Heeheeheehee! Intercourse! We're goin' ta Intercourse!"
"Intercourse?"
"AAAH!" Ray was howling now. "Yeah! I figure every guy shoulda' been through Intercourse by the time he's your age, Fraser! HAHAHAH! I'm gonna give you the grand tour of the town of Intercourse, P. A."
"Very funny, Ray."
Ray sniffed audibly and made a hard left turn across the highway and into a gas station. "Sorry Frase. Gotta use the men's room."
When he returned to the car, carrying two cold soft drinks, Ray found Ben studying the map.
"It looks as though we turn north about five miles from here, Ray. That road should take us right to Intercourse."
"Don't start, Fraser..."
"Enough is enough, Ray. 'Intercourse' can also mean 'communication' or 'talk.' Why am I not surprised you chose to put an off-color spin on the word?"
"Yeah, right. Me and everybody else who drives through here."
"Just turn right at the next intersection, Ray."
"Holy cripes!" Ray's exclamation disturbed Ben's quiet enjoyment of the countryside, which was really quite attractive.
"What is it?"
"The car's hot, Fraser."
"Well, I know that, Ray. But it's improving since I opened the windows."
"No, I mean really hot. Lookit the thermostat!" Indeed, the temperature gauge was well into the red zone. "Stupid piece o'crap tin can!" Ray thumped the air conditioning vent again in sheer frustration.
"Turn on the heat, Ray. That should relieve some of the heat from the engine."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Ray may have been complaining, but he had already flipped the lever. "Beautiful. Just freakin' beautiful."
"Well, we're almost there, Ray. Look. There's a service station up ahead. Maybe they know where there's a Thrift-Eeze Rent-a-Car Agency."
Ray was already turning into the gas station. Small tendrils of steam had begun to escape from under the car's little hood as he turned it off with a sigh of relief. The two friends entered the gas station, finding the interior mercifully dark and cool. The teenager behind the counter didn't look quite as promising.
"Good afternoon," began Ben.
The kid nodded.
"Would you happen to know of a Thrift-Eeze Rent-a-Car Agency anywhere nearby?"
"No," replied the kid. It came out as a sort of "Nwummph" sound due to the large wad of gum he was working on. "Mfft ay th'Ella Pages."
"Ah. The Yellow Pages. That's a fine idea. Would you happen to have one handy?"
"'Estra'nt croff road." The kid jerked his thumb in the direction of the road.
"I take it they'll have a Yellow Pages in the restaurant across the road, Ray."
"Well, let's get at 'er. We can eat some lunch while we're at it."
Somewhat reluctantly, the pair left the cool depths of the gas station and headed across the street. They could not help but notice that, like a miniature Old Faithful, the little car was beginning to erupt.
"Let's get outta' here before she blows up," Ray said as they prepared to cross the road.
Chapter 4 - Dutch Treats
The GUT ESSEN HAUS was graced by an enormous mechanical sign in the shape of a windmill, the vanes of which were picked out in red neon. They appeared to revolve in and of themselves despite the oppressive stillness of the early July afternoon. The image of a buxom Dutch girl, complete with perky blonde braids and a white winged cap, appeared to peek intermittently over the - appropriately Dutch - door at the front of the windmill. TRY OUR FAMOUS ALL YOU CAN EAT BUFFET, read the sign. In front of the restaurant, near the road, was a portable sign of the sort that can have the lettering changed. It read KARA KE PO KA NITE EV R Y THU.
"I never could figure out why they say 'Pennsylvania Dutch' when everybody around here's German," observed Ray as he took in the mechanical marvel that was the sign of the Gut Essen Haus.
"It's a corruption of the word 'Deutsch,' which is of course German for 'German,'" replied Ben, who then added thoughtfully, "They certainly didn't have anything like that in Moose Jaw. Thank Heaven."
As with the gas station, the interior of the restaurant was blessedly cool and dim. They were greeted by a dignified, slender white-haired woman. That is, she would have been dignified had she not been wearing a long, ample, full-skirted low-necked blue dress, white apron, and perky white winged cap. In fact, she was dressed identically to the Dutch miss depicted on the sign outside. Ben was briefly thankful that they hadn't made the poor lady wear wooden shoes. She might have broken a hip.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Welcome to the Gut Essen Haus. Will that be two for lunch?" She smiled benignly at Ben, but she regarded Ray's hair with some suspicion.
"Yes. Thank you kindly, ma'am," replied Ben with his most engaging smile.
The woman smiled back at him and paused briefly before collecting herself. "And would that be smoking or non?" she asked as she picked up two menus.
"Non," replied Ben, smiling again.
"Follow me please," she said, beaming up at him. "I'm afraid you gentlemen have missed our all you can eat lunch buffet," she went on. "But you can still order from our a la carte menu. Enjoy your meal." Another smile at Ben.
"Ma'am, I wonder if you might happen to have a Yellow Pages."
"Certainly. The phones are right over there outside the rest rooms. Shall I ask the waitress to wait to take your order until you've made your phone call?"
"Yah, thanks," replied Ray.
She eyed him coldly, then, with a smile at Ben, turned and left the non-smoking room.
"Must be the haircut," muttered Ray. "Let's not forget to call Aunt Reggie while we're at it."
Fifteen frustrating minutes, and several cell phone calls, later, the two friends were again seated at their table. They would have the car repaired at their expense, then forward the bill to the Thrift Eeze Rent-A-Car Corporation for reimbursement. Aunt Reggie was expecting them at some future time as yet to be determined.
"I don't freakin' believe this!"
"Well, Ray, look at the bright side. We'll have plenty of time to go through Intercourse."
Ray paused in his ranting for a moment and threw a sharp glance at Ben. It was sometimes difficult to tell when he was joking.
"Ah. Here comes our waitress."
The pink-cheeked, perspiring young woman who was swaying towards them was dressed exactly like the hostess, except that her outfit was completed by the wooden shoes. She swayed dangerously on the shoes, threatening at any moment to crash sideways like a sturdy oak tree felled by the wind. A large, tall, sturdy oak tree. The shapeless blue costume hung about her ample frame in limp folds, and if she possessed any assets at all, they were further hidden by the large, white apron. Long, dark braids, overpowered by red ribbons, hung down from beneath the perky wings of her Dutch cap. Her eyes were obscured by sensible, tinted glasses of the kind that never turn entirely clear indoors. She was wearing a nametag that read, "HALLO! MINE NAME IST BRANDYE. WAS IST IHR? However, she had a pleasant smile which, for some reason, she decided to use on Ray. "Hi! I'm Brandye, and I'll be your server today. Can I take your order?"
"Yeah, thanks. I'll have the, er, the Dutch Feast," replied Ray, squinting at the menu.
"Great choice," she dimpled at him and began to turn away.
"I beg your pardon, Miss." Ben called her back with his usual courtesy.
"Oh, sorry, Sir. I was just going to go and bring your drinks. They're included."
"I'll also have a Dutch Feast, please."
"You wouldn't want to share the Dutch Feast, sir? People usually do." Brandye squinted at her order pad. Her voice was surprisingly husky, and neither Ray nor Ben could quite place the accent.
"It's been a long time since breakfast," Ben replied with a smile.
"Well, if you're sure, then we'll make it two Dutch Feasts. I'll be right back with your drinks." And with a final, dazzling smile at Ray, she undulated away.
"I always get the pretty ones," Ray observed, twirling the earpiece of his sunglasses.
"Nonsense, Ray. You're putting too much emphasis on the externals. Why, I'd have to say that physical beauty is the least important characteristic in a wo..." He broke off suddenly, blushed to the roots of his hair, and took a hasty sip of his water.
"What's wrong, Frase?"
"Don't turn around, for God's sake, Ray." Ray's back was facing the entrance, while Ben's chair was situated so that he could see the entire room. However, Ray was too experienced a cop ever to fail to respond to an instruction like the one Ben had just given him.
He froze, then said very quietly, "What is it, Fraser?"
"The woman in the BMW." Ben was smiling, but obviously not at Ray.
"The blonde?"
"Yes, Ray. She's taken a seat over by the window. After your disgraceful behavior on the expressway this morning . . ."
"Your tea." Brandye had swayed over with a large pitcher of iced tea and two glasses, which she set down on the table. With another smile at Ray, she headed for the windows to take care of the newcomer.
Ray ventured a look around. The woman had discarded her sunhat and dark glasses. The face revealed did not disappoint. Her wide set dark-blue eyes were slightly tilted up at the corners, giving an exotic cast to her entire face. Her nose was aristocratically thin, though not turned-up at all. And her generous mouth seemed made for kisses. Since he was staring anyway, Ray could not help noticing that she wasn't wearing a bra; not that she needed one, but the fact was made evident by the air-conditioned chill that seemed to pervade the Gut Essen Haus.
"Ray. Ray! RAY!" Benton Fraser never hissed, but if he had hissed, he would be hissing now. "Stop staring!"
"Ah, sorry." Ray returned his attention to his iced tea. "She's not wearin' a bra, Fraser."
"That's disgusting, Ray."
"You think it's disgusting?" The blond cop's eyes lit up with amusement.
"I think it's disgusting that you would actually comment on such a thing in public."
The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of Brandye, who was carrying a heavily-laden tray on her shoulder. She was followed by a small, skinny young man dressed in a none-too-clean white waiter's jacket. He, too, was carrying a heavily-laden tray.
"Here you are, gentlemen." This with another dimple at Ray. "Your Dutch Feasts."
She and the boy began unloading the trays, and the table was soon piled high with dishes. There was ham, meat loaf, pot roast, roast chicken, and sauerbraten. There were green beans, wax beans, and lima beans, corn, peas, red cabbage, and - yes - succotash. The starches included potatoes baked, boiled and fried, dumplings, egg noodles, and a gelatinous mixture neither man could quite place. "Potato filling!" exclaimed the Brandye as she set it down in front of them. White bread, rye bread, corn bread, biscuits, and muffins were complemented by butter, cream cheese, six kinds of fruit preserves, and apple butter. And to whet the appetite there were condiments - peach pickle, watermelon rind pickle, piccalilli, and bread and butter pickle.
"More tea with your meal?"
"Lookit' all this food, Frase. I don't know where I'm gonna put it all, but I'm gonna give it my best shot."
Fraser was silent for a minute, studying the menu which Brandye had forgotten to take. "Ah," he finally observed. "I must have been distracted by the news about the car. It says right here, 'Serves a family of four hungry people.' We've ordered two of them. There's enough food here to feed an entire Inuit village for half a winter."
"The Inuit never made a sauerbraten like this, Frase. Dig in"
Ray had an edgy, experimental metabolism to go with his edgy, experimental hair. No one was ever certain just where he put all the food that he ate, but he certainly did not carry it around on his thin frame. Almost an hour later, Ben had long since given up on the meal while Ray was still doing it full justice. Finally, he polished off the last crust of shoo-fly pie a la mode and sat back, patting his stomach. "That was really great, huh, Frase. I sure could do with a cup of coffee."
Ben shook his head, then smiled and ducked it as the blonde woman got up from her own lunch - which had consisted of a salad and a glass of iced tea.
Ray sensed at some very subliminal level - one might almost say a visceral level - the organic recitation that was to follow. It began as a somewhat-sharp pain in the region just below his navel. For a moment, he had the feeling it might travel downward, and some part of his mind became very active in an attempt to figure out how to give it egress without undue noise or embarrassment. But almost immediately thereafter, it chose the high road. "BRRRRRRRAAAAAAWP!"
"Ray!" Ben had once again blushed to the very roots of his hair.
"Sorry, Frase! Excuse me!" Ray patted his stomach and looked over at his friend. "I'm really sorry, Frase! What's wrong?" Ray turned then, slowly, to see the blonde's disdainful sneer as she passed their table.
"Well, Ray, we can be thankful for one thing, at least." Ben had regained his composure quickly.
"What's that?"
"At least you're not Buck Frobisher."
Chapter 5 - Intercourse: Did George Washington Sleep Here?
A few minutes later, the two friends stood in the garage again. The surly, gum-chewing teenager had been replaced by a much friendlier older man.
"You fellas have a nice lunch over there at the Gut Essen Haus?"
"Yes, thank you kindly."
"Well, I had a look at yer' car. It's yer' water pump."
"Yeah, I kinda' figured that," replied Ray.
"My estimate is $125 for the part, plus labor. I can have ya' back on the road first thing tomorrow morning."
"Sure, why not." Ray was in no mood to argue.
Ben and Ray left the service station, collected their suitcases, and began the dusty walk to Snyder's Farm Bed and Breakfast, which was about a mile up the road. It had been recommended by the hostess at the Gut Essen Haus, Miss Jean Snyder, who had called ahead to be certain there were rooms.
Snyder's Farm Bed and Breakfast turned out to be a large, bright, clean, attractive Pennsylvania farmhouse. Set back a little from the road, the brick house was shaded by several large oak trees. The deep, shady front porch was framed by fragrant, old-fashioned climbing roses and featured a front-porch swing and several comfortable wicker rockers. A barn and silo nearby, and the numerous black-and-white cows that dotted the adjoining pasture, signaled that this was still a working farm.
A plump, gray-haired, motherly woman emerged onto the porch before they could knock on the door. "You must be Mr. Fraser and Mr. Kowalski," she began. "Come right on in. I've been expecting you. My sister-in-law called from the restaurant. I'm Ruth Snyder."
The house was not air-conditioned, but the thick walls and high ceilings made it seem measurably cooler inside.
"Let me show you boys to your rooms. Right this way." Mrs. Snyder led them up a staircase from the large central hall, then turned towards the back of the house. "I've put you fellows in adjoining rooms here at the back." She opened a door, revealing a square, high-ceilinged room with a large brass bedstead, small dresser, and old-fashioned washstand. Colorful rag rugs decorated the floor, and the windows were framed by starched curtains that fluttered in the slight breeze. The room was entirely shaded by a large tree. The bed was made up with snowy white linens, giving it a cool, inviting look. An old-fashioned rush-seated rocker was drawn up next to one of the windows. Mrs. Snyder continued into the room and opened a door. "You'll share this bathroom, if that's all right. And the other room is just through here." She led the way to a second bedroom very similar to the first.
"We have one other guest, a Miss Mary C. Grabowski. A history professor. She's been out most of the day. Now then," Mrs. Snyder beamed at them. "Why don't you fellows wash up and come back downstairs. I have some home-made lemonade and fresh sugar cookies. You must be starving."
"Mary C. Grabowski? Polish!" snorted Ray after Mrs. Snyder's departure. "Sounds like a friend of Aunt Reggie's."
A shower and fresh clothes made Ben feel a great deal more human. He sat in the low rocker, entirely relaxed, admiring the view from his window. The backyard and house were shaded by more of the large oak trees. He could glimpse the barn and the pastureland beyond, and to one side, in the sunlight, was Mrs. Snyder's garden. The abundant land here must be a farmer's paradise, he reflected, and he sincerely hoped that the encroaching development he had glimpsed along the roadways would never take it over entirely.
His thoughts were interrupted by a tap at his door. It was Ray, who also looked human again.
"Ya' ready to see a little bit of the town?"
"Certainly, Ray. Lead on. I don't know if I'm going to find room for any of Mrs. Snyder's cookies, though."
The lady was waiting for them in the downstairs hall. "Ah, boys! I'd just about given up on you. Just come into the kitchen." Her sharp eyes noticed Ben's and Ray's slight hesitation. Don't be shy! You young men are always hungry." She led the way down the hall to the kitchen, where a large plate of cookies, two glasses, and a pitcher of lemonade were set out on the red-checked tablecloth. "Now. Just have a seat. I'm not going to let you go 'til you've finished all those cookies!"
A short time later, the two friends began making their way sluggishly up the road towards the town. Benton Fraser, gifted with an accursed capacity for suffering, plodded along stolidly. Stanley Raymond Kowalski, who had distinguished himself so gallantly at lunch, brought forth an occasional moan. The dozen-or-so cookies they had just consumed lay like so many pounds of double-aught buckshot in stomachs already overburdened by the Dutch Feasts.
"I tell ya what, Frase. I'd like to find a nice, cool bar and sit in it for the rest of the afternoon over a couple of my favorite beverages."
"Nonsense, Ray. It was your idea to come here." Benton Fraser was never peevish, but if he had ever been peevish, he was peevish now. "Now that we're here, we're going to see what Intercourse is all about."
Just then, as though summoned up from Central Casting, a horse and buggy overtook and passed them on the road. Its driver was distinguished by a long, full beard and a large straw hat. A woman was seated next to him, her face and upper body entirely concealed by a deep bonnet and cape.
"Amish farmer," remarked Ray, trying very hard to enter into the spirit of things. "They don't drive cars."
"Interesting clothes," replied Ben.
"Yeah. If I remember from when I was here before, they wear long beards, live on farms, don't pay Social Security, and don't use electricity. Maybe not indoor plumbing, either."
"Like hippies."
"Kinda'. But with them it's like a religious thing."
"Understood. Ah!" Ben stopped before a small, blue-and-yellow sign. "Intercourse," he read. "It looks as if we've arrived, Ray."
"Well, ah, yeah. I guess we're here."
"Lead on, Ray. What was it you wanted to show me?"
The town was attractive in a uniquely Pennsylvania sort of way. The shady street was lined with large brick houses, some in rows, some standing alone. Colorful flower gardens and grassy front yards were set off by white picket fences. In classic small-town fashion, small shops stood next to private homes.
Ray looked around a little wildly. "Well, it's supposed ta be...quaint. Yeah, that's it. Quaint."
"Quaint? Where are the sites of historic and cultural interest? Any Civil War or Revolutionary battlefields? Art museums? Sculpture gardens? Good afternoon, ma'am." Ben broke off for a moment to nod politely at an elderly woman making her way down the sidewalk. "Do you mean to tell me that George Washington never slept here?"
"Eh, no." Ray spoke with the precision he normally reserved for breaking unpleasant news to his superior, Lieutenant Welsh. "Not to my knowledge." He paused for a moment. "No, George Washington never slept here."
"Ray, a town doesn't become a point of tourist interest just by virtue of being quaint. Good afternoon." This time it was a middle-aged couple, loaded down with shopping bags.
Ray sighed. "Well, Frase, I guess this one did. That and the name. People really seem to like the name."
"Well, your limited experience of Intercourse certainly seems to have made an impression on you." Benton Fraser never muttered under his breath, but he had spoken a little too quietly for Ray to hear. He strode ahead, as close to exasperated as Ray had ever seen him. After a few steps, he turned and continued. "Well, Ray, I suggest we walk along the main streets. Surely there will be a point of historic or cultural interest around here somewhere."
Ray sighed again and followed.
Two hours later the shadows had begun to lengthen. The worst of the heat seemed to be over as Ray and Ben emerged from Farm Fresh Preserves. Ben carried a small shopping back into which were packed several carefully-wrapped jars of preserves--Ben's gifts for Aunt Regina, the Inspector, Turnbull, Ma Vecchio, and several neighbors back in Chicago.
He looked down at the bag. "Well, I've bought my gifts, anyway. Why don't we head back to Mrs. Snyder's and see about some supper. I think I've had as much Intercourse as I can manage for one afternoon."
"Ya' want supper, Frase?" Ray had barely begun to recover from lunch. The afternoon's tour, far from working off the Dutch Feast, had left him with a stitch in his side.
"Well, yes, Ray. We have to eat sometime."
"Yeah. Whatever."
When they reached Snyder's Farm, they found the house empty. A note tacked to the screen door read, GONE TO KARAOKE POLKA NITE AT GUT ESSEN HAUS. HOPE TO SEE YOU THERE. There was no sign of Professor Grabowski, either.
"Karaoke Polka Night," Ray sighed, then brightened. "Maybe we should go, Frase. There might be beer there."
"Or food," added Ben.
Chapter 6 - The Pennsylvania Polka
The parking lot at the Gut Essen Haus was filled to capacity, and late arrivals were parked on both sides of the road. The lights blazed, and people hurried out of their cars and into the building with great determination. As the door opened, the two friends could make out the sounds of music coming from within.
They were greeted this time by a different costumed hostess, a younger woman, who quickly showed them to a table. Mrs. Snyder waved to them from across the room. She was seated with a tall, gray-haired man who was undoubtedly Mr. Snyder. The tables in the large room had been crowded around the edges, clearing a large space in the center. At one end, a middle-aged man stood at a microphone. He was all but obscured by the piles of electronic and sound equipment that surrounded him. Ben and Ray had arrived at the end of a song, for the entertainer was taking a bow, and people all over the room were applauding wildly.
The man cued up a perky instrumental tune, then turned again to the microphone. "Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. I'm going to take a short break, but I'll be back again real soon to spin all your polka favorites." He smiled, mopped his face with a handkerchief, and disappeared behind the equipment.
"Hi. I'm Mary Ann, and I'll be your server tonight." Their waitress had arrived. She was clad in the ubiquitous, shapeless Dutch costume with wooden shoes, and her nametag read, HALLO! MINE NAME IST MARY ANN. WAS IST IHR? "Will you gentlemen be having the All You Can Eat Buffet?"
Ben looked at Ray questioningly, and at his nod, replied. "Yes, thank you."
"I'll get your plates. It's in the other room."
"Would ya' happen ta' have any beer, Mary Ann? Maybe a local brew ta' try?" Ray had a more than one beer thirst at this point.
Mary Ann drew herself up to her full height and looked down her nose. "Sir, this is a FAMILY restaurant. We serve iced tea, coffee, and soft drinks. You can have fruit juice, but that's extra."
"Sorry. Just bring us an iced tea," Ray sighed.
The pair were soon making their way through the jostling crowds to the All You Can Eat Buffet. People were serious eaters at the Gut Essen House, and it was a good thing there was plenty of food. The offerings at the buffet resembled the Dutch Feast they'd had several hours ago. They filled their plates and held onto them protectively as they returned to their table. Mary Ann had supplied them with iced tea during their absence, and as they began to eat, the lively music struck up again.
The two ate in silence - carrying on a conversation would have been difficult in all the noise - but both looked around with interest. The floor was soon crowded with polka dancers who displayed the same single-minded dedication to dancing as they did to their food. These folks were serious polka dancers indeed. The room resembled a skating rink, with most people dancing arm-in-arm and side by side in the traditional fashion.
It was impossible not to be affected by cheerful music, and Ben and Ray began to relax, each smiling and nodding at the other as their toes kept time to the beat. Ray recalled having been taught the dance as a boy - by his Aunt Regina, of course - and some wildly bizarre, mostly-unused portion of his brain caused him to begin a cursory survey of the room in search of potential partners. When he didn't find one at first glance, he settled back further in his chair and poured himself another glass of iced tea.
"I'm going to get some dessert," Ben shouted.
Mary Ann materialized and began gathering up their plates. "You two sure didn't eat much," she observed with a disapproving glance at Ray.
Ray, however, refused to be bothered. It was cool in here, and despite the lack of a beer, he was comfortable. The music transported him back to his boyhood, and he began to relax. It had been a trying day. His efforts to turn Intercourse into a joke at Ben's expense had backfired just a little. But, he reasoned, by this time tomorrow he'd be sitting in Aunt Reggie's comfortable kitchen in Pittsburgh, being pampered and spoiled and chowing down on some of her delicious food.
His pleasant reverie was interrupted by Ben's return to the table. "She's here, Ray." Ben sat down and immediately picked up his coffee cup as though he would attempt to hide behind the rim.
"What's wrong with you? If I didn't know better, I'd swear ya were embarrassed or somethin'. Who's here?"
"The woman with the BMW. The woman from lunch this afternoon."
Chapter 7 - "Took Her Dancing, Took Her Dining, Till Her Blue Eyes were Shining..."
Ray followed Ben's eyes, and indeed, there she was. Seated alone, picking delicately at a salad, she was dressed in the same clothes she'd had on earlier. She lit up the room, radiating cool serenity.
"Don't stare, Ray."
"Huh? Right. I wasn't starin' Frase." Ray took a long pull at his iced tea while Ben settled in to try to do justice to his pie and coffee. "She is one beautiful woman, isn't she, Fraser?"
Ben nodded, for once at a loss for words. The music grew even more lively, and the two friends watched as the blonde finished her salad and accepted another glass of iced tea. She smiled to herself from time to time, and her lovely feet tapped in time to the music, occasionally joined by her graceful, tapering fingers. When she began to move her shoulders in time to a particularly lively number, Ben could stand it no longer. He stood up.
"Where ya' headed, Frase?"
"Well, Ray. I'm going to ask her to dance."
"No shit! Well, good luck." Ray, with painful recollections of their earlier contacts with the woman, settled back, preparing a speech of comfort for delivery after the inevitable rejection.
Ben approached the table. Ray could make out the words "Good evening." He cringed for his friend, feeling empathetically the sting of the brush-off to come. But the blonde was smiling. She stood up. She took the arm Ben offered, and the two headed for the dance floor. "Well, I'll be damned," Ray muttered to no one in particular.
To say that they made a handsome couple would be an understatement. They lit up the dance floor. Ray watched in awe as Ben settled an arm around his partner's smooth, bare waist and led her off in time to the lively, bouncing beat.
Ben, for his part, was utterly captivated. "I'm Benton Fraser," he managed, smiling, over the din of music and voices.
"Mary Claire Grabowski," she replied, smiling back. "Everyone just calls me Claire."
"Are you Professor Grabowski?" Ben mastered the impulse to run his hand over the satin skin it now rested on.
"That's me. Why do you ask?"
"Ah. We're also staying at Snyder's Farm. Mrs. Snyder told us she had another guest. I didn't realize it was you." Her hair shone like spun gold in the dim room, and she smelled of lavender. Her hand radiated warmth where it rested in his.
Claire smiled up at him and nodded, and the two turned their attention to the intricate steps they were now following in perfect harmony.
Chapter 8 - Play That Funky Music, White Boy...
"I'll be damned," muttered Ray again from his vantage point at the table. His own feet had begun keeping time to the music, and despite his best efforts to maintain his edgy coolness, he envied Ben with every fiber of his being. Ray himself was no slouch on the dance floor. He wondered where Ben had learned to dance the polka so well.
Ben, who had been watching for the opportunity for some time, suddenly let go of his partner's waist and swung her around, under his arm, so that she was facing him. Laughing, she put her arm around his neck and danced off with him to the center of the floor. It was a move Ray had practiced on numerous occasions in the church social halls of Pittsburgh and Chicago. "Smooth, Fraser," he muttered, feeling a stab of jealousy.
"Hi!" said a voice behind him. "It's great to see you again"
Ray smiled and stood up courteously, if a bit confusedly. He cursed himself for not having worn his glasses. He was facing a young woman who was almost as tall as himself. Her large, dark eyes sparkled with good humor, and he could make out the hint of a dimple at the edge of one rosy cheek. Her thick, brown hair curled softly around her shoulders. Her figure? Well, everywhere he looked he saw curves - voluptuous, exuberantly feminine curves. Her softly-faded old fashioned blue jeans were molded to sinuous curves of waist and hip, while her simple, sleeveless white blouse was left unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of ample cleavage. Her foot was tapping in time to the music, and he noticed that she was wearing what looked like Western boots.
Ray smiled. "It's great to see you, too, ah . . ."
She dimpled again and gave a husky laugh. "You don't recognize me, do you? It's Brandye. Brandye Snyder. Your waitress from this afternoon. Mind if I sit down?"
"Brandye? Why, ah . . . Sit down. Please!" Ray's manners returned, and he pulled out a chair for her.
"Please, call me Bren. Nobody calls me Brandye but my relatives. I hate it."
"Your, ah, your relatives. You're not from around here, are you?"
She laughed again. "No, I'm from Texas. San Antonio, actually."
"San Antonio, Texas? What brings you to, ah, to . . ."
"Intercourse?"
"Yeah. How do you get from Texas to Intercourse?"
"Well, Jean Snyder who owns this restaurant is my aunt on my Daddy's side. He was born and raised here. My Mama's from Texas." She shook her head. "It's a little bit complicated, but Aunt Jean had a heart attack this past winter. I'm just up here helping her out at the restaurant for the season. I'm actually a fifth grade teacher."
"Well, well." Ray shook his head and smiled. "Would you like some of this iced tea?" Mary Ann materialized with another glass. "This must be a pretty good place if ya' come here on yer' night off," he went on.
"Well," replied Bren. "I like to dance." She was silent for a moment, then said, "How about you? Do you like to dance?"
Her words echoed in the sudden, brief silence as the music came to an end. "Sure." He stood up and extended his hand. "Would ya care to..."
A lively tune struck up as they approached the dance floor, and Ray's heart, recently so jubilant, sank to the very pits of despair. "Please, God, no!" he prayed silently. "Please, just kill me now." But his prayers went unanswered, as he faced the voluptuous Bren to the cheerful strains of - Oh, God, no - The Chicken Dance.
"Now I know for sure," thought Ray. "God hates me." Through a red haze, he looked across the room and saw Ben and his partner, smiling into each others' eyes, managing to look as graceful as Nureyev and Fonteyn. How could he, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, ever hope to impress this wildly exotic Southern belle when the first dance they ever shared together was . . . Best not to think of it. Slowly, slowly he raised his arms and focused on his own partner. Bren seemed to be enjoying herself immensely, flapping and waving her arms with surprising agility, all the while laughing that marvelously husky laugh and showing that dimple of hers. Ray began to relax.
Chapter 9 - Do you Come Here Often?
To Ray's inexpressible relief, the Chicken Dance gave way to a more traditional polka. Bren was an agile, graceful dancer, and Ray was determined to try out his own smooth move. When their place in the circle of couples landed them in a corner of the large room, he seized his chance immediately. Letting go of Bren's waist, he swung her under his arm, so that she was facing him. Her brown eyes smiled directly into his blue ones as they whirled together to the center of the dance floor.
After several more dances, Bren laughingly asked to sit one out. "How about some more iced tea?" she asked, holding out her glass once they were seated.
Ray looked up to see Ben and the blonde approaching the table. He got to his feet and smiled.
"Claire, may I present Ray Kowalski. And this is..."
"Hi. I'm Bren."
"Nice to meet you, Ray, Bren." Claire's voice was pleasant, and she smiled agreeably at the seated couple.
Ray hoped she had forgotten about the belch. "Nice place," he said inanely.
Bren laughed, while Ben and Claire merely nodded. They seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time staring into each other's eyes over the rims of their iced tea glasses. The silence at the table grew deafening, at least to Ray.
Ben finally spoke. "Ray, Claire is also staying at Snyder's."
"That's great. So, what brings ya' to this part of the world, Claire?"
"I'm a history professor making a tour of Pennsylvania battlefields," she replied in that musical voice.
"History. There certainly
is a lot of it around here." Bren smiled. "But if
you're ever in Texas, come and visit me in San Antonio. We've
managed to make a little bit of it there, too."
"Ah," replied Ben. "Remember the Alamo. Yes,
visiting San Antonio would certainly make history come alive." He
lapsed into silence again, losing himself in Claire's blue
eyes.
"Are you from Maryland, Claire?" Ray went on, determined to keep the conversation afloat. "We thought we noticed Maryland plates on yer' car."
"Yes." She smiled, revealing the expected perfect white teeth. "I live in a little town called Boring. I understand you and Ben are from Chicago."
"Right."
"You're a detective, and Ben's a Mountie." She turned to the Mountie in question, smiling over at him with a secret smile.
"Right," echoed Ben.
"You're from Canada, Ben?" Bren seemed interested. Ray hoped she would not become too interested.
"Yes." Ben tore his gaze from Claire and faced Bren with resolute courtesy. "I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father."
"Yeah. And he stayed on," added Ray. "For all kinds a' reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture."
"Sounds fascinating," murmured Claire, turning the light of her gaze from Ray back to Ben. "I want to hear all about it...sometime." She paused for a moment. "Well, Ben?"
"Oh. Right." Ben flushed becomingly and turned to Ray. "Ray, I was wondering."
"Yeah, Frase?"
"Well, that is." Ben drew a deep breath. "Would you," he made a move to tug at the high collar of his tunic before remembering that he wasn't wearing his tunic. He scrubbed at his eyebrow with his knuckle instead. "Would you be able to find your way back to Snyder's yourself, Ray? Claire and I would like to take a drive."
Ray made a move to tilt his sunglasses before remembering that he wasn't wearing his sunglasses. He ran his hand through his hair instead. "Sure thing, Frase. You two go on ahead. Ah, have a good time."
Ben and Claire wasted no time in standing up. Smiling their goodnights at Ray and Bren, they began to make their way through the press of dancers towards the door. As they left the table, the music struck up again.
"Like to dance again, Ray?" asked Bren. "Or, on the other hand, it's a beautiful evening. We could take a leisurely walk back to Snyder's."
Ray felt a momentary stab of disappointment. "I hate to see the evening end so soon, Bren. Besides which, if you walk me home, who's gonna see you home?"
The dimple magically reappeared. "Didn't Aunt Ruth tell you? I'm staying there."
Chapter 10 - It's a Marvelous Night for a Moon Dance
The starry sky was graced by a beautiful, almost-full moon that shed its light over the hushed parking lot and the still fields beyond. It glinted on Claire's blonde hair, making it seem to shine with its own inner light. Ben reached for her hand with his usual engaging shyness as they approached the silver car.
"How about a little ride through the countryside," she asked huskily.
"That would be perfect." Ben handed her gallantly into the driver's seat before taking his place by her side. She had left the convertible top down. The beautiful little car purred to vibrant life as she turned the key.
Neither said anything as Claire allowed the car to pick up speed on the road outside the parking lot. A cool breeze whispered, lifting her blonde tresses and whipping them back in the wind. She passed Snyder's and turned off onto a side road before the village.
"You seem to know your way around here pretty well," Ben observed finally. The narrow road carried them through broad fields and past an occasional darkened farmhouse.
"I try to get up here for a few days every year," she replied. "It's so peaceful here. And I love the people."
"Are you from here originally?"
"Well, a little further west. I didn't move to Boring until after I had my doctorate." She shook the hair out of her eyes.
Ben noticed that they had turned off onto a road that was narrower still. After a few more miles of companionable silence, he recognized - a bit sadly - Snyder's Farmhouse. "Ah. Here we are." The house was still dark. "I guess Ray and the Snyder's are still at the restaurant," he went on.
They walked up to the porch hand in hand. The evening was cool after the hot, humid day, and the heavy dew brought out the scent of the old-fashioned roses that seemed to climb everywhere around the porch.
Claire reached for Ben's hand. "It's too pretty to go in," she observed. "I think I'll sit in the swing for a while. It's so wonderfully old-fashioned."
Ben hesitated for just an instant before taking her face in both his hands. His lips, warm and gentle, found hers. She sighed just a little and put her arms around his waist, pulling him closer.
When the kiss finally ended, he led her to the swing, sat down, and pulled her down onto his lap. They sat quietly rocking for a few moments, her head cradled on his shoulder, listening to the gentle creak of the swing, the song of the crickets, the rustling of the wind through the trees. The summer air was heavy with the soft scents of old roses and fresh-cut grass. Fireflies sparkled distantly on the lawn.
Ben wondered if he was dreaming, except that his hands were tangled in Claire's long, soft hair and she felt warm and real there on his lap. She stirred a little and began tracing the first the line of his ear, then his jaw, with a gentle fingertip. When she reached his lips, he kissed the finger gently before finding her mouth again. She felt like warm silk under his hands, and he allowed his lips, finally, to travel to that spot where the soft cotton of her shirt barely covered a breast that was softer still.
Claire gave a little shuddering sigh then, and brought her lips close to his ear. "Not here," she whispered, squirming just a little on his lap. "They'll be home soon. Upstairs."
Ben pulled his head back then and looked into her eyes for just a moment. Whatever he saw there caused him to stand up, swing her into his arms, and carry her into the house, through the darkened hallway, and upstairs to the front room.
Chapter 11 - Dawn Breaks Over Intercourse
"Mr. Kowalski. Mr. Kowalski!"
Ray Kowalski was awakened next morning by a quiet, but insistent knocking at his door. After a moment's wild search, he located and buttoned on his jeans and peered out into the kind, fresh face of Ruth Snyder.
"Sorry to waken you, Mr. Kowalski. It's Fred from the garage on the phone."
He ran his hands across his face. "Thanks, Mrs. Snyder. I'll be right down."
His efforts to pull on his t-shirt were hampered by a small, dimpled hand that emerged from the covers to tickle the small of his back. "Stop that!" he whispered, laughing. He seized the hand pulled it around his neck, and located the face of its owner, still hidden beneath the covers. After a long, breathless kiss, he managed, "You better get ta yer own room, Bren! That was yer Aunt Ruth."
"Shoot," replied Bren, shaking her tousled hair from her eyes. "I guess you're right. I'll see you downstairs in a few minutes."
Ray kissed her again before checking the hallway in his best policeman's fashion, and gesturing to her that the coast was clear. He padded downstairs and into the kitchen in his bare feet. Mrs. Snyder pointed to the phone.
"Kowalski," he said. "That's great. Thanks. That's real nice, but I wouldn't want ya' ta...Well, that's great. You take MasterCard? Great. We'll see ya' then. Thanks, Fred."
Mrs. Snyder handed him a mug of steaming coffee as soon as he hung up the phone. She looked at him inquiringly.
"That Fred is real nice," he observed. "He's gonna bring the car by here in about an hour. It's ready ta' roll."
"That's nice," beamed Mrs. Snyder. "Now, Mr. Kowalski, why don't you take that coffee back upstairs with you? You can drink it while you're getting dressed, and I'll have your breakfast all ready for you when you get down here. Will you be waking up Mr. Fraser?"
Ray shook his head for a moment as if to clear it. "Ah, yeah. I guess I'll wake him up, too."
As he made his way back upstairs, he shook his head again and reflected on last night's events. After Ben and Claire's rather abrupt departure from the Gut Essen Haus, he and Bren had sat out a dance or two, quietly sipping iced tea and talking as best they could above the music. But before long, they had been on their feet again, and they'd ended up staying almost until closing time. Bren had shown him the long way back to Snyder's Farm, and by the time they arrived at the farmhouse, everyone else had apparently retired. That was when Ray found out that, for all his edgy toughness, the delights of a pretty girl and a front-porch swing were not to be denied. Much later that night, Ray had noticed that Ben's door to their shared bathroom was slightly ajar. A quick glance revealed an empty and unruffled bed in his partner's room.
As he regained his own room - sadly empty without Bren - and began pulling off his T-shirt, he heard water running in the bathroom. And was that . . . Yes! Whistling. Ben was whistling in the bathroom.
The water stopped running, and the whistling stopped to be replaced by Ben's voice, singing quietly and clearly, "K-K-K-Katie! Beautiful Katie!"
Smiling to himself, Ray tapped on the door and peered in. His partner stood, shirtless, at the sink. He was shaving with that wicked straight blade he favored. His eyes, clear and innocent, beamed at Ray from a face covered with foam. "Ah, Ray! You're finally up. It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?"
"Yeah..."
"I'll be out of your way in just a moment. Did you sleep well?" Ben returned his attention to his shaving. A few minutes later he tapped on Ray's door. "All yours, Ray. See you downstairs."
Ray found his shower to be bracing and restorative. He felt wonderful as he pulled on a fresh t-shirt and headed downstairs. Tantalizing aromas of breakfast arose from the kitchen.
Ben, Claire, and Bren were seated at the large kitchen table, tucking into plates of scrapple, eggs, hash browns, and fresh muffins with apple butter. Ray smiled at them, then dropped his eyes, and with a murmured "G'morning, everyone," took his own place. Mrs. Snyder placed a similarly-heaped plate in front of him, and he turned his full attention to it.
Claire looked as lovely as ever this morning, dressed comfortably in jeans and a t-shirt. Was her face a trifle rosier than Ray remembered? He couldn't tell and decided not to speculate. The three finished their breakfast in companionable silence.
Bren was mostly silent, but her dark eyes sparkled at Ray over the rim of her coffee cup, and the dimple appeared and re-appeared just at the edge of her cheek.
"The garage called, Frase," Ray observed as he pushed his plate away and turned to his coffee. "The guy's gonna' bring the car around in a few minutes." He paused and took another sip of his coffee. "Are you gonna be ready ta' go? We could..."
"That's fine, Ray. I'm already packed," replied Ben with just a glance at Claire.
"Fine. I'll just head up and get my stuff together. Great breakfast, Mrs. Snyder." Ray pushed his chair back, got up, and left the kitchen.
"I'll go start on the rooms, Aunt Ruth," added Bren as she, too stood up.
When she got to the end of the upstairs hall, Ray was waiting for her, watching around the corner of his door. He pulled her into his arms tangling his hands in her soft hair. "Hey," he said as their kiss finally ended. "A month isn't such a long time. We'll get ta' see each other here before ya' head back to Texas. Besides, I always wanted to visit Texas." He tilted her chin up for another kiss.
When Ray came downstairs a few minutes later with his suitcase, there was no sign of anyone. He could hear Mrs. Snyder banging pots in the kitchen. Curious as to where Ben might have gone, he pushed open the screen door and went out onto the porch, then hastily re-entered the house.
The two of them were sitting arm in arm on the swing, heads together, engaged in a whispered conversation that ended in yet another kiss. Ben finally broke off, reluctantly, and looked down at Claire. He folded the scrap of paper she had given him and placed it carefully in the band of his Stetson. She, likewise, tucked a slip of paper carefully into her pocket and turned to face him. "Write to me," he whispered between kisses.
"I will. Call me!" she replied, kissing him again.
"As soon as I can." They had time for one last kiss before they were interrupted by the arrival of Fred in the little blue Toyota. He tooted the horn.
When Ray returned to the porch, Ben and Claire were standing side by side, a correct distance apart. But the swing was still moving gently.
Claire watched from the porch with Mrs. Snyder as the two friends settled their luggage in the car and paid Fred. It was time to leave. Ben, normally decisive, hesitated before getting into the car. He returned to the porch one last time. Conscious of the presence of Mrs. Snyder, he contented himself with taking Claire's hand and shaking it warmly. She gave his a little squeeze in return and smiled a secret smile at him.
"Let's get going," Ben sighed as he returned to the car. As they pulled out of the driveway, he turned to see Claire waving at him from the porch.
He did not notice, though Ray did, a figure with a rosy face, framed with soft, brown hair, smiling and waving from an upstairs window.
They drove in silence for a few minutes until they got back to the highway. Whatever Fred had done to the car had cured the air conditioner, and Ray was truly grateful. "So, Frase," Ray finally said as he merged into the traffic on U.S. 30. "What'd ya think of Pennsylvania Dutch Country?"
"Well, Ray. I think I can safely say I've seen the best that Intercourse has to offer."