His choices were clear - hit the cars in front of us or turn into the fountains. Looking back now, it was pretty exciting and funny. We slammed into the side of the white fountain. After determining that no one was injured, Nick let out a string of cusswords for what seemed like a full 2 minutes. Holly, who had not heard Nick say anything but kind words before, remained perfectly calm while I started laughing hysterically.

Within moments, the police were there. They had, we guessed, been across the street and seen the accident happen. Thinking Nick might be arrested, I got a little nervous. (We had been told that in traffic accidents, all parties were immediately arrested until the matter was sorted out) The officers could not understand what were saying at all, so attempting to explain why we drove into the marble fountain was useless. The hand talking and charades went on for about 10 minutes. We finally figured out that they just wanted us to leave. Of course, none of us wanted to get into a car without brakes. But one officer got behind the wheel backed the car up a bit, drove forward, pressed the brake pedal, and the car stopped. He demonstrated this a few more times and again said “Vamoose!” So we did.

We still don’t know why the brakes failed us. When we took the car back to Viilor, we were glad Holly had been with us to back up the story. Otherwise, this too, would have been dismissed as a lie.

The Cemetery
Some time before my final run in with the Scotts, Nick and I went for a walk in a park and got into some trouble. Nick noticed that on the other side of a chain fence was an old cemetery. When we came to a place where there was break in the fence, he wanted to go through and look around. It took some convincing, but, since it was obvious many people had walked through this fence to get to the cemetery, I figured it couldn’t hurt. I jokingly told Nick that if we got in trouble, it would be his fault.

The Cemetery was beautiful. The headstones were decorative, with intricate pictures of the deceased engraved on each one. Tombstones older than my country, lined paths more reverent than any church I had ever been a part of. I was glad we came. It was nice - until we got caught.

We had only been there 10 minutes when I said we should leave because it was getting dark. Putting me off for one last look, Nick was around the corner when a police officer or security guard came running up to me. I could have easily run away, as he was so out of breath he had to take a moment before he could talk. But, since we hadn’t done anything wrong, I figured he was just telling us to leave. Not so. We were told, in Romanian, that we should’ve come through the front gate. Right, well, sorry for the inconvenience, sir. We’ll just be on our way. No such luck. The only two words I understood as we were interrogated for the next hour were “infraction” and “liberate”. In short, they said we broke the law and were to pay a fine of $100 US dollars, or they would shoot us.

There we were, broke, scared and being threatened. Nick had the idea that we would pretend to not know how to speak any Romanian. This took little effort on my part, as I had been an unwilling student in our language class. We sat on cement benches, surrounded by uniformed men, as the event unfolded from the examination and confiscation of our passports, to us trying to prove that we wouldn’t be able to pay the fine, to one officer miming the consequence. He pointed to his head as if he were holding a gun and pretended to fire, complete with sound effects and the snap back of his body. It was at that point that I snapped.

I said “Oh yeah? You’re gonna shoot us? Well come on! We didn’t do anything wrong! This is stupid! You’re a liar! You’re just trying to rip us off! You are no better than the beggars on the train! You have got to be kidding! This is not happening! Well, I’m not giving you any money! We don’t have any!” I was yelling by then and stood up. Nick was trying to calm me down, but I felt we had nothing to lose. Whether they were joking or not, none of it was funny at the time. It’s not like some attorney was about to arrive and announce that it would all be handled by the US Embassy. If this was the end, I was going to fight every step. At one point they were motioning to leave, and I stood again. “I can go? Let’s go, Nick.” But he understood better than I. “No, I think they are saying you can go, but not me.” As if I was going to go get money and return!? Who would give me money? The Wandlings? The Scotts? Leave him there? Whatever. “I’m not leaving without you!”

By that time I was more angry than scared. But not long after they let us go after paying the equivalent of $5. We guess they just gave up. We had frustrated them enough. Now, I realise I was right and so was Nick. We can never be sure what those men were capable of, or if they had any authority to hold us as they did. They probably were just trying to rip off the two Americans. But Nick’s plan worked and when they let us out the front gate, we waited ‘til we were out of sight before we hugged each other deliriously and laughed about our escape!

Of course we told the story to our friends and the other missionaries. For all the prepration that is supposedly put into Nazarenes In Volunteer Service, no one seemed to care that we might’ve been in serious danger. In fact, no one but the American students from Boston who were living in Sighisoara and thier professor ever asked me if I was OK. Those students, who included Matt and Anita Hanlon, Nat McIntyre, Professor, Dorothy Tarrant and her nephew, David Tarrant became close friends. So much in fact, that my last month in Romania, after John Scott finally did renew my visa, I accepted Dorothy’s offer to move in with her. I must confess, I was about to ask her for help, when she spoke first. Still, I am forever grateful as this move is what led to my happiest memories of Romania – the last month is Sighisoara.