Meek and Mild (10 page)

“Sorry,” the young man said, wiping his mouth.

“Go home,” Hansen said. “You’re no help to me in this condition. But clean up after yourself first.”

Even across the large garage, the smell of the man’s illness wafted as he picked up the trash can and stumbled toward a rear door.

“Let me help you today.” Andrew pounced on the moment. “I’ll scrub down anything the boy touched and hand you any tool you need. Just let me watch as you work.”

Hansen rustled through a toolbox and came up with a tool Andrew had no name for.

“One hour,” Hansen said. “If by then you’ve proven you’re not an idiot, then you can stay the day.”

“Thank you!” Andrew stepped into the work area.

“Hang up your hat,” Hansen said. “It will only get in the way.”

Andrew put a hand to the straw brim. He was not in the habit of doing without his hat. The Amish always wore their hats when they were out of their own homes. But he took it off his head and looked for a hook.

Six hours later, Andrew squinted into the daylight again. He and Jurgen Hansen had gotten along well, and Andrew now carried a small carton with several small parts and tools, along with a general idea that the problem with his Model T was that something was obstructing the fuel going into the engine.

Yonnie drove the milk wagon to the abandoned Johnson farm the next morning and guardedly turned into the lane that would lead to the outlying shed. It was the only place he could think to look for Andrew.

Living alone, Andrew had decided it was easier to buy milk, butter, and cheese from the dairy than to keep a cow. Yonnie checked a couple of times a week on what Andrew needed. When Andrew’s milk box had no empty bottles in it that Tuesday morning, Yonnie had gone inside the house. Dishes in the sink had dried egg on them at least a day old. In Andrew’s bedroom, the bed looked undisturbed. It took Yonnie a few minutes to sort out what else looked wrong, but finally it dawned on him.

Approaching the old Johnson barn, Yonnie knew he was right. Andrew’s horse was tethered with a long lead that allowed it to nibble the ground freely, swish its tail, and shake its mane. Yonnie left the milk wagon and pushed open the shed door.

Andrew looked up. “Yonnie! How did you know where I was?”

Yonnie stepped inside. “I stopped at your house. When I realized every lantern you own was missing, I could think of only one reason. You’ve been here all night fooling with that automobile.”

Andrew grinned. “And I think I’ve figured it out.”

“Are you hoping I will congratulate you?” Yonnie counted nine lanterns burning, set on shelves, barrels, the roof of the car, and flat surfaces beside the engine.

“Think what you will,” Andrew said. “I’m pleased.”

“If you knock over even one of these lanterns, you could burn the place down.”

“I’m not going to knock anything over,” Andrew said. “Besides, I’m finished.”

“You don’t deny that you were here all night?” Yonnie put out the lamp that made him most nervous because of its proximity to the only bale of hay left in the barn.

“Since you’re here,” Andrew said, “it must be morning. So yes, I was here all night.”

Yonnie watched the ruddy flush of pleasure in Andrew’s face. Not many things would make Andrew stay up all night. He liked his sleep. That was one reason he decided not to keep a cow, gladly reducing his early-morning responsibilities.

“When was the last time you ate?” Yonnie asked.

“Are you planning to report to my mother in Lancaster County?” Andrew used a rag to polish a small hand tool that Yonnie did not recognize.

“Where did you get that?” Yonnie said. “And what is it?”

“I could answer you,” Andrew said, “but somehow I doubt the sincerity of your inquiry.”

“You are getting in over your head, aren’t you?”

Andrew flashed another grin. “Have you already forgotten that I said I fixed it? It was choking for fuel, and now it’ll get what it needs for the engine to run.”

“So now what?”

“We take it for a test ride.”

“We?”

“Never mind. I know it would rattle your nerves to get in an automobile, so I won’t ask it of you.” Andrew bent down, found the opening, inserted the crank, and turned it. The Model T proposed no response.

Yonnie took a few steps closer, his brow furrowed. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Haven’t you ever seen one of the
English
in town start a car?”

“Haven’t you ever noticed how often they can’t get them started?”

“Those are the older models,” Andrew said. “This one is only a couple of years old.” He abandoned the crank to check the levers inside the car.

“This is not wise,” Yonnie said. “This automobile will consume your thoughts. You will neglect your fields at an important time in the growing season.”

Andrew cocked his head. “My corn is growing just fine. All it needs right now is sun, rain, and time. I can’t control any of those things.”

“You’re a farmer, not an automobile…” Yonnie was uncertain what to call a person who knew how to repair a car.

“Ah, yes,” Andrew said. “I forgot this lever has to be up. Now I should feel the compression.”

Andrew jumped back to the crank. He pulled up swiftly and the engine caught, its roar consuming the small barn.

“Are you sure that’s how it’s supposed to sound?” Yonnie shouted over the noise.

“It’s running!” Andrew leaped onto the bench behind the steering wheel. “I’m going to take it out.”

“Out where?”

“To the road, of course. Stand clear.”

Yonnie did not move. How could Andrew not see that he would make an incriminating situation more serious if he took the car out of this barn?

“Out of the way,” Andrew said. He looked down at his feet and moved the hand lever rising straight up out of the floor to the left of the steering wheel. A sound like the kick of a rifle startled them both.

Involuntarily, Yonnie jumped out of the way.

Andrew gripped the steering wheel with both hands as the Model T rolled out of the barn. He might have had a more accurate expectation of the sensation had he ever ridden in a car before. His instinct to pull on reins to control speed was no help, and instead of the brake pedal, his foot found the gear pedal and the car lurched forward.

Throttle
, he reminded himself. What was it Mr. Hansen had said? Use the throttle lever to slow the engine and change gears smoothly.

The speed stabilized just as Andrew reached the farm’s lane. He turned the steering wheel to the left, realized he had pulled it too far, and turned back toward the right slightly. The next turn would be better. The right front tire dipped into a rut in the road, and again Andrew tugged on the steering wheel with both fists to correct the forward motion.

“Whoa!” he said aloud, as he would to a horse. The Model T chugged forward. Andrew’s eyes went from his hands to the levers as he tried to remember the notes he’d taken and what they meant. Mr. Hansen had spoken so quickly, as if Andrew understood all the terms he used. Andrew planted his feet on the floor, remembering that if he did not want to change from low gear to high or to slow the speed, his feet had nothing to do. That was not so different than driving a buggy. Looking through the glass shielding his eyes from the wind, he began to plan how to turn right onto the main road.

To his relief, no automobile, horse, or buggy was coming into his path. Without having to stop, he turned to the right, once again pulling too hard on the wheel and correcting as swiftly as he could. The Model T zigzagged across the road several times before he gained control of the trajectory.

He needed to slow down. Another driver could appear over the next rise, or a horse pulling a wagon, whether
English
or Amish.

Slow down. Find the gear pedal. Be ready with the brake pedal on the left. No, the brake is on the right. Yes, the right. Be careful not to press the reverse pedal
.

While Andrew planned the series of motions, the car hit a bump. The entire automobile twitched to the left. Forgetting about the pedals, Andrew pulled the steering wheel to the right.

When he lifted his eyes again, a ditch was rapidly approaching. The front wheels dropped off the road. The car stopped abruptly, the engine died, and the right rear tire spun in the air.

Andrew let out his breath and then gulped fresh air, his heart pounding. He’d been doing so well. A horse didn’t go off the road every time it hit a bump.

The soft spring earth had yielded graciously. Andrew was relieved to hear no thud or crash. He climbed out of the seat and inspected the Model T, ignoring the bump his knee had taken against the dashboard.

Yonnie slowed the milk wagon on the main road. Before his eyes lay the evidence that Andrew, in fact, did not know what he was doing. Andrew waved from beside the rear axle of the Model T, and Yonnie gave the reins a final tug.

“I’m going to need to borrow a rope again,” Andrew said.

Yonnie eyed the precarious tilt of the car. “Perhaps this is the revelation of God’s will for you.”

“I doubt it.” Andrew said. “Anyway, I can’t just leave it here.”

He certainly could, Yonnie believed. “I’m already late on my rounds.”

“Dale won’t begrudge you stopping to help someone in need.”

Yonnie sucked in his lips, thinking,
Even if your own sin brought you to your need?

Andrew approached the wagon. “This is not the time to worry about rules, Yonnie.”

“If you were concerned about rules, you wouldn’t have this automobile.” Yonnie reluctantly got out of the wagon and lifted a coil of thick rope from where it hung on the side. “Where is your allegiance to the faith of our fathers?”

“You can preach at me later,” Andrew said. “Right now we have to figure out how to get out of the ditch without breaking the axle.”

Yonnie tossed the rope to Andrew, sighing in disbelief that he agreed to have anything to do with this automobile. Even the
English
owner had the good sense to abandon it.

T
he walk from the Kuhn farm to Springs was six and one-quarter miles.

But Clara found no reason not to walk.

Nothing pressing took her to town, either, but she had to get off the farm. In the last day and a half, she tried to polish Rhoda’s cedar chest in the front room, wipe the dust from the kitchen cupboards, and mend the tiny weak spots she noticed in the good white tablecloth. Rhoda discouraged every indoor effort, so Clara moved into the June sunshine to sweep and mop the front porch, weed the vegetable garden, and scrub out the slop bucket. Even outdoors, though, Josiah or Hannah turned up with instructions from their mother to complete whatever task Clara began. They were small children. They could help and learn—even eagerly—but on their own they could not accomplish what Clara could do.