Meek and Mild (12 page)

“Of course not.” He flipped open the engine cover, releasing steam. “We might have to let it cool down, but it won’t take long. We haven’t been driving long enough for it to be too hot.”

Clara found a lever that looked like it might open the door. She got out and leaned against the car.

“That was the best four minutes I’ve had all day,” Clara said.

Andrew joined her against the car, nudging her shoulder with his. “I had a feeling you weren’t having a very good day.”

The words swirling in Clara’s mind were slow to find structure, but she knew Andrew would wait.

“You’re a little older than I am,” she said finally. “What do you remember about 1905?”

“A lot of things.”

“I mean, in the church. Why would Barbara Stutzman say that last Sunday was like 1895 all over again? That the congregation had been duped then and again ten years later?”

Andrew sighed. “Bishop Yoder had just been ordained to the office in 1895. He had strong feelings about the Maryland churches separating.”

“He still does. But the congregation voted, didn’t they?”

“Yes. Officially. Ten years later the truth came out.”

“What truth?”

“I remember eavesdropping while my parents talked,” Andrew said, “although I didn’t have to try very hard. They were upset. Their voices grew loud.”

Clara moved away from the car to stand where she could look Andrew in the face. “What happened, Andrew?”

“When Bishop Yoder asked for the vote, he said he had consulted another bishop, Joseph Witmer. It’s possible he sincerely misunderstood what Bishop Witmer meant to communicate, but my parents—and a lot of others—were convinced he knew exactly what he was doing. The congregation voted unanimously to do just the opposite of what Bishop Witmer had advised.”

Andrew’s soft words sank in.

“Bishop Yoder deceived the congregation?” Clara was stunned. “All these years—the sermons about shunning the Maryland believers.”

“Hardly anyone really wanted to do that.” Andrew picked up a pebble and tossed it into a field overgrown with weeds. “But the vote in 1895 was unanimous.”

“And our people do not easily set aside such a vote.” Clara pressed on her temples. “That explains why hardly anyone whose name is not Yoder obeys the ban.”

“Bishop Yoder is getting old,” Andrew said. “He won’t be bishop forever.”

“But his sons,” Clara countered. “One of them could be the next bishop.”

“Or it could be Mose Beachy.” Andrew paced back to the engine. “Let’s not borrow trouble.”

P
lease!”

Hannah tugged on Clara’s sleeve two days later.

Clara dropped into the grass. She had wandered away from the house with a box of letter paper intending to finish a story to send to Sadie—and not knowing that Hannah followed. Clara glanced toward the house, wondering if Rhoda knew where her daughter was.

Hannah plopped down next to Clara. “I only want you to tell me about Sadie. I already know you like to visit her and she’s your cousin.”

“My cousin’s daughter.” Clara offered the gentle correction.

“That’s still a cousin.” Hannah rolled onto her stomach, planted her elbows, and propped up her chin with her hands. “What is she like?”

“Lively.” Clara chuckled. “She likes running and doing cartwheels, and her
mamm
has to remind her about chores.”

“Just like my
mamm
has to remind me.”

“She’s not old enough for school yet, but I think she’s going to like it when she goes.”

“Just like me. I like school!”

“And she loves cherry strudel,” Clara said.

Hannah sat up. “I like apple strudel, but it’s still strudel.”

Clara’s thumbs played with the corners of the box of letter paper. Intuition told her not to mention to Hannah the Bible stories that Clara sent to Sadie.

“Do you think Sadie and I could be friends?” Hannah crossed her legs and straightened her skirt around them.

“I’m sure you would like each other,” Clara said. Why shouldn’t they? Hannah and Sadie were two little Amish girls going to church and learning the ways their people had followed for more than two hundred years.

“I want to visit Sadie with you,” Hannah said. “I want to very, very much.”

Clara reached over and squeezed the girl’s hand. “I know.” The farm Sadie lived on was only five miles away, but it might as well have been the desolate settlement in Colorado that Clara read about in
The Budget
.

“Ask
Mamm
if you can take me,” Hannah said. “I promise to be good and clean up after myself.”

“We’ll see,” Clara said.

“Priscilla’s dog is going to have puppies.”

“Oh?” Clara was relieved at the change of subject.

“In about two more weeks. I’m going to start asking
Mamm
if I can go play with Priscilla every day. I want to be there when the babies are born so I can watch.”

Clara winced. Her father had delivered the young of cows and horses over the years. It happened on every farm. But Clara never wanted to watch.

Their heads turned together toward the sound of Mari’s crying. Rhoda approached, one hand tight around her youngest daughter’s fingers.

“Hannah, you have chores to do in the barn,” Rhoda said.

“See,” Hannah said. “She reminds me, just like Sadie’s
mamm
reminds her.”

Clara nodded but did not speak.

“Ask her now,” Hannah said. She scampered toward the barn.

“Ask me what?” Rhoda said.

“It’s just something Hannah wants to do,” Clara said.

“Why was she talking about Sadie?”

Clara stood up. This conversation would be difficult enough without having Rhoda towering over her.

“She wants to meet Sadie,” Clara said. “We could go and come back on the same day.”

“Meet Sadie? What on earth for?” Rhoda released Mari’s hand, and the little girl stretched out in the grass.

“She’s curious. That’s all. I think they would get on well together.”

“Absolutely not.”

Clara took in a breath. “They’re just little girls. I’m Hannah’s sister and related to Sadie. It’s not such a stretch, is it?”

“The Hostetlers are your mother’s people. I have never suggested you should not see them if you wish. But Hannah is not related to them. I see no reason to confuse her about where she belongs.”

Clara looked at Mari in the cool grass, her little fingers sliding up and down a single blade. Her eyes lifted to the barn in time to see Hannah disappear inside its cavernous door. Rhoda protected where Hannah belonged but plainly would feel no loss if Clara crossed the border. Clara was twenty-three and did not understand the false line represented by the state border. How would little children understand it? Hot disappointment seared through Clara.

Andrew wondered how many times he would have to bring a horse and buggy to Hansen’s Automotive Repair. The Model T was safely back in the outlying barn on the Johnson land, but ever since he put it in high gear two days ago, it made a sound that unnerved Andrew.

Jurgen Hansen looked up from where he sat at a desk strewn with papers. “How’s your Model T?”

“You were right about the carburetor.” Andrew eyed the rack beside the door, hoping he would have another opportunity to hang his straw hat there. “The car is running now, but I don’t believe it is as reliable as it ought to be.”

“Automobiles are sensitive machines,” Hansen said.

“I’m learning that,” Andrew said. “I wonder if I might help you around the shop again today.”

“I can’t pay you,” Hansen said.

“I would pay you if I could,” Andrew said, “for teaching me.”

“It’s only a matter of some basic science about the combustion engine, and a little trial and error about your engine in particular.”

“I suppose it’s like getting to know the temperament of a horse,” Andrew said.

Hansen laughed. “More like a small herd of horses.”

Andrew licked his lips. “Will you help me tame my herd?”

The shop owner looked around. “If you clean up the two end bays, I’ll let you watch while I work on the next two cars.”

Andrew snatched his hat off his head and tossed it onto a hook. Outside the rear door was a water spigot, and he knew where the broom and mop were. While Andrew cleaned, Jurgen Hansen rummaged through tools and assorted small parts on three shelves. Inspecting the engine and undercarriage of his own automobile meant Andrew recognized some of the shapes, even if he did not know the names or functions for everything. Andrew attacked the clutter and dirt in a manner that would have made his
mamm
proud, determined to be ready to learn by the time Jurgen Hansen was ready to work. At one point, Andrew tilted his head back and followed with his eyes the path of the electric wiring that illumined the bays.

They worked for four hours. Andrew watched Jurgen’s movements closely, asking as few questions as possible so he would not provoke impatience, but enough to undergird his growing understanding of the complex challenge of keeping an automobile running. The broom and a stack of clean rags were always within reach. Andrew kept the bays clean.

The afternoon yawned ahead of them. Finally, Jurgen went outside to the water spigot to scrub his hands clean and returned to his desk, where he pulled from a desk drawer a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper.

“Let’s have lunch,” Jurgen said, “and then I think I’d like to see your car.”

Andrew accepted the half sandwich Jurgen offered. “I don’t want to take up your time.”

“Nonsense. The car I drive can go forty miles an hour.” Jurgen winked. “Wouldn’t you like to do that?”

Andrew glanced out the door at his horse. Despite being a large stallion, the animal had never been especially fast, even at a gallop—which Andrew rarely required of him. Forty miles an hour! And in a car that was not likely to cough and seize in the performance of its duties.

They finished the sandwich, and Jurgen tossed Andrew an apple before shuffling papers around to reveal a crank on his desk.

“Don’t ever leave the crank in the automobile,” Jurgen said. “That’s all someone would need to take the car.”

Andrew was so fixed on getting the Model T running that he had not thought how easily someone else might drive off with it.
Mine
surged through his mind, the intensity of possession surprising him. He offered his half-eaten apple to his horse, made certain the lead was secured to a tree, and then climbed into Jurgen Hansen’s sleek, shiny automobile. Already Andrew could tell this Model T was one of the newest versions.

“Are those headlamps electric?” Andrew said in sudden realization. He had tested the lamps on his car and discovered they required oil to produce illumination.

“Yes sir!” Jurgen said. “The horn, too.”

When Jurgen cranked, the car responded with a smooth compliance rather than the clatter Andrew expected. He had further to go than he realized in achieving the best his Model T could give.

Jurgen pulled on his driving gloves, adjusted his goggles, and put the car in gear. “Which way?”

Andrew pointed, and Jurgen took the automobile out on the road. The top was down on this sunny day, and the wind against his face reminded Andrew he had left his hat behind on the hook.

“Isn’t it unusual for your people to own an automobile,” Jurgen said, “even one that doesn’t work very well?”

“Unusual, yes.”

“It’s not against the rules?”

Andrew paused before answering. “The automobile raises some questions that the church will consider with great thought.”

Jurgen put the car into high gear, and Andrew felt the smile pushing against the corners of his lips as he judged the speed. Trot. Canter. Gallop. More than gallop. He could not see the speedometer, but surely they had reached forty miles an hour. Andrew squinted into the wind, understanding why the hardware store sold goggles among its automotive supplies.

This
was how an automobile was meant to run.

Andrew gestured a couple of turns, and they arrived at the old Johnson barn. He pushed open the rickety door and Jurgen walked in.

After only a glance at the car, Jurgen laughed in rich, deep amusement.

“What is funny?” Andrew asked.