was figure out how to complete his assignment without alienating the people around him.
6
Z ane heard the car approach and moved even farther to the side of the road.
“Wanna ride?”
He looked up at John Paul’s smiling face. Zane knew for a fact the young man had been out half the night, but he still looked as refreshed as if he’d slept plenty. He stopped and thought about asking where he’d been, but that surely wasn’t part of his story. Instead he shook his head. “Nah. It’s too pretty to be cooped up in a car.”
John Paul looked crushed. “You’ll get there faster.”
“That’s exactly the problem.”
“I’ll drive the speed limit.”
Zane shook his head. “No, thanks. Driving too fast isn’t your only problem. How did you get a license, by the way?”
John Paul just smiled. “Where are you headed?”
Zane nodded down the road. “The schoolhouse. Katie Rose said I could come by today and she would show me around, tell me about teaching all the grades in one room.”
“If I drive, you won’t miss the first bell.”
“I can live with that.”
John Paul laughed. “Suit yourself.”
“You dad was looking for you this morning.”
John Paul’s easy smile faltered. “Was he mad I was late?”
“Late is not quite the word for not showing up at all.” And mad was not quite the word he would have used to describe Abram Fisher’s mood. More like silent seething.
The young man shrugged, but his mossy-green eyes clouded over.
“I take it rumspringa isn’t a good enough excuse to miss milking the cows and feeding the chickens?”
John Paul shot him a look. “Have trouble this mornin’, city boy?”
“I didn’t try to milk the chickens, if that’s what you’re asking.”
John Paul laughed. “Well, I guess I will go work on the tractor engine in the barn. Dat said it was burnin’ oil. Let me know if you want a ride home.” He held up a shiny black cell phone.
Zane’s brows rose. “Where’d you get that?”
He smiled. “I have skills.”
“I hope that’s not why you’re late.”
“ Nay .” But his smile held secrets. “See ya later, Zane Carson.”
He gunned the engine, leaving Zane standing in a cloud of dust and rattletrap exhaust.
Zane was rounding the last bend when he heard the bell—an old-timey metal one with a string tied to the dangly thing inside. School had begun.
He quickened his steps, his mind going back to his years racing for the bell. He was homeschooled—or rather taught by his parents during his years at the cooperative. His uncle had dumped him in public school the minute they landed in Chicago. Culture shock was too mild of a word to describe Zane’s reaction to the huge urban school. There were more people in his grade than lived in their entire settlement in Oregon. It was loud, noisy, and concrete. He hated it immediately. Only his budding love for girls had kept him coming back. The experience had been hard for him, but it made him stronger. He had learned to adapt, overcome, and find his niche. He credited the experience with allowing him to grow into the man he was today. A man who could jump on a plane at a moment’s notice and travel halfway across the world to cover the latest breakout of war. Compared to facing a sea of middle school faces as insecure as he had been, sleeping in war-torn countries and living off whatever he could find was a piece of cake.
His conversation with Jo weedled its way to the front of his thoughts. Her orders shouldn’t have been different from any of the others he’d received in his career. He was well-versed in overcoming the confines of his situation in order to bring in the story. Why should this time be any different?
He reached the schoolhouse steps.
“I thought you might not make it, Zane Carson.”
Zane smiled at the greeting, letting the soft lilt of Katie Rose’s voice wash over him. It was the people, he decided. These loving, caring people who worked side by side helping each
6
Z ane heard the car approach and moved even farther to the side of the road.
“Wanna ride?”
He looked up at John Paul’s smiling face. Zane knew for a fact the young man had been out half the night, but he still looked as refreshed as if he’d slept plenty. He stopped and thought about asking where he’d been, but that surely wasn’t part of his story. Instead he shook his head. “Nah. It’s too pretty to be cooped up in a car.”
John Paul looked crushed. “You’ll get there faster.”
“That’s exactly the problem.”
“I’ll drive the speed limit.”
Zane shook his head. “No, thanks. Driving too fast isn’t your only problem. How did you get a license, by the way?”
John Paul just smiled. “Where are you headed?”
Zane nodded down the road. “The schoolhouse. Katie Rose said I could come by today and she would show me around, tell me about teaching all the grades in one room.”
“If I drive, you won’t miss the first bell.”
“I can live with that.”
John Paul laughed. “Suit yourself.”
“You dad was looking for you this morning.”
John Paul’s easy smile faltered. “Was he mad I was late?”
“Late is not quite the word for not showing up at all.” And mad was not quite the word he would have used to describe Abram Fisher’s mood. More like silent seething.
The young man shrugged, but his mossy-green eyes clouded over.
“I take it rumspringa isn’t a good enough excuse to miss milking the cows and feeding the chickens?”
John Paul shot him a look. “Have trouble this mornin’, city boy?”
“I didn’t try to milk the chickens, if that’s what you’re asking.”
John Paul laughed. “Well, I guess I will go work on the tractor engine in the barn. Dat said it was burnin’ oil. Let me know if you want a ride home.” He held up a shiny black cell phone.
Zane’s brows rose. “Where’d you get that?”
He smiled. “I have skills.”
“I hope that’s not why you’re late.”
“ Nay .” But his smile held secrets. “See ya later, Zane Carson.”
He gunned the engine, leaving Zane standing in a cloud of dust and rattletrap exhaust.
Zane was rounding the last bend when he heard the bell—an old-timey metal one with a string tied to the dangly thing inside. School had begun.
He quickened his steps, his mind going back to his years racing for the bell. He was homeschooled—or rather taught by his parents during his years at the cooperative. His uncle had dumped him in public school the minute they landed in Chicago. Culture shock was too mild of a word to describe Zane’s reaction to the huge urban school. There were more people in his grade than lived in their entire settlement in Oregon. It was loud, noisy, and concrete. He hated it immediately. Only his budding love for girls had kept him coming back. The experience had been hard for him, but it made him stronger. He had learned to adapt, overcome, and find his niche. He credited the experience with allowing him to grow into the man he was today. A man who could jump on a plane at a moment’s notice and travel halfway across the world to cover the latest breakout of war. Compared to facing a sea of middle school faces as insecure as he had been, sleeping in war-torn countries and living off whatever he could find was a piece of cake.
His conversation with Jo weedled its way to the front of his thoughts. Her orders shouldn’t have been different from any of the others he’d received in his career. He was well-versed in overcoming the confines of his situation in order to bring in the story. Why should this time be any different?
He reached the schoolhouse steps.
“I thought you might not make it, Zane Carson.”
Zane smiled at the greeting, letting the soft lilt of Katie Rose’s voice wash over him. It was the people, he decided. These loving, caring people who worked side by side helping each
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