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.
Jurgen pulled off his gloves. “I know this car. It has been in my shop many times.”
Andrew’s stomach soured. “Then it will never run the way yours does.”
“Of course it will.” Jurgen ran a hand along a front fender. “The owner often refused my advice. He didn’t give it the care it required. I suspect your attitude will be different.”
“I’ll take all the advice you’ll offer,” Andrew said. “I want to learn everything about it.”
“Once you get it running smoothly, it will be worth something,” Jurgen said. “Don’t give up.”
The milk wagon rumbled onto the dairy grounds at the end of Yonnie’s afternoon rounds. Twelve tall capped metal cans rattled in the wagon bed. Every day the temperatures crept up and Yonnie perspired more with the effort of lifting the cans from the springs where they cooled on Amish farms into the wagon to haul them to the dairy. Today Yonnie had worked in the dairy early in the morning, done a large unscheduled delivery, and then went directly into the afternoon loop to farms on both sides of the border. His muscles ached, and his lunch had long ago worn off.
Dale Borntrager stomped out of the main building, where workers bottled milk and churned butter.
“Yoder, where have you been?”
Yonnie gave the reins a final tug and jumped down from the bench. “On the rounds, of course.”
“You disappeared early and didn’t come back.”
“I made the special delivery.” Yonnie’s stomach tightened. “An English order.”
“On the wrong day!” Dale said.
Yonnie slumped against the wagon. “I saw the note in the office.”
“For tomorrow.” Dale glared.
“Tomorrow?”
“Nobody was expecting that delivery today.”
Yonnie reached into the wagon. “But I got a signature.”
“From a young woman who didn’t know she could do anything else. She’s not even out of English school yet and is just helping out for the summer. She closed up right after you left, thinking her boss must have known the milk was coming and would be there soon.”
Yonnie closed his eyes. “He didn’t come.”
“Not for hours. The milk sat outside all that time.”
“So it spoiled.”
“You know better, Yonnie. You rushed and misread the note, then you rushed and left the order with that young woman. Your distraction cost me good money.”
“I’m sorry. Take it out of my wages.”
“Of course I will. When you make a mistake, you must be prepared to face the consequences.”
C lara wasn’t sleeping, or even dozing. By midmorning on Monday, she had exhausted a brief series of small chores that could just as well have gone undone—which likely was why Rhoda offered no objection to Clara’s efforts—and withdrew to her room and cleaned it unnecessarily. The floor was spotless, and her dresses and kapps hung neatly on their hooks. On the nightstand, her small collection of books was stacked according to size. Clara saw no reason not to stretch out on the quilt of red and brown diamonds and indulge in daydreaming about the next Bible story she would write for Sadie. Jesus’ parable of the servant who received mercy yet refused to offer mercy came to mind.
Rhoda’s steps clipped a firm rhythm on the bare wood of the upstairs hall. Clara sat up and snatched a book from the stack to look busy. Rhoda appeared in the doorway with Mari in her arms.
“When Hannah asked if she could stay the night with the Schrocks,” Rhoda said, “I promised Mrs. Schrock I would fetch her before lunch. I’m going now.”
Clara scooted to the edge of her bed. “Let me go. I haven’t had my walk today.”
“I can see you’re reading.”
Clara closed the book. “Just
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.
Jurgen pulled off his gloves. “I know this car. It has been in my shop many times.”
Andrew’s stomach soured. “Then it will never run the way yours does.”
“Of course it will.” Jurgen ran a hand along a front fender. “The owner often refused my advice. He didn’t give it the care it required. I suspect your attitude will be different.”
“I’ll take all the advice you’ll offer,” Andrew said. “I want to learn everything about it.”
“Once you get it running smoothly, it will be worth something,” Jurgen said. “Don’t give up.”
The milk wagon rumbled onto the dairy grounds at the end of Yonnie’s afternoon rounds. Twelve tall capped metal cans rattled in the wagon bed. Every day the temperatures crept up and Yonnie perspired more with the effort of lifting the cans from the springs where they cooled on Amish farms into the wagon to haul them to the dairy. Today Yonnie had worked in the dairy early in the morning, done a large unscheduled delivery, and then went directly into the afternoon loop to farms on both sides of the border. His muscles ached, and his lunch had long ago worn off.
Dale Borntrager stomped out of the main building, where workers bottled milk and churned butter.
“Yoder, where have you been?”
Yonnie gave the reins a final tug and jumped down from the bench. “On the rounds, of course.”
“You disappeared early and didn’t come back.”
“I made the special delivery.” Yonnie’s stomach tightened. “An English order.”
“On the wrong day!” Dale said.
Yonnie slumped against the wagon. “I saw the note in the office.”
“For tomorrow.” Dale glared.
“Tomorrow?”
“Nobody was expecting that delivery today.”
Yonnie reached into the wagon. “But I got a signature.”
“From a young woman who didn’t know she could do anything else. She’s not even out of English school yet and is just helping out for the summer. She closed up right after you left, thinking her boss must have known the milk was coming and would be there soon.”
Yonnie closed his eyes. “He didn’t come.”
“Not for hours. The milk sat outside all that time.”
“So it spoiled.”
“You know better, Yonnie. You rushed and misread the note, then you rushed and left the order with that young woman. Your distraction cost me good money.”
“I’m sorry. Take it out of my wages.”
“Of course I will. When you make a mistake, you must be prepared to face the consequences.”
C lara wasn’t sleeping, or even dozing. By midmorning on Monday, she had exhausted a brief series of small chores that could just as well have gone undone—which likely was why Rhoda offered no objection to Clara’s efforts—and withdrew to her room and cleaned it unnecessarily. The floor was spotless, and her dresses and kapps hung neatly on their hooks. On the nightstand, her small collection of books was stacked according to size. Clara saw no reason not to stretch out on the quilt of red and brown diamonds and indulge in daydreaming about the next Bible story she would write for Sadie. Jesus’ parable of the servant who received mercy yet refused to offer mercy came to mind.
Rhoda’s steps clipped a firm rhythm on the bare wood of the upstairs hall. Clara sat up and snatched a book from the stack to look busy. Rhoda appeared in the doorway with Mari in her arms.
“When Hannah asked if she could stay the night with the Schrocks,” Rhoda said, “I promised Mrs. Schrock I would fetch her before lunch. I’m going now.”
Clara scooted to the edge of her bed. “Let me go. I haven’t had my walk today.”
“I can see you’re reading.”
Clara closed the book. “Just
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