Free Meek and Mild by Olivia Newport Page B
Authors: Olivia Newport
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.
Rhoda did not raise her voice or express impatience. She simply was firm and consistent. So Clara, who had only the cash from two housecleaning jobs to call her own and did not carry it around, walked to town and moved
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.
Rhoda did not raise her voice or express impatience. She simply was firm and consistent. So Clara, who had only the cash from two housecleaning jobs to call her own and did not carry it around, walked to town and moved