Free The Imposter by Suzanne Woods Fisher

now, another bowl of cereal would definitely lift his spirits and mask the fact that he had a very real problem to face. Employment.

    Jesse peered into the open door of the buggy shop, though there was no sign of life. It was a glut and bedlam of a place, utter chaos. Tools lay scattered on every horizontal surface, crinkled brown bags filled with tacks and grommets andnails lined the floor, spare buggy parts sat heaped in piles, fishing rods angled against a wall. Spectacles lay atop a worn ledger—had Hank Lapp forgotten them? Jesse poked around in the dimly lit room, wondering how anyone could ever find a tool in this mess. His heart sank. This apprenticeship was a terrible idea. Then a sliver of hope grew in his heart. If Hank Lapp were nowhere to be found, it seemed entirely reasonable for Jesse to return home. What good was an apprentice without a tutor?
    Jesse was of medium height—still growing, he fervently hoped—but when he turned around, he was staring straight into a shock of wild white hair. Hank Lapp stood before him, wearing work coveralls that showed no evidence of work. One eye peered right at Jesse, the other eye wandered to the open door.
    â€œWhy, Jesse Stoltzfus,” Hank said, his voice as gravelly as a gizzard. “You’ve gone and gotten tall!”
    Jesse swept his hat off his head and bent over at the waist in an exaggerated bow. “Your humble apprentice is at your service, O wise one.”
    Hank held out a knobby hand for a shake and grinned at Jesse like an elf. Although he was only somewhere in his late sixties, he did not look strong: he was a slight man, with a willowy look, as if the powerful gusts of wind that swept through Stoney Ridge yesterday could’ve easily lifted him up and carried him off. In his mind’s eye, Jesse saw Hank in his overalls and shirt, arms flailing, being picked up by the wind and cartwheeled through the sky, off toward Philadelphia somewhere, and dropped down suddenly on the ground, confused, in a bustling city.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” Hank asked, frowning.
    Jesse corrected himself quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was thinking of something else. Funny things come to mind.”
    â€œWell, don’t keep them to yourself. This world is in serious shortage of laughing matters.”
    â€œHardly.” A tall, thin, stern-faced woman stood at the open door, fixing a look on Jesse as if she had shrewdly caught him at something.
    â€œFERN! Here’s my new apprentice, Jesse. He’s going to take over the buggy shop when I retire.”
    A small smirk lifted Fern’s stern countenance. “I thought you’d already retired.”
    â€œNope! Just the tired part.” Amused at his own joke, Hank slapped his knee in delight. “Jesse, best part of the job is taking the noon meal in Fern’s kitchen.”
    Jesse had hoped the wages might be the best part of the job.
    Fern looked Jesse up and down. “I can tell from here, your belly button is hitting your backbone. Wash up, the pair of you, and come on up to the house.”
    The table was laid for three when Jesse followed Hank up to the house. Fern popped out of the kitchen with a pan of hot-from-the-oven cornbread and nodded to where he was to sit, saying, “Amos won’t be joining us.”
    Tucking in his napkin, Hank dropped his head to signal a silent prayer. Then Fern speared a broccoli crown and passed the dish to Jesse. “You must have hit Hank when he was hard up for help.”
    â€œI was as taken by surprise as you appear to be,” Jesse said honestly.
    â€œDo you have experience with buggy repairs?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œHe doesn’t hire just anybody.”
    Hire! There was a word that appealed to Jesse’s sensibilities. He felt a glimmer of hope rise within. “We hadn’t quite finished that conversation when you called us in.” He looked expectantly down the