Chapter Thirteen

I didn’t see Hannah at church this morning,” Charlotte said as she and Bob returned to the house. “I’m a bit worried.”

“About what? You were just there yesterday when we brought Frank home. She seemed just fine then.”

“That’s the trouble. She seemed too fine.” Charlotte tied on her apron and opened her refrigerator. She didn’t have to worry about lunch for the rest of the family. Emily was still at camp, Christopher had gone home with his friend Dylan after church, and Sam was skateboarding.

Charlotte was thankful for that. It seemed since Arielle started at Jenny’s Creamery all she heard from Sam was complaints about how they never spent any time together. She really liked Arielle and knew she was a steadying influence in Sam’s life.

“I’m confused,” Bob said, getting a glass of water. “How can she be too fine?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte muttered, digging through her refrigerator, trying to find enough ingredients to put a healthy meal together for the Carters. Maybe roast chicken, she thought, since she had one defrosted. “I just get the feeling she’s trying too hard.”

“Well, you know Hannah. She’s always such a rock.”

“I think that’s part of the problem,” Charlotte said, thinking back to yesterday. When Charlotte and Bob drove Frank and Hannah home from the hospital, Charlotte had offered to stay awhile, but Hannah, seemingly back to her capable and in-charge self, had waved away Charlotte’s offer. Nor had she taken Charlotte up on her proposal to get women from the church to bring meals for the two of them.

“I think you’re trying to see problems where none exist,” Bob grumbled. “If she doesn’t want any help, you just have to accept that. Hannah is independent.”

Charlotte acknowledged his comment with a nod and got to work on her chicken. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was going on.

While she and Bob had sandwiches for lunch, the chicken cooked. As soon as it was done, Charlotte put it in a box along with a sugar-free cake she had baked and carried everything out to the car.

When she got to Hannah’s place her resolve faltered a little. As Bob said, Hannah was an independent sort. Nonetheless, Charlotte wanted to help her friend. She strode up the walk and knocked on the door before she could change her mind.

“Charlotte, this is a surprise,” Hannah said as she opened the door. “Come in. Come in.”

“I brought you dinner,” Charlotte said, handing Hannah the box. “Thought you could use a break.”

Hannah frowned as if she couldn’t understand what her friend was saying. “I don’t need a break. Frank is home. Everything is fine.” She gave Charlotte a bright smile. “But thanks for thinking of us.” She took the box and set it on the counter, but Charlotte caught the scent of a roast cooking in the oven and noticed an array of muffins on the counter.

Hannah had been busy herself.

Frank was settled into his easy chair, the oxygen concentrator hissing beside him. Charlotte was encouraged by the color in his cheeks and the brightness of his eyes.

“Frank, you’re looking good.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Hannah said, fussing with a blanket over Frank’s knees.

“I’m so glad to be home.” Frank caught Hannah’s hand. “My wife has been such a support to me. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

Hannah glanced down at Frank and patted his hand. “And I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Nice of you to stop by,” Frank said. “How is everything at home?”

Charlotte sat down across from him, watching Hannah as she flitted about the room, adjusting the air conditioning, tidying, and doing busywork that niggled at Charlotte.

“I brought you some supper, but I’m guessing you won’t need it.”

Frank laughed. “No. Hannah’s been cooking up a storm. Trying to find just the right recipe that will work with the new diet I have to follow.”

“Not as easy as it looks,” Hannah harrumphed. “I’ve been through about six different muffin recipes to find one that has enough fiber, not too much fat, and still retains some flavor.” She shot Charlotte an exasperated glance. “It’s a challenge; I can tell you that.”

“Did you sleep well?” Charlotte asked Frank, slipping into daily chitchat and wishing her friend would sit down.

“Like a log. Good to be back in my own bed, though for a bit I thought I’d never be back here.”

“Don’t say that,” Hannah snapped. “That’s just crazy talk.”

“It’s the truth,” Frank said with a shrug. “I’m just thankful the Lord saw fit to keep me on this earth awhile longer.”

“You’re going to get better enough to take that trip we always talked about,” Hannah said.

Frank just smiled.

“You don’t need to stay, you know,” Hannah said. “I know you’re tired yourself.”

Charlotte took the hint and got up. “OK. I just thought I would see how you all are doing.”

“You don’t worry about us at all,” Hannah said with a dismissive flap of her hands. “You need to get back to your family.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to set up a schedule for people to bring you meals for a while?” Charlotte asked.

“Don’t be silly,” Hannah said, straightening a cloth on her coffee table. “Frank and I can manage just fine.” She glanced around the room, looking everywhere, it seemed, but at Charlotte or Frank. “Everything is just fine.”

“Getting help would make things easier for you.”

Hannah finally looked at Charlotte, frowning. “There’s no need for that. I’m taking good care of my husband.”

The note of finality in her voice gave Charlotte pause.

“OK.”

“Besides, if I need any help, I can ask.”

That was true enough. Charlotte had to trust that her friend knew her own limits. She wished she knew, however, why Hannah was so adamant about doing everything herself.

“ARE YOU SURE this thing will start?” Aunt Dana stood with her hands on her hips, staring at the old truck they had cleared the grass away from.

When Aunt Dana had told him she couldn’t help him until Monday, Christopher thought the day would never come. Now it was here, and finally he and Aunt Dana could work on the float. After all, the Fourth of July parade was in less than two weeks.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“How do you know?”

Christopher shrugged, a feeling of guilt washing over him. “Before you came I tried to start it.”

“That was kind of dangerous, Christopher,” Aunt Dana said, frowning. “You should have waited for me.”

Seemed like all he was doing lately was waiting. But now they could get to work.

“It won’t explode or anything like that,” Christopher said, feeling frustrated.

Everyone always treated him like a little kid. And they never let him forget the time he and his friend Dylan had an accident with the tractor. “I bet I could drive it.”

Aunt Dana looked past him to the shed, where Uncle Pete was working. “I wonder if we could get Pete to help us.”

“I already asked,” Christopher said with a sigh. “He and Grandpa are busy.”

“I guess if it’ll start, we can move it around ourselves.” Aunt Dana walked around the truck, looking it over. “We can staple material or fringes to the bed to hide the wheels, put some fencing around the back.”

“Oh! Oh! I know!” Christopher gave a little hop of excitement. “We could put that old shed on it. We could do, like, a pioneer scene. We’ve got the old grain grinder and the old flail. We can use those. And maybe the plow.”

Aunt Dana frowned. “The truck bed is awfully small for all of that.”

“But if we push things together,” Christopher continued.

“Sorry, honey. There’s just not enough room.”

Christopher tried not to be disappointed. He had such great ideas, and every time he wanted to do one, something got in the way.

“Could we use the big hay wagon and pull it with the tractor? That would be plenty big enough,” Aunt Dana suggested.

Christopher sighed again. “I asked Grandpa, but he said no.” Seemed like that was all he ever heard around here. No. No. No.

“OK. Well, we’ve got this truck. It’s a start.”

“I have such good ideas,” Christopher said. “But we can’t do any of them.”

“Tell me anyway.” She sat down beside him, looking at him like she really wanted to know. “What else were you thinking?”

“Well, I was thinking we could do a big farm scene showing how they used to make bread. We could start at one end of the float with a sack of seed and that old plow, and that seed-spreader thingy. Then we could show the flail and that old wheat grinder, and after that a couple of loaves of bread. Maybe Grandma could bake them. I even asked Sam if he wanted to be a farmer on the float, but he just looked at me like I had three heads when I asked. I know he just wants to look cool in front of Arielle and in front of his friends so he won’t do it.”

Aunt Dana sighed. “Sam is a little overly concerned about his image.”

Christopher didn’t want to talk about Sam and whatever image Aunt Dana was talking about. All he knew was that lately Sam had been snappy and grumpy.

“You have some really, really good ideas, Christopher,” Aunt Dana said. “Too bad we don’t have something bigger to put everything on.”

“What could we do instead?” Christopher asked, looking over the stuff they had pulled out of the shed.

Aunt Dana tapped her chin, pursing her lips. “We’ll think of something. For now, let’s make sure this truck works.”

“It’s kind of low on gas,” Christopher said.

“Then we’ll fill it up. Where are the gas tanks?”

How could she miss them? The two large tanks were still shiny with the new paint job the television people had given them last summer when they filmed the music video at the farm.

“Wait, I see them,” Aunt Dana said. She got into the truck, and Christopher scrambled up inside as well.

“It’s a standard, you know,” Christopher said. “You’ll have to pump the gas if it doesn’t start right away.”

“How do you know so much about trucks?” Aunt Dana gave him a funny look, like she was surprised. “You have all kinds of smarts, don’t you?”

“I listen to Uncle Pete and Grandpa talk. And Uncle Pete’s truck, Lazarus, is kind of funny and needs to be helped along. At least that’s what he always says.” Christopher grinned back at Aunt Dana, feeling proud that she thought he was smart.

“I know all too well how much help old Lazarus needs.” Aunt Dana laughed. “Okay, let’s go.” She let out the clutch, and the truck jumped ahead and then stalled.

“That was close,” Aunt Dana said with a grin. She pumped the gas and turned the key again. The engine rolled over and over and over, sounding like it was complaining, and then finally the engine fired up. This time she was more careful when she let out the clutch. The truck lurched forward again but then slowed to a crawl. They got to the gas tanks.

Christopher was just about to get out when he saw the horses standing by the fence.

“I’m going to make sure the gate to the horse pasture is closed,” he said, not wanting to take any chances.

“Which gas do I use?” Aunt Dana called out as Christopher ran toward the gate.

“The one that says gas,” Christopher called out.

Thankfully the gate was closed properly and the horses were just being curious. Christopher petted Shania and Ben and then walked back to the truck.

Aunt Dana had the nozzle in the gas tank of the truck and was already squeezing the handle. “How much should I put in?” she asked.

“Listen real careful. When you hear it start to gurgle in the tank, then you know you have enough.” Christopher bent over and petted Toby, who was jumping around him. “Do you think we should throw candies off the float?” he asked.

“Maybe we could throw pieces of bread,” Aunt Dana said with a laugh.

Christopher laughed too. “I don’t think that would work very well. Maybe we could throw out granola bars.”

“Maybe. We’ll have to see if we can find some small ones.” Aunt Dana was quiet for a moment. “I think the tank is full,” she said, taking the nozzle out.

“You have to hang it up where it was when you’re done,” Christopher said, bending over to pet Toby.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?” Uncle Pete called out, coming out from the tractor shed. He was wiping his hands on a greasy cloth, his coveralls full of dirt. He frowned at the truck parked by the gas tanks. “You actually got that old thing to run?”

“Christopher started it this morning,” Aunt Dana said, sounding proud of him.

Uncle Pete looked surprised. “Christopher started it, eh? Can’t believe it’s still running. The O-rings must be petrified by now.”

“We just gassed it up, and now we’re moving it closer to the shed.”

Uncle Pete lifted one eyebrow. “What in the world are you going to do with it?”

“We’re making a float for the Fourth of July parade,” Christopher said. “Like I told you.”

“On that old truck? It’s not big enough, is it?”

“It’s the only thing I could find to use,” Christopher answered.

Uncle Pete glanced at Dana. “And you’re helping?”

“Trying to.”

“Let’s see if it gets going,” Christopher said, jumping into the truck. Uncle Pete was about to get in the driver’s side when Aunt Dana stopped him. “I gassed it up—I’ll drive.”

Uncle Pete held his hands up. “Of course.” Then he walked around the truck and got in. Christopher had to scooch over to the middle, but he didn’t mind.

Aunt Dana got in, turned the key, and the engine roared to life.

“Yay! This will work great,” Christopher said, grinning at Aunt Dana.

She put it in gear, turned it around, and drove it slowly toward the house. As they got closer, the porch door opened and Grandpa stepped outside. He was still holding his newspaper, and his glasses were pushed up on his forehead.

“I think we woke Dad up from his nap,” Uncle Pete said with a grin.

Then the truck started running slower and slower. Aunt Dana pumped the gas, but nothing helped.

“You sure you put enough gas in?” Uncle Pete leaned forward to ask Dana.

“I’m sure. I filled it until I heard gurgling, like Christopher told me.” Aunt Dana said.

Then the truck quit completely.

Uncle Pete got out and lifted the hood just as Grandpa came closer. Christopher’s good mood slipped away again. Nothing was going right. He got out of the truck, hoping Uncle Pete or Grandpa would know what was wrong with the truck.

Uncle Pete was pulling on something, tugging on something else.

“What tank did you use to fill it up?” Uncle Pete was asking.

“The one by the barn.”

“There’re two tanks there,” Grandpa said.

“I think I used the one closest to the house.”

“There’s your problem,” Uncle Pete said. “You put gas in a diesel engine. Recipe for disaster; the engine is well and truly cooked now.”

“Cooked? Does that mean it won’t go anymore?” Christopher had hung around Uncle Pete and Grandpa enough to know what they meant when they said stuff like that.

“’Fraid not.” Uncle Pete shook his head. “Ruined this truck completely. Won’t be worth spending any time on.”

Christopher leaned back against the truck. Of course this would happen. Sure, the truck wasn’t big enough for what he needed, but at least it was something to build the float on.