An hour later, Becky lay on the floor flipping through her sketchbook while I sat in the armchair and researched on my iPad how someone could cut a car’s brake line. It was frighteningly easy. Through a simple search, I obtained step-by-step instructions with pictures.
The article I read claimed that a brake warning light would be illuminated on the car’s dash. “Becky, did you see any strange lights glowing on the front of the car near the place you watch your speed?”
She looked up from her sketchbook. “I don’t think so.”
“It would have said ‘brake.’”
She shook her head and I repressed a sigh. Would I have noticed the brake light either? Probably. I doubted Becky was familiar enough with a car’s dashboard to notice something was wrong. She didn’t even know the word “speedometer.”
A clack, clack, clack came from outside. I closed the cover to my iPad and looked toward the door.
“It sounds like a buggy.” Becky hurried to the window. “Grossdaddi and the kinner are here!” Some of the music had returned to her voice. She threw open the door and disappeared outside.
I followed her.
“Gude mariye!” Grandfather Zook grinned from his perch at the front of his glossy black six-seater buggy. The three younger Troyer children waved from the back. “Get in!” he said. “We’re going to Young’s Flea Market!”
Becky shook her head so hard I was afraid she’d give herself a crick in her neck. “Grossdaddi, I can’t go to Young’s.”
Grandfather Zook cocked his head. “Why not?”
Becky looked up, and tears welled in her eyes.
“Come here,” her grandfather said.
Becky moped around the side of the buggy. Grandfather Zook placed his hand on her head and leaned down, whispering to her.
His horse nudged me in the shoulder and snorted. He was a beautiful, dark brown, lean animal with a white star in the middle of his forehead. Thomas climbed over his sisters and hopped out of the buggy. “That’s Sparky.”
I scratched the horse’s star. “Sparky? That doesn’t seem like an Amish name.”
“That’s the name he came with. He’s a racehorse,” he said proudly. “He’s the fastest horse in Knox County. We can get places in half the time it takes most folks.”
Grandfather Zook squeezed Becky’s shoulder. “Sparky’s a retired racehorse and not as fast as he used to be. His full name is Sir Sparkalot Lightning March.”
“That’s quite a name.”
“Sparky sounds better,” Thomas declared.
Sparky’s ear flicked back and forth as if he listened to the conversation.
“Old Spark doesn’t like it when I say he’s slowed up,” Grandfather Zook said. “He’s plenty fast for us. Any faster and we’d be breaking the speed limit. I’d hate to be pulled over by the coppers.”
My jaw dropped. “The police pull over Amish buggies?”
Grandfather Zook laughed. I liked the sound of it. It was a rumble that came up from deep inside and shook his whole body, making his long white beard wave back and forth like a flag. What would my life have been like if I’d had a grandfather? My mother’s parents both died long before I was born, and my father was estranged from his mother and father. His mother is gone now, and if I tried to find my grandfather, my father would be furious. Sabrina wouldn’t be too happy about it either, but then again, nothing I did made Sabrina happy.
“I bought him from a thoroughbred breeder two years ago.” Grandfather Zook moved the reins from hand to hand. “Lots of Amish carriage horses are retired thoroughbreds. We can give them a quiet retirement, and what horse wouldn’t want to be trotting around the countryside pulling a sharp-looking buggy like mine?”
“Can we go now?” Ruth asked. “Anna Lambright is waiting for me at the market.”
“You girls run back into the house and grab the things you need for the day,” Grandfather Zook shooed us on, not taking no for an answer.
Despite the humid air, Becky wrapped her good arm around her shoulder as if she felt a chill. “Why do you want to take us to the flea market, Grossdaddi?”
“We need to find you kinner some furniture. You said at supper yesterday that you have one chair between you.” He tsked. “The flea market is the best place to find everything you need, especially if I’m at your side.”
Cheer returned to Becky’s face. “Grossdaddi can talk a fat man out of his fry pie.”
Thomas giggled.
Ruth jumped from foot to foot. “Can we go now, please?”
Becky looked up at her grandfather. “Grossdaddi, I don’t want to go there. Not after what I did . . .”
“Ya, you made a mistake, but you cannot hide. That will just make folks talk more. If you look them in the eye, they might think twice before they say something.”
Or, I thought, if you’re dealing with someone like Sabrina, she’ll just insult you to your face. It was difficult for me to imagine anyone like my stepmother among the Amish.
Becky considered me. “What do you think, Chloe?”
I observed the sky, bright blue and clear. A sky I wasn’t used to. Rarely was there a clear sky like this one in Cleveland on the banks of Lake Erie. Instead, huge clouds rolled off the great lake and hung overtop the city. Today was a perfect day for a buggy ride. “We could use another chair or two.” I scratched Sparky behind the ear. And I could get out of the house and stop obsessing over the accident.
Becky smiled just a little. “I am tired of sitting on the floor.”
Grandfather Zook grinned. “No more talk, then. Into the buggy with the both of you.”
Ten minutes later, Becky sat in the back of the buggy in between Thomas and Ruth, and I sat in the front next to Grandfather Zook with Naomi on my lap clutching her doll.
Grandfather made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Head ’em up, Sparky.”
I grinned. “Head ’em up?” Amish meets Old West?
He winked at me.
The black paint inside the buggy was polished to such a high sheen that I saw my reflection in the ceiling. Everything was spotless, even the high-gloss floorboards. “Your buggy’s beautiful,” I told Grandfather Zook.
“It better be,” Thomas said from the back row. “Grossdaddi has me polish it once a week.”
“I pay you in candy.” Grandfather Zook pretended to be offended.
The girls laughed, even Becky. Maybe Grandfather Zook was right and the trip to the flea market would lift her spirits.
Naomi held up her doll for me to see.
“She’s beautiful,” I said. “But where is her face?”
“Naomi doesn’t speak Englisch,” Thomas said. “She hasn’t started school yet.”
“Oh.”
“Her doll doesn’t have a face because Daed says it’s wrong.”
I glanced at Grandfather Zook. “Wrong?”
“It makes a craven image,” Thomas said.
Ruth snorted. “Graven image, you goof.”
Thomas made a face at his sister.
“That’s why Daed and Becky fight. Becky draws people with faces,” Ruth said.
I glanced back at Becky, and a grim line crossed her delicate face. She wouldn’t meet my gaze.
Naomi looked up at me with huge blue eyes, her forehead creased.
“She’s a lovely doll with or without a face.”
She smiled and snuggled into my lap.
Grandfather Zook flicked the reins, and Sparky stepped away from the curb. “Enough talk about dolls. Off to the flea market, but first we must swing by Timothy’s.”
I told the butterflies in my stomach to be quiet. “Timothy?” My voice squeaked.
A wide smile spread across Grandfather Zook’s face, and I felt my own turn red. Was I that obvious? Thankfully, the children didn’t seem to notice.
“Oh, yes, I want all my grandkinner on this trip,” Grandfather Zook said.
“Yea, Timothy!” Thomas shouted from the back row.
“Yea, Timothy!” Naomi agreed on my lap.
Yea, Timothy, my heart whispered.