Previously: April 3rd, 1988, Easter and Daylight savings shared the day. Noah consults with Pastor John and has decided to sell Wood-Mizer. Noah leaves message on “Heinrich’s” answering machine declining Al’s mysterious job offer.
When they had finished tending the farm, they all loaded into the Chevy. The boys rode in the truck-bed to keep the pie boxes stable. Their parents and Grandma rode in the cab. They headed back into town for the annual Springfest held at the local park. A big tent with blue and white stripes was pitched on the grass. Part of the parking lot was petitioned off with tasseled rope where a large red dunk tank was set up; some poor soul in a full body wetsuit was clambering back upon the seat.
After the Brandtmeyers finished eating under the big tent, Jonah said, “I’m going to get a closer look at this dunk tank.”
“Can I come along?” Reinhardt asked.
“Come on.” Jonah waved as he started off.
Near the dunk tank several treat stations had been set up as well. Reinhardt stood by a candy stand looking at the menu. A whirling cotton candy machine caught his gaze.
Jonah watched as a girl about his age attempted to hit the dunk tank target. She threw three balls, missing every time. Without hesitation she purchased three more and blew through them as quickly as her first set, still missing the mark.
“Nice try,” Jonah said to her.
“It’s not easy,” she said.
“Sure it is.”
“Let’s see you do it.”
“Naw, I’m not going to waste my money to throw a ball,” Jonah defended.
“Oh, sure, I see. Put your money where your mouth is.”
“Really, I can throw balls at targets all day long for free.”
“Yeah, but dunking the person is the point. I want to see you do it; I’ll buy you the balls.”
“No, that’s okay.”
She was already handing money to the attendee and collected the balls.
“Well thanks,” Jonah said, “I’ll do it in one.” He took one of the baseballs and tossed it lightly up in his hand. The dunk tank apparatus consisted of a large red tank about five feet high with a net around the top, which protected the individual within from a terrible shot. Jonah took his stance, made eye contact with the dunkee, gave a nod, the wind up and smack! A solid blow to the target dropped the dunkee into the water.
“Hot damn! Well done,” The girl applauded, dropping the extra balls. Jonah smiled and picked them up.
“Did you want to try again?” he asked.
“No thanks.”
“Is it alright if I give them to my little brother then?”
“Absolutely.”
“Here Reinhardt, have a try.” Jonah called over to Reinhardt where he still stood salivating for cotton candy. He jogged over and took the balls as if they had been unearthed treasure.
“How did you buy these?”
“Shut up, Reiner; just go throw it at the target.”
“What’s your brother’s name?”
“Reinhardt,” Reinhardt blurted out before Jonah could respond.
“But sometimes I just call him ‘Reiner.’ Right, Reiner?” Jonah said, and Reinhardt frowned a little. “But he doesn’t like it,” Jonah explained.
“I think it’s a cute name—Reiner,” the girl tried it out.
“That’s the problem! And it sounds like ‘Whiner,’” Reinhardt objected.
Jonah smiled at the comment. “Well maybe you are, now go throw the balls already.” He turned his attention back to the girl. “I’m Jonah Brandtmeyer.”
“Leslie Schreiber. It’s nice to meet you, honestly, not just the way when people say it.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“See, my family just moved here, and it’s so nice to meet new people. What school do you go to?”
Jonah’s face cringed slightly in thought. “It’s like a part-time school.”
“How’s that work?”
“I don’t meet with my class every day, Monday through Friday.”
“What town is that school in?” Leslie asked.
“Oh, the town over there,” Jonah waved in no particular direction, “but really it’s not so much that, it’s more at home.”
“You’re homeschooled?”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
The girl was leaning slightly back with widened eyes, “I’ve never met a homeschooler before, you seem normal to me,” she put her hand over her mouth, “I mean, it’s just people say things, I don’t know really.”
“Oh yeah, what do they say?”
She lightly tapped on her temple. “I wouldn’t have expected to talk with you, that’s all. It sounds interesting. Do you have a desk at home?”
“Yes.”
“And do you have to sit alone by yourself and work?”
“Sometimes.”
“But that sounds so lonely.”
“I’m not sitting there for hours alone; it’s not like public school. Sometimes I’ll spend just an hour for the whole day or, honestly, not at all.” At this her eyes widened again. “And,” Jonah continued, “I’m in F.F.A. That’s in New Bremen, and I do more learning outdoors.”
“Oh, fieldtrips,” she interjected.
“Yes, that too. We’ve been to the Zanesville caverns, visited the Amish at Holmes County, last year we went to the Armstrong Air and Space Museum.”
“My old school went to the Dayton Art Museum last year,” Leslie said.
“That’s cool.”
“But you don’t live under a rock at all; you’ve been more places than me!” Leslie exclaimed, and her face looked impressed. “Let’s walk around a bit,” she continued, “and check things out around the festival.”
“That sounds good. Hey, Reinhardt, did you hit the target?”
“No.”
“Well hey, not everyone can do it. Why don’t you head back to the big tent where Mom and Dad are? We’ll catch up in a bit. Leslie and I are going to walk around.”
The parents were under the big tent talking with the pastor and his wife.
“There’s an old graveyard near our place, most are over one hundred years old. There’s not much left of the bodies, I suppose. When it says the graves were opened and they walked around… I mean what in the world would that have looked like?” Noah asked.
“It’s unclear, perhaps like Lazarus,” Pastor John said, “We know through implication that he didn’t ‘have an odor’ yet he was wrapped up in burial linens.”
“Come along Eleanor, let’s walk around a bit,” Pastor John’s wife said. The two women departed.
Pastor John smiled in farewell, and then continued speaking with Noah, “How are you two doing with all this?”
“Well, praise the Lord—Eleanor, she’s very supportive. Always has been.”
“‘A worthy woman who can find? For her price is far above rubies.’ Mr. Noah Brandtmeyer, he can.” He smiled warmly. Noah smiled at the compliment. For a few moments the two sat quietly. They watched as the lunch crowd migrated to the other end of the tent towards the pie wheel raffle. Kids and adults began placing quarters on numbers like in a game of roulette. The smallest children, oblivious to the meaning of numbers and wagers, searched the grass under the tables for fallen change.
John broke their silence, “So that new bank really means business?”
“Their management isn’t playing softball. Diamond Saving and Loan knew my father and had an understanding relationship with us after his disappearance.”
“What good is a life insurance policy for a man that is neither dead nor alive? There must be stipulations for this sort of thing?”
“After seven years, I can apply for a Death Claim,—”
A sudden burst of applause and clapping erupted from the other end of the tent. The first victor held up an apple lattice pie. The sound of more and more nickels, dimes, and quarters could be heard clattering on the tables as the ante upped.
“—and it’s a credit life insurance policy,” Noah said.
“Forgive me, I forgot the difference.”
“It’s insurance for the farm. The insurance is designed to pay off whatever the remainder of the farm loan is at the time of the policy holder’s death.”
“So, a family won’t see a dime of the policy unless death is confirmed?”
“Correct, or wait seven years from the time of his assumed death.”
“Your dad’s disappearance… has it been two years already?”
Noah nodded. “This May.”
“I miss your father; he was a jovial man—and always telling good stories.”
Again they sat quietly. Reinhardt returned.
“Where’s your brother?” Noah asked.
Reinhardt shrugged, “I don’t know.”
“Hmm, that reminds me, I spoke with my brother in Indiana,” John added. “They’re open to an interview.”
“Good,” Noah said. “Hey Reinhardt, your grandmother is over by the pie wheel—raffle’s started, why don’t you see if she needs any help?” Noah watched Reinhardt until he was out of earshot. “I haven’t broken the news to my Sons.”
“Oh, sorry,” Pastor John said, “I hope I didn’t…”
“No, not at all,” Noah waved his hand as if to brush the matter aside, “Reinhardt, he’s—well, he’s a bit aloof anyways.”
“I don’t want to encourage you to take the job.”
Noah cocked his head. “How do you mean?”
“Selfish reasons—I don’t actually want you to move away. Your community is here.”
“Thanks, John. If we leave, it will have been entirely your fault,” Noah jested.
From a distance Leslie and Jonah watched the pie wheel raffle taking place under the big tent. They had meandered around, Leslie bought cotton candy, Jonah indulged in most of it, and Reinhardt was not around to get any. Together the two sat on a park bench, they were within view of the large spinning wheel that ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ticked as it spun round and round until it stopped on a number. Cheering went up as some lucky gambler won a pie—the proceeds were donated to a local charity.
“Do you prefer pie or cake?” Leslie asked.
“Hmm, pie. What about you?”
“Cake. For my birthday I asked for a three-tiered cake! Two tiers for candles and car keys on top.”
“You got a car for your birthday?” Jonah looked incredulous.
“Hasn’t happened yet…” Leslie trailed off into a big smile.
“How old are you?”
“I’m sixteen!”
“You have your driver’s license?”
“I’m sixteen tomorrow! And I will have my driver’s license. My mom’s taking me out of school tomorrow to get it.” She wore a huge smile. The cotton candy stained her lips and teeth a light blue.
“Oh yeah? I’ll believe it when I see it,” Jonah smirked.
“What, you don’t think I can parallel park? It’s so easy.” She rolled her eyes.
“I just said I’ll believe it when I see it. I don’t know a thing about your driving. I know it’s easy, I drive tractors and trucks all the time.”
“So you’re already sixteen?”
“Oh, uh almost, I drive our farm truck and tractors some, but—you know,” he shrugged coolly, “not quite street legal.”
Again Leslie had an impressed look. “But, cars do go a lot faster.” She got an idea, “I’ll prove it to you.”
“That cars go a lot faster?”
“Well, both!” She giggled, “I meant I’ll prove to you I’ll get my license. I’ll come by. Where do you live?”
“West, take Moulton Angle, left at Moulton New Knoxville, and we’re on the right just before Wiefenbach Road.”
“I may be able to drive, but I may need those directions again. I mean, when we lived in Cincinnati I was learning the roads, but here everything is so little—the streets. It’s almost harder to know where you are.”
“I can write it down. Do you have any paper?”
She opened her sequin studded purse and pulled out an old J.C. Penny’s receipt and a purple gel pen. “Write it on the back of this.”
He did so as she continued talking, explaining that the receipt was for her new bedazzled purse: an early birthday present ready to house a beautiful new glossy driver’s license.
“Here you go.” He handed her his address.
“Thanks, Jonah!”
Pedestrian traffic started to increase around their bench as the crowd around the pie wheel began to disperse. “Hey, it looks like they raffled all the pies. I better find my grandma.”
“Alright, I better get going myself,” Leslie said. “It was so nice meeting you.” She smiled again—a bit of blue lingered about her lips.
Jonah rubbed the tip of his right ear; it was burning hot. “Likewise. And happy birthday if I don’t see you again.”
“Oh, you’ll see me again.” She waved the scrawled receipt in the air and then skipped off.
Jonah rubbed his chin and mouth to conceal a smile. “Hot damn,” he mused and wandered back to the big tent to find his family.
That evening in the living room Jonah said to his dad, “I met a girl at the festival today; she’s turning sixteen. She’s getting a car for her birthday. Isn’t that wild?”
“Who’s the girl?”
“Leslie Schreiber.”
“Schreiber?” he questioned. “Eleanor!” he called into the other room, “Where have I heard the name ‘Schreiber?’”
“Mr. Don Schreiber?” Eleanor asked.
Some of the color left Noah’s cheeks. “Oh, right,” he mumbled. “Well, there are lots of Schreibers no doubt.”
“She said they’ve only recently moved here,” Jonah said. “Do you know her parents?”
“I’m not sure,” Noah paused for a moment. “Maybe I can find out tomorrow. What’s she like?”
“She was cool. I invited her to drive by when she gets her license. Can’t throw worth a damn.”
Noah let out a chuckle and shook his head. “Watch your language, Son, but I believe you. Men love throwing things, so much so we’ve made ‘playing catch’ a game. Take a woman for contrast though; she won’t even toss you the T.V. remote from across the couch.”
“I heard that!” Eleanor called in protest from the other room.
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I enjoyed your description of the events at the Springfest, particularly the interaction between Jonah and Leslie.