Previously: Leslie Schreiber, proud owner of a driver’s licenses, arrives at Brandtmeyer farm. Jonah, Reinhardt, and Leslie drive off for ice-cream.
“SO, YOU DID have the money.” Mr. Don Schreiber stood by his desk holding the check up as if to inspect whether it was a forgery or not. “This definitely relieves the pressure, but don’t think you’re off the hook, Mr. Brandtmeyer. Am I to anticipate a timely payment next month?”
“Settle your horses, Mr. Schreiber. I made good on my word and it’s only Monday.” Noah turned to go. “Oh, Mr. Schreiber, my son met a girl yesterday: Leslie Schreiber. Do you know her?”
“She’s my daughter.”
“Hmm, well, welcome to Small Town America.” Noah turned to walk out, noticing the grimace left on Mr. Schreiber’s face.
Noah returned to the truck where Eleanor had remained waiting for him.
She asked, “How was our dear banker today? Was he satisfied?”
“Mr. Schreiber is a horse’s—” Noah clenched his jaw, “I don’t mean that.” Shaking off his irritation, he continued, “I can’t wait to meet his daughter.”
Eleanor laughed. “Oh, goodness! One in the same? What did he say?”
Noah smiled. “I guess we gave him a good and proper welcome to our world. But I’m not concerned about it—that is, the kids causing trouble anyways.”
“So now what?”
“We get ice cream.”
“I meant with the loan?”
“One day at a time, Ella. Let’s celebrate today’s little victory with some ice cream.”
“Okay, I could go for some,” Eleanor said.
They pulled into the drive-thru queue. The ice cream parlor shared the last intersection in town with Certified Gas and Market. Here was the final outpost before multiple country roads winded their way into the rural landscape.
“Copacetic.”
“What’s that?” Eleanor asked. She was eyeing a girl walking out of the parlor holding a tray with three beverages. The girl was looking around with a lost expression.
“Did Reinhardt ask you what the word ‘copacetic’ means?” Noah asked.
“Yes.”
Noah nodded. “I’ve been thinking about the good things we’ve got—things being ‘copacetic.’ I don’t want to fall prey to ‘not knowing what you’ve got till it’s gone.’ Community is another big one. I wonder if I could commute to Indiana, hold that job till something comes up around here—what are you staring at?” Noah asked.
“Look at that girl over there with the tray of drinks.”
“Looks like root beer floats to me.”
“Three root beer floats! She’s obviously not drinking them by herself.”
“So?”
“Well, that’s what I was staring at,” Eleanor explained. Both of them watched the girl as she set her tray of root beer floats on top of her Buick. “Now it looks like she’s talking to someone. Do you see anyone, Noah?”
“She doesn’t look old enough to drive. Maybe she’s waiting for her parents.”
Suddenly a car behind them honked. “Oh!” Noah waved out the truck window and advanced the vehicle forward in the queue. Their view of the lone girl became obscured by the building.
“We gotta’ go!” Jonah yelled in a suppressed whisper.
Leslie set the root beer floats on top the car. “What are you doing crouched behind the car?”
“That’s my parents over there in the drive-thru,” Jonah said. “Don’t look! Be secretive about it.”
Leslie glanced out the corner of her eyes. “What are they driving?”
“’76 Chevy C30”
“70-30 what?”
“It’s a white and yellow truck!” Jonah said in a suppressed shout.
“Oh, I think I saw the tail end; it’s blocked by the building now.”
Jonah carefully looked through the windows of Leslie’s car, and from his angle, he could see the truck had gone behind the building. “What’s taking Reinhardt so long? Leslie, fire up the car and be ready to peel outta’ here.” Jonah ran back inside the building.
Reinhardt had just come out of the restroom and was eyeing the spiraling descent of a gumball through a gumball machine. “Reinhardt! Move your butt, we gotta’ split!” Jonah practically pushed him out the door and all the way into Leslie’s car. “Go, Leslie, go!” In all the excitement the root beer floats were completely forgotten on top of the car, and as Leslie careened into the street and floored it through a reddening traffic light, the root beer floats were sent halfway across the intersection in a dazzling display of soda, froth, and ice cream chunks.
“Shit!” Jonah bellowed.
“Oh my god!” Leslie screamed.
“I don’t even have my seatbelt on,” Reinhardt added.
“That light was yellow right?” Leslie asked; her voice was shaky and she was accelerating past the speed limit.
Jonah looked behind him. The distancing red traffic light was obscured by a different red light flashing in rhythm with blue. “Uh, I think it must have been pretty red,” Jonah said.
Noah and Eleanor pulled out onto the street up to a red traffic light. Eleanor looked at the parlor’s parking lot. “That girl must have found whoever she was looking for.”
“Oh, someone got nailed,” Noah remarked.
“What’s that?”
“Down old 33, someone got pulled over. How about we take 29 home? I’d like to see if any farmers are out planting.”
Eleanor licked the ice cream cone. “Okay, dear. Just watch that mess on the road,” she said.
As Noah turned right, he said, “Maybe I should have gotten a root beer float.”
“License and registration, Miss.”
Leslie fumbled in her purse for her license and handed it to the officer.
“Registration, Miss.” Leslie looked at him wide-eyed and clueless. “Check the glove box.”
Jonah opened the glove box and pulled out all the papers, handing them to Leslie, who in turn handed the stack to the officer. From the stack he plucked a document. “You can put the rest away,” he said, handing back the stack, which included the car manual.
“Leslie Schreiber,” the Officer read off the license.
“Yes, Officer?” Her voice was thin and trembling.
“May I ask who your friends are?”
Leslie nodded, but didn’t speak.
“I’m Jonah, Sir. This is my little brother Reinhardt. Brandtmeyers, Sir.”
The officer looked to each boy in turn through his dark aviators. His movements were jerky. “Brandtmeyer. Interesting.”
He turned his attention back to Leslie. “Do you know why I pulled you over?” She shook her head. “Tell me, Miss Schreiber, did you pass driving school by running red lights?” His aviator sunglasses and lack of vocal inflection made his voice quite intimidating. Leslie just shook her head. “Tell me, Miss Schreiber, in the few hours you have been driving, has it been your habit to place things on top your car then push the speed limit to its breaking point to see if they stay on top?”
Tears streamed down Leslie’s face, washing mascara down her cheeks. The officer procured a tissue from his utility belt and offered it to Leslie. “Thankfully for you, Miss Schreiber, this isn’t my first rodeo. Hold on, please.” The officer returned to his squad car.
“This ‘ain’t’ my first rodeo,” Jonah said. “Man, does this guy have a stick up his butt or what?” No one responded. Leslie snuffled in her tissue, and Reinhardt snuck glances out the back window. Jonah shuffled his feet on the floor boards and did not say anything else.
The officer was in his car a long while. Presently, a sheriff’s car pulled up. The original officer strode back to Leslie’s car. “Do you boys know Marilla Brandtmeyer?”
“She’s our grandma.”
“She gave permission for your county’s sheriff to escort you Brandtmeyer boys home.” At this remark, Jonah let out a defeated groan; his head collapsed into the palms of his hands.
The boys were introduced to Sheriff Deputy Ransburg. He was not wearing sunglasses. His brimmed hat with a six-pointed gold star on the front looked impressive. His smile was inviting.
“Come along, boys. Let’s get you home,” he said.
“Will Leslie be alright?” Jonah asked as he ducked into the deputy sheriff’s car. No one, other than Reinhardt, heard his question. Through the front windshield, the boys watched the deputy and police officer talking about something. From their position in the backseat, they could not see whether or not Leslie had stopped crying.
Deputy Ransburg drove his car up the lane and stopped at the windbreak where Captain began his barking campaign.
“Oh no,” muttered Jonah. From across the backyard, he saw Grandma swinging a stick to fend off a rogue group of rooting piglets from the garden. The white and yellow Chevy was parked in a manner to block off the lane that ran to the woods. Both his parents had sorting panels in hand and with much success were corralling the escaped Berkshires into the backside of the farrowing barn.
“Deputy Ransburg, may we jump out here and help?” Jonah asked.
“Ol’ Captain here, he won’t bother you,” explained Reinhardt. “That’s the dog.”
“You’re not being detained.”
Jonah ran straight for the farrowing barn’s front door. Inside, the twine-tied stall door was wrenched open; an obvious path of little pig trotters marked the ground. He discarded the twine evidence and frantically started jamming and jostling the latch. From the back, pigs were returning accompanied by the calls of “Suey!” “Haw!” and “Giddyup!” Jonah broke into a cold sweat, and after several loud jerks, the latch locked into the closed position. He leaned against the gate, let out a sigh, and shook his head. “Unbelievable, stupid gate, stupid twine, stupid pigs. Ruin everything.” His feet dragged as he went back outside.
“Where in the world were you!?” Noah’s face was covered in perspiration and disbelief.
Reinhardt stood by his mother wringing his hands and chewing on his lips. Jonah was leaning with his back against the barn wall, his head turned down, but his eyes strained towards his father. Noah looked to his wife and was shaking his head; he rubbed the back of his neck. Deputy Ransburg pulled his car into the yard.
“Hello folks.” He stepped out. “I’m Deputy Ransburg.”
Noah shook his hand and introduced himself and his wife. “What did my boys do?”
“No worries. Your boys aren’t in any trouble with the law, but to answer your question they were in Saint Marys, joyriding with a girl who got pulled over.”
“Leslie,” Jonah said.
“And you boys left Grandma alone?” Noah asked in a stern tone. “And you didn’t even tell her you were leaving? She was told by the police!”
“Is this the girl that just got her license?” Eleanor asked.
Jonah shifted his weight from leg to leg. Reinhardt had a clueless look on his face and stared at his big brother for answers.
“Even more irresponsible!” Noah said, “I’m guessing the pigs escaped because of your carelessness? Why did you run inside the farrowing barn?”
Jonah nodded and muttered something unintelligible.
“What?”
Jonah said audibly, “I said, ‘if it weren’t for the finicky latch…’”
“You know the latch is finicky, so why didn’t you make sure it was secure? Anything worth doing is—”
“—is worth doing right, Dad, I know.”
“Don’t cut me off.”
“Noah,” said Eleanor.
Jonah said, “Granddad taught me that. Just like most everything else. Then you go selling his Wood-Mizer.”
“Son, I told you to drop it. It wasn’t even paid off.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Your granddad’s, but he isn’t here anymore is he!?” Noah’s voice was rising.
Jonah shot back, “Well, sometimes I wish I was with him instead!”
It was silent in the barnyard for a moment. Grandma, who had been quietly observing the situation, broke the silence blowing her nose. Eleanor walked over to her; everyone became aware she was crying.
“Come with me boys,” Noah said. He waved them to follow. “Good day, Deputy.” Noah nodded a farewell. “Eleanor please see Deputy, uh…”
“Ransburg.”
“Ransburg out, and thank you again for bringing my sons home safely.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Brandtmeyer.”
Noah and his sons entered the farmhouse. In the mudroom, he handed Reinhardt a broom; to Jonah he gave a mop and bucket filled with a box of soap, window cleaner, and rags. Noah grabbed a large garbage can.
“Come along,” he said. With their equipment in hand, Noah led them out the door and back across the farmyard. Eleanor and Grandma sat on the porch swing; his wife was still speaking with Deputy Ransburg. Noah and the boys walked past the barns, past the water gauge, past the orchard, down the east lane, to the Quonset. Noah led them to the shop side and set the garbage can down by the door. “Here, if you want to be with your granddad this is the best I can do. While you’re here, you can clean this place up.” He opened the door and surveyed the surroundings. “I’ll be back later, and it better look shaped up in here.”