“Not if I kill myself first.”
“Did you do it?” Bernie yelled.
Bernie just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. As soon as Papa took his seat, Bernie grinned. “Have you told him about the car yet?”
Papa’s head came up. “What car?”
“Lucas Kutchner gave Mama a ride home in his car today. He was trying to sell it to her.” He took a helping of potatoes au gratin. “It can go up to twenty-five miles an hour!”
“I don’t think Lucas was driving anywhere near that fast when he brought me and Rikka home.”
Red climbed up Papa’s neck into his face. He put his knife and fork down and stared at Mama while she cut meat off her chicken thigh. Hildemara bit her lip and looked between them.
“We don’t need a car, Marta. We don’t have the money for one.”
“You said we didn’t need a washing machine. I’d still be using that bucket if I hadn’t saved the two dollars myself.”
“A washing machine doesn’t need gas and tires!”
“Just elbow grease.”
“A washing machine doesn’t need a mechanic to keep it working.”
“You know how to repair locomotives.”
Papa’s voice kept rising. “A washing machine won’t run you into a tree or a ditch or turn over and crush you to death in a pile of twisted metal!”
Rikka started to cry. “Mama, don’t buy that car.”
Mama told Bernie to pass the carrots. “Not one dollar has passed from my hand into Lucas’s.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Papa sounded relieved, but not fully convinced. He kept a cautious eye on her as he ate.
Mama tucked a forkful of potatoes au gratin into her mouth and chewed, looking at the ceiling. Papa frowned. “I had one ride in that contraption of his and saw my life passing before my eyes.”
Mama sniffed. “I grant you, Lucas isn’t much of a driver. Maybe if he watched the road more and talked less…”
Papa froze. “What do you know about driving?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” She picked up a roll and began buttering it. “Yet.” She lifted the roll toward her mouth. “It doesn’t look all that difficult.”
“I hear it feels like you’re riding the wind!” Bernie couldn’t help himself.
Papa snorted. “It’s more like death breathing in your face.”
Mama laughed.
“What did Mr. Kutchner want for the car, Mama?”
Papa glared at Bernie. “Eat your supper! It doesn’t matter what Lucas wants. We’re not buying! We have two good horses and a wagon! That’s all we need.” Papa looked angry.
Mama lifted her hands in a light gesture. “Why don’t we take a vote?”
“Aye!” Bernie called out. Cloe and Rikka raised their hands, not looking at Papa’s face.
“What about you, Hildemara?”
She looked at her father. “I’ll abstain.”
“You would.” Mama glowered at her. Sawing off another piece of meat from the chicken thigh, she lifted it toward her mouth. “Doesn’t matter. Ayes win without you.”
“It’s only a democracy around here when you know which way the vote will go,” Papa grumbled. “I hope you don’t kill yourself or any of our children driving that thing.”
Lucas Kutchner came out to the farm after school on Friday, Mama in the passenger seat. Rikka climbed down from the front seat. Bernie and Hildemara ran into the yard to hear what Mama might say. Papa came out of the barn and stood watching, arms akimbo. Mr. Kutchner called out a hello, but Papa turned and went back into the barn. Wincing, Mr. Kutchner turned back to Mama as she walked around the car. “Well? What do you think?”
“Niclas said you were a good mechanic.”
“New tires, too.” He kicked one.
“So I see.”
“The price is good.”
“The price is fair.”
“It’s better than fair. This is the best deal you’ll ever make in your whole life.”
“I doubt that. Just one last thing, Lucas.”
Mr. Kutchner looked dubious and put-upon. “What now?”
“You have to teach me to drive.”
“Oh!” Mr. Kutchner laughed loudly. “Well, get behind the wheel! There’s nothing to it.”
Papa came back out. “Marta!” he called in sharp warning.
She slid into the driver’s seat and put her hands on the wheel. “Watch out for your sister, Hildemara, and stay back. I don’t want to drive over anyone.”
“Marta!”
“Go curry your horses!” Mama started the car.
Cloe charged out the back door. “Is she going to do it? Is she?”
“Stay back!” Papa shouted.
The Tin Lizzie screeched in protest. Startled, Rikka covered her ears and screamed. Mr. Kutchner yelled something. The car jerked forward a couple of times and died. Papa laughed. “I hope you didn’t buy it!”
Mama’s face reddened. She started the car again-more screeching and grinding. Mr. Kutchner called out more instructions. “Easy now. Let your foot off the clutch and give her some gas!” The car lurched forward and bounded toward the road like a jackrabbit. “Brake!” The car skidded to a stop at the end of the drive.
Hildemara had never heard Papa swear before. “Marta! Stop! You’re going to kill yourself!”
Mama stuck her arm out the window, waved, and turned right. The car lurched down the road; Papa, Bernie, Clotilde, and Rikka ran to the end of the driveway. Hildemara climbed the chinaberry tree, where she could keep watch. The car picked up speed. “She’s all right, Papa! They’re going over the hill right now. They’re still on the road.”
Papa dragged both hands through his hair. He walked in a circle, muttering in German. “Pray your mother doesn’t kill herself!” He headed back for the barn.
Bernie and the girls sat on the front steps, waiting.
“Here they come!” Hildemara shouted from the top of the tree. Bernie and the girls ran to the edge of the lawn. Hildemara came down the tree fast and joined the others.
Mama whizzed by, waving her hand out the window, Mr. Kutchner shouting. “Slow down! Slow down!” And off they went in the opposite direction.
Hildemara raced up the tree again while Bernie and Cloe jumped up and down, cheering. “We have a car! We have a car!” Dash, confused, barked wildly.
Standing on tiptoes on a high branch, Hildemara craned her neck, trying to keep the car in sight, afraid any minute Mama would drive off the road and Papa’s prophecy might prove true. “Here she comes again!” Hildemara made it down the tree and ran with the others to the edge of the grass.
The car raced toward them. Mr. Kutchner, face white, was yelling instructions. Slowing, Mama turned in to the driveway, a wide grin on her face. Hildemara joined Bernie and the girls running for the yard.
“Don’t get in her way!” Papa shouted. “Give her room!”
Dash gave chase until Mama honked the horn. He let out a yip and ran for the barn, tail between his legs. The chickens squawked and fluttered wildly in the henhouse.
“Brake!” Mr. Kutchner yelled. “Push the brake!” The car jerked to a stop, shook violently like an animal run hard and worn-out. Sputtering, it coughed once and died.
Mama got out with a grin broader than Bernie’s. Mr. Kutchner got out on wobbly legs, wiped his perspiring face with a handkerchief, and shook his head. He swore in German.
Mama laughed. “Well, there isn’t much to it, is there? Once you learn how to use the clutch, the rest is easy. Just push down hard on the gas pedal.”
Mr. Kutchner leaned against the car. “And the brakes. Don’t forget about the brakes.”
“I’ll give you a ride back to town.”
Mr. Kutchner grimaced. “Give me a minute.” He ran for the outhouse.
Bernie climbed into the car. “When can I learn to drive?”
Mama grabbed him by the ear and hauled him out yowling. “When you’re sixteen, and not a minute before.”