Her Mother’s Hope

automobile like the Herkners, and he let Bernie sit behind the steering wheel and pretend to drive. Mr. Kutchner took Papa out for a ride once. Papa wiped sweat and dust off his face when he got out. Mr. Kutchner slapped the hood. “So what do you think, Niclas? Are you ready to buy one? I could get you a good deal.”

“I have two good horses and two good feet. I don’t need a car.” Papa said it with such conviction, Mr. Kutchner didn’t bring up the subject again.

Mama went to town one day and came back in the front seat of Lucas Kutchner’s car, Rikka sitting on her lap. She pushed the door open and got out, setting Rikka on the ground. Hildemara stood from where she had been working in the garden. Mama looked flushed, her eyes bright. “Hildemara! Come look after your sister.” Bernie stopped digging the big hole for the water reserve near the garden. He jammed the shovel in the ground and came out to take a look.

The car chugged several times, coughed once, and died.

Mr. Kutchner got out, a big grin on his face. “So what do you think of her, Marta?”

Mama’s expression changed. She shrugged as she faced him. “Not much. That thing wheezes and grunts more than any sick animal I’ve ever tended.”

Mr. Kutchner looked surprised. “She needs a little work, but I can fix her up. I’ll give you a good price.”

Hildie told Rikka to go in the house and get her sketchbook, then followed Bernie into the yard. “Are you buying that car, Mama?”

“A horse runs better!”

“A car runs faster and goes longer!”

Mama gave Bernie a quelling glance, but his eyes were fixed on the shiny black Tin Lizzie. “Did I ask for your opinion, Bernhard Waltert?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Go on back to your digging.”

Bernie let out a deep sigh of suffering and headed back. Rikka and Cloe came out the back door and sat on the step.

Mama put her hands on her hips. “I don’t like the look of those tires either.”

“They just need more air.”

“I wouldn’t buy a car without new tires.”

“Tires cost money.”

“So does tailoring and mending. So do roast beef dinners. Not that you’re not always welcome, of course.”

Mr. Kutchner scratched his head and looked befuddled. Mama smirked, but quickly covered it. She walked over to the car and ran her hand over the hood the same way she ran her hand over a sick cow. Hildie knew Mama had already made up her mind. She just had more whittling to do on the price. Mr. Kutchner saw the way she stroked the car and knew he had a buyer. “I’ll have her purring like a kitten.”

Mama took her hand away and looked him straight in the eye. “Get her to work like a Swiss watch and we’ll talk about it. And another thing, Lucas. You and I both know that car isn’t worth what you’re asking for it. Maybe you should try selling this car to Niclas again. See what he says about your offer.” She headed for the house. “Thank you for the ride, Lucas. Nice you just happened to see me walking home. Providential, wasn’t it?”

“All right!” Mr. Kutchner called out. “Wait a minute!” He started after her. “Let’s talk about it now.”

Mama stopped and turned slowly, cocking her head. “Go get potatoes and carrots for dinner, Hildemara.”

Hildemara took her time pulling up potatoes and carrots while keeping an eye on Mama, wondering what Papa would have to say about her conversation with Lucas Kutchner. When they shook hands, Hildemara knew what that meant. Mr. Kutchner headed back for the car, kicking the dust before he got in and started the engine. Mama waved. When he pulled out onto the road, she danced a little jig and laughed.

Lifting the basket of dirty potatoes and carrots, Hildemara met her at the back door. Cloe stood up from the step where she’d been sitting. “Papa’s going to kill you.”

“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.