The Peach Rebellion by Wendelin Van Draanen

Author:Wendelin Van Draanen [Van Draanen, Wendelin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2022-05-17T00:00:00+00:00

22

Ginny Rose

REFLECTIONS

I roll in from my day of buildin’ Peggy’s shade to the rumble of a long freight train lumberin’ by and the sight of Papa’s legs stickin’ out past the front tire of our truck. I notice that his leather soles are nearly worn through at the balls of his feet. I guess I’m not the only one in need of new shoes.

Curses are comin’ from the truck’s underbelly, so I step off the bike and call, “Can I give you a hand, Papa?” over the rumble.

“Ginny Rose!” comes his voice. “Yes! I could sure use it.”

I take a quick look inside the open hood as he scoots out from under the truck. The engine block’s clean as a whistle, despite it bein’ nearly twenty years old. When Papa’s standin’ beside me, I ask, “What’s wrong with her?” fallin’ into the way we always talk about Faithful.

“I’m tryin’ to install a rebuilt alternator, but the fan belt keeps slippin’ off the bottom pulley.” The freight train ambles by, and the clackin’ of steel wheels begins to fade as Papa says, “If you could go under and keep it looped on while I set the part, that would be mighty helpful.”

I’d hurried to fetch my things before leavin’ Peggy’s, but I’m still wearin’ her dungarees. And since they’re already in need of washin’, I say, “Sure,” and scoot under the truck on my back until I’m lookin’ up through a space by the engine block.

Papa’s face gazes down at me, and the sight of him catches me off guard. Maybe it’s the shadows, or the position he’s in, but he suddenly looks old. He’s always been a wall of strength around us, but from my view through formed metal, rubber belts, and black hoses, I see the deeply weathered face of a man whose hard years have finally caught him.

A pang of sorrow hits me, but then I see in his gaze that he’s thinkin’ thoughts about me, too.

Seein’ me, too.

But…what’s he seein’?

For a moment, guilt grips me and the air goes eerily still. Then the train whistle sounds in the distance and I break my eyes from his and turn to the job at hand.

I hold the belt in place while Papa hoists the alternator, then uses a crowbar to pry the part up so the fan belt’s tight. “Now come up and hold this, would ya?” he says.

I work my way out from under Faithful and keep the crowbar pried as he tightens the bolt. When it’s all snug and he’s tested the repair, he says, “Thank you, Ginny Rose. I wasted half an hour tryin’ to do that myself.”

“So,” I say, doin’ my best to act casual, “you think maybe you’ve had to patch her one too many times?”

He gives me a curious look. “Are you sayin’ I should give up on something that’s seen us from Oklahoma to California, and then up and down the Central Valley again and again and again?”

“What I’m sayin’ is she’s tired and deserves a rest.

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