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listening to Orin when he got distracted with a loose seam holding the stovetop pipe in one piece. She had a bad experience with a stovepipe once—courtesy of Jimmy Fisher—and liked to stay clear of them. Finally, Orin ran out of things to inform M.K. about.
    And then M.K. and Doozy slunk home.

    As soon as his mother had gone to town, Jimmy Fisher made a beeline to Windmill Farm to talk to Mary Kate. No one answered his knock at the farmhouse. He crossed over to the barn to look for Amos but couldn’t find him. Then he saw Fern hanging wet laundry on the clothesline. The soapy scent of fresh laundry perfumed the morning air. Jimmybreathed in deeply—it was one of his favorite smells. But he thought twice about meeting up with Fern and scooted behind a tree. Fern thoroughly intimidated him. Thankfully, he spotted Hank Lapp in his buggy shop. The shop was an old carriage barn, with a small apartment up above where Hank lived. Buggies and parts, in various stages of disarray, littered the shop floor.
    “JIMMY FISHER!” Hank boomed, when he caught sight of him. “You’re a little late for fishing today, boy. I went out before dawn.” Hank Lapp’s sun-leathered face exploded into a smile.
    Being around Hank always reminded Jimmy of the effects of electricity—instantly, a dark room would be filled with dazzling light and a fellow had to blink rapidly to allow his eyes to adjust to the brightness. Jimmy leaned against the buggy Hank was tinkering on. One side of the buggy was dented, as if it had been broadsided by a car. Buggy and car collisions were a frequent occurrence in Lancaster County, and the buggies always took the brunt of it. But, as Hank often said, it meant he would always have plenty of work.
    “I didn’t come to go fishing, Hank. Wish I had joined you this morning, though. No, I came by to talk to Mary Kate. Is she working at the honey cabin?”
    “Naw. She’s down at the schoolhouse. Should be back any minute now.” He picked up a long piece of cut fiberboard and held it up against the side of the buggy to see if it would fit as a replacement part. “But she’ll be in no mood for yikkity yakking.” He motioned to Jimmy to hand him a screw. “BLAST. Cut it too short.”
    Jimmy’s gaze shifted to the hay field. He saw someone out there behind Amos’s two draft horses, cutting hay, but he could tell that someone wasn’t Amos. “Who’s that?”
    Hank looked out to the field. “Young fellow Amos hired to cut hay.”
    Jimmy squinted his eyes. “I can’t tell who he is. Someone new? Why didn’t Amos hire me?”
    “Probably cuz you have a knack for disappearing whenever there’s a need for hard work.”
    Jimmy was deeply offended. “That’s not true.” Maybe it was partially true.
    Hank bore down on Jimmy with his good eye. “I hear you’ve developed a fondness for pony racing these days.”
    “I just prefer the front end of the horse to the back end. But I could use some extra cash, seeing as how I have a girlfriend.”
    Hank strode to the workbench and rummaged around for some tools. “Oh? A new flavor of the month?”
    “It’s not like that this time, Hank. I think I have found my missus.”
    Hank frowned at one tool, threw it down, picked up another. “Just how long have you been courting your potential missus?”
    “Well, see, that’s why I need to talk to M.K. I haven’t quite met my missus yet.”
    Hank jerked his head up. A big “HAW!” burst out of him. “You and Paul are cut out of the same cloth! Immer gucka. Nie net am kaufen.” Always looking, never buying.
    Jimmy frowned. Hank Lapp was hardly one to give marital advice. He was a dedicated bachelor. Hank had been mildly courting Jimmy’s mother for years now—if you could call it courting. He showed up regularly for Sunday dinner, followed by a long nap in a recliner chair.
    Why Jimmy’s mother put up with Hank was a mystery. But then, in a way, the casualness of Hank’s courting must appeal to her as well.