A Quilt For Jenna

Chapter 2: Bobby

Chapter 2: Bobby

Bobby Halverson stood in the rolled-up doorway of the diesel repair shop, smoking a Camel and watching the gray storm clouds blowing in from the south. The wind carried a biting chill, and flurries of snow had become a steady fall. Behind him in the shop, Dutch Peterson was complaining out loud as he worked on Bobby’s old tractor.

“These glow plugs are shot, Bobby! Only three give me enough current to start it up. And the compression release is jamming up. If you get stuck out in the cold and she sits for a while, you’re going to have a heck of a time startin’ ’er up again.”

“Well, can you get me some new plugs, Dutch?” Bobby tossed away his cigarette and came back into the shop.

Dutch had parts spread all over the place and was knocking dirt out of the air cleaner as he continued his grumbling. “This old hunk-a-junk belongs in the junkyard.”

“Come on, Dutch, you’ve got to get it going for me. There’s a big storm coming in, and I’m the only plow in Apple Creek. What about all those Amish folks with their buggies? If I don’t keep the roads clear, they’ll get stuck for sure. A lot of people will be on the road tomorrow for Thanksgiving, and it’ll be even worse when they come back home Friday. I’ve got to keep the roads open.”

“Okay,” Dutch said. “Don’t get all het up. I think I can get you some new plugs by Monday if I can get up to Wooster, but until then you be real careful. Once you get ’er running, don’t let ’er stop, or you’ll be up against it, no joke.”

Bobby stepped over to the barrel stove that heated the shop and threw another shovelful of coal into the bottom bin. The barrel was already glowing red hot, but it did little to dispel the cold inside the shop. Bobby slapped his arms against his chest and stamped his feet on the concrete floor.

“Man, it’s freezing cold,” he said. “I bet the temperature’s dropped ten degrees in the last hour. I’m sure glad I had you build that cab on the plow. This wind’s going to get really fierce before the storm is over.”

Dutch kept about his work, and slowly the parts he had cleaned went back into the old engine. He stopped and held up an injector to the light.

“Bobby,” he said, “you’re a good-hearted soul, and you help a lot of people, but you don’t know nothin’ about keepin’ this old rig going. You’re dang lucky to have me to help you, because otherwise, this old hoss would have been sitting in a pasture somewhere years ago.”

“I know, Dutch,” Bobby said, “and I sure do appreciate it. Now, if you don’t mind, maybe you could stop with the jawin’ and get this old hoss back on the road.”

Bobby Halverson was Apple Creek’s one-man snow-removal department because he had the only plow within about ten miles. In a big storm, the County workers usually concentrated on Wooster and the bigger towns, leaving Apple Creek to fend for itself. He had rigged up the plow on his tractor three years ago with Dutch’s help and had been able to keep the roads mostly clear that year. The locals were so grateful they pooled some money to create a snowplow fund to help Bobby with expenses. It wasn’t a lot, but it helped keep the tractor running and get a few extras, which was nice—especially this year, with Thanksgiving tomorrow.

Bobby walked back to the open door of the shop and surveyed the sky. The wind was blowing in from western Pennsylvania, and the way it was picking up, along with the big drop in temperature, told Bobby that a humdinger of a nor’easter was coming through. The weatherman on the radio had called it an extratropical cyclone, whatever that meant, and warned about high winds and even tornadoes along the path of the storm. Many of the outlying farms would be snowbound, and there would definitely be some downed power lines and blackouts. So it was critical that Dutch get the old plow in shape because it would be a long haul until Monday.

Bobby stared out at the street. The wind was gusting and the snow was falling softly on the road. The asphalt still held enough heat to melt off some of the snow, but it wouldn’t be long until the roads were covered and icy. A few cars made their way toward the center of the village, probably headed for the creamery or the grocery store to do some last-minute Thanksgiving shopping.

“Okay,” Dutch said, “stop your mooning and get over here and crank the starter. Let’s see if we can get ’er going.”

Bobby jumped up into the covered cab and watched Dutch spray some ether straight into the manifold port. “Crank it!” Dutch yelled, and Bobby turned her over. The old tractor jumped a little and then fired right up. Ka-chug, ka-chug, ka-chug...the old two-stroke engine labored to life.

Dutch closed the hood and stepped over to the cab.

“Leave her running for a while to clean out any gunk that’s still in there. And remember, the glow plugs have to warm up for at least ten minutes in this weather or she’ll never start. And don’t kill the engine out there, or you’ll have a mighty cold walk home.”