Evidently this wasn’t the first time the request had been made. Someone had set up a table next to the outlets. A cell phone and a Nintendo DS lay side by side, and Zane wondered if they were part of someone’s rumspringa splurge. He thanked Coln for his generosity and plugged in his laptop and cell phone. “What do I owe you?” he asked, turning to face the man.
“Not a thing,” Coln answered. “I’m just glad you came to help.”
Zane wouldn’t exactly call what he was doing “help,” but many believed that his stories would bring business into the community. He made a mental note to provide some sort of thanks in his articles when a jar of candy caught his attention. Candy he hadn’t seen in ages. “Are those . . . Astro Pops?”
If Coln was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. “Yes, they are.”
“I used to get these when I was a kid.” Wonderment and memories filled his voice. On the infrequent trips they made to town, his father would take him to the apothecary and get him an Astro Pop. Just the thought of them brought back memories of his dad, his childhood, and all the good they had shared before his parents died.
Without hesitation, he reached into the jar and pulled out a handful of the tri-colored suckers.
“Where to now?” John Paul asked as they walked back out into the fall sunshine.
Zane reached into the brown paper sack containing the Astro Pops and retrieved one. He offered the bag to John Paul, who shook his head. “Danki.”
That’s when Zane realized that he was stranded in town with no way home except the deathtrap car and John Paul, NASCAR driver in training.
He unwrapped one of the candies. “How far is it to the school?”
The words popped out of his mouth before he had considered them. He was interested in seeing the one-room schoolhouse he’d heard about for the novelty of the visit. Not because of a certain jade-eyed teacher.
“It’s a couple of miles that-a-way.” John Paul pointed in the direction they had come from.
“It might be fun to see. For the feature,” he added.
He popped the sucker into his mouth, hoping it would stem the flow of inerrant words. The Astro Pop tasted even better than he remembered—pure corn syrup with just a touch of flavoring. It was kind of like eating a candied apple without the apple. Zane smiled at the memories that something as simple as candy could evoke.
“Get in. I’ll take you there.”
It wasn’t exactly what Zane had in mind, but there was no way around it. It would have made more sense to Zane if John Paul had poked around like a grandma driving as slow as the clomp of horses pulling a shiny black buggy. Next time, he thought, he’d beg a ride in the old-fashioned way. For research’s sake.
Plan in mind, Zane held on tight as John Paul sped away from town.
The one-room schoolhouse was beyond picturesque. Painted antique red, it sat on a hill in a little field, surrounded by minimal playground equipment and a large oak tree complete with tire swing. It was nothing like he’d ever seen and so different from what he had imagined. He’d expected . . . well, a school—bustling hallways, multiple teachers, cafeteria. School. Instead, he felt like he’d stepped onto the set of Little House on the Prairie. The feeling intensified as he watched the children in their old-timey Amish clothing file out the door. The only thing missing were the lunch pails of yesteryear. These kids carried regular insulated lunch boxes like the rest of American schoolgoers. Strange how differences and similarities melded together.