The Uncle Who Pulled the Hitch Pin

The second Saturday

The Saturday of the hayride was clear and cold, with a little wind out of the northwest. By five-thirty the parents were in our yard with their cider, and the kids were wound up the way kids get when the sun starts going down.

Fourteen this time. Two new ones had joined over the summer. Gavin was there. So was Noel, and Kylie, and Ava, who had told every child in the club that her uncle Myles was driving and they should all be nice to him.

Tiffany came. She stood back with her arms crossed. I didn’t blame her.

At a quarter to six, I heard the 4020 start up behind the shed. Merritt had gone back to get it. He drove it around the corner of the barn, slow, and stopped in front of the wagon.

Then he climbed down and stood next to the drawbar. And Myles walked across the yard from his pickup.

He was wearing a clean shirt and his good barn coat, and he had shaved. He walked up to the wagon where the kids were climbing on, and he took his cap off.

The kids went quiet. You could feel it go through the whole yard, kids and grown-ups both.

“Some of you were on this wagon last fall,” Myles said. “I’m the man who took the tractor away and left you in the pasture.”

Nobody moved.

“I want to tell you I’m sorry,” he said. “I was sad about my brother and I did a wrong thing because of it. Being sad isn’t a reason. You don’t leave kids. Not ever. Your leader walked you home, and she shouldn’t have had to.”

He turned his cap over in his hands.

“If you don’t want to ride with me, I understand it. Kara will drive you, and I’ll go home. If you want to ride, I’ll take you out and show you where my grandpa lived in a hole in the ground. You can decide.”

The kids looked at each other.

Gavin Becker climbed down off the wagon. I heard Tiffany take a breath behind me.

Gavin walked right up to Myles, all of nine years old, in his bright green jacket with the sleeves too long. He looked up at him.

“Did you know my grandpa?” Gavin said.

Myles looked down at him. “Your grandpa was Norris Becker?”

Gavin nodded.

“I knew him,” Myles said. “We were in the Army together at Fort Riley. He was the best shot in the company and the worst cook.”

Gavin thought about that. Then he said, “Okay. I want to ride.”

He climbed back up on the wagon and sat down in the very front, right behind the tractor seat.

Myles turned around fast and looked at the shelterbelt for a little while. Merritt put his hand on his uncle’s shoulder. Neither of them said anything.

Then Myles climbed up onto Del’s tractor. Merritt dropped the pin into the drawbar himself, the same pin, and put the clip on, and hooked up the safety chain. He looked at me and I looked at him.

Myles eased the clutch out like he’d done it ten thousand times, and the wagon rolled.