Chapter Nine A Lesson
Ephram
I noticed the truck before I noticed Lydia.
It sat at an awkward angle in the Snowdrop Inn parking lot, nose pointed slightly toward the inn as if it had tried to escape and reconsidered halfway through. It was older than anything else nearby, boxy and solid. Its paint had faded from time.
Then I noticed the audience.
Jane stood closest, hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles had gone pale, her face fixed in an expression that suggested she was prepared to intervene at any moment despite having no idea how.
Kitty paced a few steps behind her, arms slicing through the air as she offered advice that changed halfway through each sentence.
Mrs. Bennet hovered near the edge of the sidewalk, coat half-buttoned, posture rigid, eyes wide with the kind of concern usually reserved for children near open water.
Lucy leaned against the railing by the entrance, arms folded, gaze sharp and assessing, already bracing for how badly this could end, while another sister whose name I couldn’t remember, sat on the step and watched.
And in the middle of it all sat Lydia in the truck.
She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, shoulders tight, jaw set, eyes fixed straight ahead.. Her hair had slipped loose from whatever had been holding it back, strands escaping around her face. She looked determined. She also looked exhausted.
The engine stalled again, the sound final.
I cut my own engine and stayed where I was for a moment longer than necessary, letting instinct take over.
Old vehicle which probably had a manual transmission with an inexperienced driver. The crowd was too close and giving conflicting advice which was causing Lydia’s stress level to climb.
I had seen situations spiral faster with less.
I got out and walked toward the inn instead of the truck. William Bennet stood a short distance away, hands in his pockets, weight settled comfortably on one foot. He watched Lydia the way someone watches weather roll in: attentive, calm, trusting that it would pass if left alone.
“What’s going on?” I asked him.
William nodded toward the truck. “This is the float solution.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really.”
“It’s an antique pickup,” he continued. “Runs well enough. Lydia’s learning to drive a stick shift.”
I glanced back at the family clustered nearby. “You’re not teaching her.”
William let out a quiet laugh. “I wouldn’t survive the attempt. She’s a need-to-figure-it-out-herself kind of girl.”
That matched what I had seen of her so far.
“Insurance?” I asked.
“Fully covered,” William said without hesitation. “I added it to the policy before she even turned the key.”
“Good,” I said. “Roadworthy?”
“It is,” he replied. “Although if she is, that’s another story. Lydia hasn’t left the lot.”
Behind us, the engine turned over again, sputtered, then stalled hard enough that Kitty groaned audibly.
William didn’t move.
I exhaled slowly. “I’m going to talk to her.”
William nodded once. “She won’t love it.”
“I won’t force it,” I said.
I crossed the lot and knocked lightly on the driver’s side door frame since the window was down.
Lydia startled, knee knocking against the dashboard.. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with determination and embarrassment layered together.
“Oh,” she said. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I replied. “Rough evening?”
She glanced pointedly at her family. “You could say that.”
“Would you like help?” I asked.
The hesitation was immediate. Pride flared first, then logic, then something that looked a lot like relief.
“Yes,” she said. “Please.”
I got in on the passenger side, careful to keep my movements deliberate. The cab was smaller than expected since the seat had been moved forward as far as it could go due to Lydia’s height constraints. My knees were pressed against the dash as I put on my seatbelt.
“First,” I said, “let’s get some privacy. It’s easier to learn things without an audience.”
I caught William’s eye and tilted my head toward the inn. He understood immediately.
“All right,” he called. “That’s enough for tonight. We all have work to do.”
Jane protested softly. Kitty objected loudly. Mrs. Bennet hovered for several seconds longer before Lucy looped an arm through hers and guided her back inside, murmuring something that finally convinced her to retreat. Meri followed them inside.
The lot quieted.
Lydia let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped for hours. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Now. Start from the beginning.”
She restarted the engine, hands shaking just enough to be noticeable.
“Clutch all the way in,” I said. “Good. Now don’t watch your feet. Listen.”
“It sounds angry,” she said.
“It sounds impatient,” I corrected. “You want to let off the clutch and put on the gas in tandem, nice and slowly.”
She tried again. The truck lurched forward, then stalled.
She dropped her head back against the seat. “I’m terrible at this.”
“You’re new,” I said. “Everyone who is new at something doesn’t suddenly become an expert. It takes time and practice.”
She glanced at me, as if searching my face for judgment, and found none. Her mouth tightened with renewed determination.
We went around the lot once, very slowly. She stalled twice, but each recovery came quicker than the last. Her movements grew steadier, less reactive.
“That’s it,” I said. “Feel where it catches.”
“I think I do,” she said.
“You do,” I confirmed.
The truck made a full loop without stalling. Lydia laughed, sharp and breathless, the sound breaking something tight in her chest.
“I did it.”
“You did,” I said.
We went around again. Then again.
By the fourth loop, she wasn’t panicking. She was listening. Anticipating. Adjusting before the engine protested. I had her switch between first and second gear, keeping the speed low, letting her get used to the adjustments.
After a moment, she glanced toward the exit. “Do you think…?”
I considered the road. It was dry since the sun had been out. There wasn’t any snow forecasted tonight. The roads tended to be somewhat quiet as long as we stayed away from the downtown area.
“Yes,” I said. “If you want to.”
Lydia swallowed and nodded. “I want to.”
She eased onto the road, careful but controlled. Maple Ridge passed slowly around us, homes glowing with Christmas lights, wreaths hanging slightly crooked. The town felt smaller at this speed, more intimate.
“You’re doing well,” I said.
“I’m terrified,” she replied cheerfully as we stopped at a stop sign.
“That’s appropriate,” I said. “Just don’t rush. There’s no one behind you.”
We cleared the intersection without stalling.
As the tension eased, she started talking about the float as though testing ideas aloud.
“I wanted greenery,” she said. “Real if possible with lots of Christmas lights. Maybe a bench in the truck bed so Mom and Dad can ride on it and wave to everyone. It’s their new start. I’m hoping to get some magnets delivered in time to stick to the truck to advertise the SnowDrop Inn.”
“That’s workable,” I said. “But everything needs to be secured. No loose branches. The bench needs to be fastened securely and your parents need to be in the cab to and from the parade. All rules of the road apply when the parade is over.”
“I figured,” she said. “Dad said the same. I had hoped to put a decorated Christmas tree in the back but he said there was no way to get it to stay properly.”
“He’s probably right,” I agreed. “The last thing I want to see is a repeat of the twenty foot snowman.”
“The twenty foot snowman?” Lydia asked curiously.
“Someone had a very large, inflatable snowman on a wagon. It wasn’t firmly secured and that year the day was very windy.
The thing rolled down the main street causing a lot of chaos.
People were running, it bounced off of parked cars setting off car alarms, and it took out a hotdog cart vendor before getting stuck at the bridge,” I recalled dryly.
“Oh my,” Lydia tried not to laugh, hiding a smile behind her hand.
“You think it’s funny. I had to deal with complaints for weeks,” I mentioned.
“I promise there won’t be any inflatable snowmen on my float,” she giggled.
I found myself smiling, enjoying that I had made her laugh.
She nodded. “Can I use battery lights?”
“Yes,” I said. “As long as they are protected from moisture, not gerryrigged from a car battery. And please, nothing flammable near the exhaust.”
She glanced at me, impressed. “You’ve really thought about this.”
“The parade is my job. I want everyone safe so that they can all have a good time,” I said.
She smiled and focused back on the road.
After one final loop and some practice at parking, we turned back toward the inn. She parked carefully, engine idling, hands trembling with leftover adrenaline.
Then she turned and hugged me.
It was quick. Tight. Entirely unplanned.
She froze almost immediately. “Oh. I’m sorry. I just—”
“It’s all right,” I said, equally flustered. “You did great.”
She laughed, embarrassed. “Thank you. For everything.”
“No problem. I think you’ll do fine at the parade,” I replied.
I got out and headed back toward the inn, leaving her to park and sit with her victory.
Behind me, the engine cut off smoothly.
I smiled before I could stop myself.