“Yes.”
“You diagnose it.”
She smiled.
“You’re not helping?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What are you doing?”
“Watching.”
“That’s worse.”
Daniel dragged over an old wooden stool.
Sat.
Folded his arms.
“Proceed.”
Ellie pulled on work gloves.
She began with the obvious.
Battery.
Weak but usable with the charger connected.
Starter.
Functional.
Engine rotated.
She removed the spark plugs—actually, depending on model, could be gas. This particular tractor looked old enough for a gasoline engine, something Ellie had confirmed from the carburetor setup.
She tested compression cylinder by cylinder.
Not perfect.
Good enough.
Daniel watched the gauge.
“Numbers?”
“Hundred seventeen. Hundred twenty-one. Hundred nineteen. Hundred sixteen.”
“Dead engine?”
“No.”
“Could still have valve timing problems.”
“I know.”
She removed the distributor cap.
Points dirty.
Nothing catastrophic.
Timing close enough to fire.
She cleaned terminals.
Checked spark.
Weak, then stronger after cleaning.
The engine coughed once.
That drew Daniel off the stool.
“You heard that.”
“Yes.”
“Again.”
Ellie turned the key.
The starter spun.
The engine gave one brief cough.
Then nothing.
Daniel returned to the stool.
“Still yours.”
Ellie glared.
She turned toward fuel.
Gas reached the carburetor.
The bowl was not empty.
Needle moved.
Float seemed functional.
She removed the air cleaner.
Tried again.
Nothing.
An hour passed.
Then two.
The sun lowered.
Ellie’s excitement slowly became frustration.
Frank Dawson’s laughter replayed in her head.
Three men already checked it.
Maybe they had.
Maybe she saw what she wanted to see because two hundred dollars felt enormous when you were fifteen.
Daniel seemed to read her thoughts.
“What’s the first rule?”
Ellie answered automatically.
“Don’t diagnose with your pride.”
“Second?”
“Believe measurements before opinions.”
“Third?”
“Stop touching things when you’re angry.”
Daniel stood.
“Dinner.”
“I’m not done.”
“Exactly why we’re stopping.”
“Dad.”
“You’re yanking tools now.”
“I am not.”
“You just threw a screwdriver.”
“I set it down.”
“It bounced.”
She looked at the workbench.
The screwdriver had indeed bounced.
Daniel smiled.
“Food.”
Ellie reluctantly washed her hands.
At dinner, neither discussed the tractor.
Daniel deliberately talked about everything else.
A neighbor whose bull had escaped.
The school’s broken scoreboard.
Whether Ellie planned to enter the county mechanics competition again.