“Why?” “Dad taught me where manufacturers changed brackets between production periods.”
Harvey stared. “Your father was a dangerous man.”
May smiled. “Mom says the same thing.”
The missing carburetor took six weeks to locate. Leonard found one in Nebraska from the correct general period, though May insisted they verify casting information before buying it. Harvey complained that the child was turning a tractor rebuild into archaeology. Mr. Jensen answered, “That’s because you rebuild tractors and she’s trying to understand one.”
May liked that distinction. She wrote it in her notebook.
By spring, Lot 117 no longer looked abandoned. The major engine components had returned from machining, brake parts were organized on a table, new wiring waited in labeled coils, and one correct rear rim had been found through a collector in Missouri. They still had not painted anything.
Visitors asked why. May gave the same answer each time.
“Because paint can hide things.” That was all.
One Saturday, Randall Pritchard stopped by with coffee and stood beside May while she compared a casting number against photocopied production tables. “You still mad at me?” he asked. May looked confused.
“For what?”
“Telling you to put down your paddle.” May considered.
“A little.”
Randall nodded. “Fair.”
“You thought I was stupid.” “I thought you were eleven.”
“That’s not the same thing.” Randall looked toward the tractor.
“I know that now.”
May studied him. “You could’ve asked before laughing.”
Randall smiled sadly. “That would’ve been smarter.”
The conversation mattered to May more than the gaskets Randall had brought. She had spent months replaying the auction and imagining clever answers she wished she had given. Hearing an adult admit he had been wrong felt different from defeating him.
By early summer, the engine was ready for preliminary assembly. Harvey suggested painting the block before installation, but May wanted one more inspection of every stamped and cast number first. She spent an entire afternoon cross-checking dates while Harvey pretended not to watch her.
Eventually he said, “Your numbers line up strangely tight.” May froze.
“Meaning?”
“Engine, transmission case, rear housing.” Harvey scratched his chin.
“Closer than I expected for something with this many replacement parts.”
May said nothing. Harvey looked at her.
“You already knew that too.” She returned to the notebook.
“I hoped.”