The Pumpkin Wagon

Part One · Bigger Than a Hat

In May, Grandpa gave Nell a pumpkin seed in a paper cup. "If it grows bigger than my hat," he said, "bring it down the lane to my house, and we will make a pie." Nell planted the seed by the garden fence. She gave it water every single morning, all summer long.

By fall, the pumpkin was huge, as orange as a sunset and bigger than any hat. It was bigger than two hats together. Dad cut the thick vine for her, and then he knocked on the pumpkin with his knuckles. It made a deep hollow sound, like a drum.

Nell lined the old red wagon with hay, and Dad helped her roll the pumpkin in. The wagon sank low on its wheels and gave a rusty squeak. Dad asked if she wanted him to come along. "I grew it," said Nell, "so I will take it." He smiled and waved from the gate.

The lane ran down the hill to Grandpa's house, and it was full of ruts and wet brown leaves. The wagon rattled and bumped along the whole way. Halfway down, there was a loud pop, and the wagon tipped over to one side. A back wheel rolled off into the grass.

The pumpkin slid, but it stayed in the wagon. Nell got down on her knees to look at the wheel. A little metal pin was meant to hold it on, and the pin was gone. She looked in the grass and under the leaves. All she found was a snail on a wet stick.

Nell tried to lift the pumpkin out, but it did not move one inch. Then she tried to push the wagon along on three wheels. It dragged and dug a line in the dirt, and the pumpkin slid toward the open edge. Nell stopped before it could fall out.

Part Two · The Bee

Nell sat down on a flat stone. She could walk back up the hill and get Dad. But the sun was already low, and she had said she would take it herself. She looked at the hole where the pin had been. Something had to go through that hole to hold the wheel on.

She tried a twig, but it snapped on the very first bump. She tried a long blade of grass, and it slid right out. She tried a bent stick, and the wheel wobbled off again. Nell blew her hair out of her eyes, and that was when she felt her clip.

The clip was a little yellow bee with black stripes. Grandma had given it to her on her birthday, and it was her favorite thing. It was made of metal, and metal can bend. But if she bent it open, it would never look like a bee again.

Nell looked at the bee for a long moment. Then she bent it open and pushed it through the hole. She bent the end up so it could not slip out. She set the wheel back on. It wobbled once, and then it held. "Sorry, bee," said Nell, and she pulled the wagon on.

She went slowly the rest of the way down. At every bump she held her breath, and at every bump the wheel held. At the bottom of the lane, Grandpa was on his porch, shelling beans into a bowl. He looked up, and the bowl nearly fell off his lap.

Grandpa came down the steps, took off his hat, and set it on top of the pumpkin. It looked like a tiny cap on a hill. He laughed until he had to sit down on the bottom step, and then he saw the wheel. "What is holding that on?" he asked. "A bee," said Nell.

They made the pie that night, and the whole house smelled sweet and warm. The bent bee stayed on the wagon wheel all winter long. In spring, Grandpa gave Nell a new pumpkin seed in a new paper cup. The bee is still on the wheel. It is still holding on.