The Crossroad Read Online Free Page B

been so excited upon hearing his account that while they were still in New England, she decided to look for some fabric to sew a long skirt. He’d gone with Janice and Kari to a fabric store, following them around as Kari looked for the “perfect print.” The material instantly reminded Philip of another flower print dress he’d seen while in Bird-in-Hand. It was very similar to a dress he had seen on Emma, the Mennonite woman who owned Emma’s Antique Shop.
    So here was Kari, presently modeling the finished project. “It’s as pretty as you said it would be,” he told her. “I’d say you could compete with any Plain woman I know!”
    With that, she burst into laughter again, and he felt the heat creep into his face. “Oh, so you do know a lady in Lancaster County.” She turned away, calling for her mother. “Mom! Guess what—Uncle Phil has a secret love in Amish country.”
    Secret love …
    When no reply came from the kitchen, Philip was more than relieved. No sense exposing that part of his Pennsylvania sojourn. He preferred to keep his passing interest in Rachel Yoder under wraps. That way, there could be no misunderstanding.
    “What sort of grade did your mom give you on your sewing project?” he asked, changing the subject rather naturally.
    “B plus.” Kari shrugged. “Mom doesn’t believe in perfection, you know.”
    Philip wondered how his sis was managing the home- schooling program she and Ken had chosen this year. “How’re you doing in language arts?” Dramatically, he pulled out a pen and tiny note pad from his shirt pocket.
    “Oh, so you’re going to take notes?” Quickly, Kari fluffed her hair. “Is this an interview?”
    “Just checking up, that’s all.”
    Her face shone with delight. “Tell Uncle Phil how school’s going, Dad.”
    Ken nodded, smiling. “Janice gives Kari plenty of writing assignments, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
    “Glad to hear it.” His niece had real writing talent, quite a surprising way of expressing herself. “Tell me about some of your essays.” He knew they existed because she’d dropped hints several times on their hiking trips.
    “She’s written some excellent poetry, too,” Ken added.
    “Oh, Daddy, please .”
    “No, really, hon. I believe you may be following in your uncle’s literary footsteps.”
    Philip had begun his early writing career by jotting down free verse during adolescence. He preferred to think of that youthful time as purely a phase, mainly because he had felt caught up in the tension of those turbulent years. But when he emerged safely into his early twenties, it was journalism that called to him. Not poetry.
    He put his pen and note pad away. “So you’re going to be a girl after my own journalistic heart.”
    “I’m not a girl, Uncle Phil. I’m almost a teenager!”
    “Hang on to your youth, kiddo.” With that, he found himself pummeled with sofa pillows. Even Ken joined in the trouncing, picking up pillows and tossing them to Kari.
    It was Janice’s dinner bell and “Time to wash up for supper” that brought their rambunctious play to an end.
    “We’re having pork chops,” Kari announced after they’d taken turns washing hands.
    “Really? Where’d you get the recipe?” Philip asked, nearly forgetting himself.
    Janice’s brown eyes shot daggers across the table. “What do you mean, where ? It’s my recipe…. I’ve been making it for fifteen years.”
    He would not reveal his thoughts—that Kari’s innocent announcement and the tantalizing aroma of broiled pork chops had sent him drifting back to another supper, served with an astonishing array of colorful and tasty side dishes, freshly baked bread and real butter, various condiments, and sumptuous desserts.
    It was well after supper when Philip brought up the subject he had been researching on the Internet—the treatment for various hysterical disorders. Especially blindness. He hadn’t fully understood Susanna Zook’s