Almost Amish by Kathryn Cushman Page A

porch and into the kitchen. “I’m ba-ack.” The screen door slapped shut behind her, but there was no other reply. “Julie?”
    She looked around the kitchen. The dish drainer held the pie tin, washed and empty , the flour and butter had been put away, although there were still sprinkles of flour dotting the countertops and even a bit on the floor. “Julie?” She walked into the living room and found it empty, as well. Where was everyone?
    Whitney’s high-pitched laughter broke the silence. It sounded like she might be out in the side yard, so Susan went that way. She opened the door and saw Julie, Whitney, and Angie out by the clothesline. White lace curtains were stretched to cover two of the three rows of line, wooden clothespins holding them in place every few feet. “Hi, Aunt Susan.” Whitney was the first to see her, and she came bounding over. “What do you think of our new dryer? It’s the latest technological advance, guaranteed to dry clothes—and curtains—in the longest possible amount of time, while guaranteeing wrinkles on each and every item or your money back.”
    “Whitney, if you don’t get a job in infomercials someday, you have definitely missed your calling. Don’t you think so, Susan?” Julie’s face was flushed with laughter. “I can’t remember ever having this much fun doing laundry.”
    “How’s it going down at the shed?” Angie asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. “Did you get that guy all dialed in about what Brian needs?”
    “I’ll bet Brian tried to convince him to set up some vacuum-sealed, airtight, temperature-controlled command center.” Julie hadn’t stopped smiling since this conversation started. “What do you think of Gary?”
    “I don’t think of Gary.”
    The entire yard suddenly went quiet. Julie finished pinning up the length of curtain, then walked toward Susan. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, you know, is he going to be helpful?”
    Susan shrugged. “How should I know? I hardly talked to him, but he seems sufficient for the job. Speaking of which, why aren’t you working on the pie?”
    “Mom, we asked her to help us, okay? Can’t you relax for just one minute?” Angie’s former smile had melted into the tight-lipped frown that had become all too common as her teenaged years progressed.
    “Susan, I can more or less make a circular crust now. I’ve looked over several recipes for shoo-fly pie, but there’s not much I can do about that without the actual recipe I’m going to use and an oven. Besides, I wanted to spend some time out here with the girls.”
    “Sometimes you just have to make sacrifices.” Susan knew her voice came out sharp, but she didn’t care. This was important.
    Julie’s smile faded, and she looked as though she might cry. She stood there and looked toward Susan, then back toward the girls, then back toward Susan. “And sometimes there are other things more important. Now, loosen up those strings of perfection for a minute and come on over here and help us do the next load of curtains in our fancy washing machine.”
    It took every bit of Susan’s willpower not to unload everything right now. To tell them all about her conversation with Kendra, to let them know how close they still were to losing it all. No, that was her burden to bear and she wouldn’t dump it on them, but she did say, “We don’t have time for—”
    “Yes”—Julie’s voice was as firm as Susan had ever heard it—“we do. This is what this whole experiment is all about. It’s not about pies, or even clean curtains. It’s about slowing down enough to really spend time with the family.”
    Whitney gasped aloud. “Wow, Mom! Who knew you had all that in you?”
    Julie’s eyes grew wide, as if she was as surprised as everyone else that she’d actually spoken with such force. Her cheeks turned a bit pink; then she grinned and reached up to give a mock salute. “Troops dismissed.”
    “Aunt Julie, I’d forgotten how