Read Online The Crossroad by Beverly Lewis - Free Book Online Page B

was another story. There the wood floors were as cold as a frozen pond, and she’d discovered it firsthand. As a child she’d stuck out a brave big toe on more than one occasion. Quickly, she would retrieve her bare foot and slide it back under the warm quilts, all the while shivering at the thought of facing the morning. Pleading for one or more of her older sisters to bring her a pair of long johns—and warm socks—she waited for her requests to be granted, putting up with occasional teasing. So she dressed before actually emerging from bed, similar to the way she lived most of her youthful days, shy and retiring.
    This December morning a bitter wind had blown about flakes of light snow, reminding her anew of those childhood days. She’d gotten up early as usual and bundled up for the trip to Reading, accepting the arm of their usual Mennonite driver—Calvin Witwer—who’d come for her at the door.
    “It’s not snowing as much now,” he said as they made their way to the waiting van.
    “Are the roads cleared off, then?”
    “Plowed and sanded. Shouldn’t have any trouble getting to where you wanna go.” Calvin helped her inside the warm vehicle, and they were off to pick up Lavina.
    Rachel’s thoughts ambled back to the first time she’d ever gone anyplace with her father by herself. It, too, had been a wintry day. Mid-January. She had been ’bout eight, prob’ly, and had need of some needles and thread for a practice quilt she was making with her sisters Lizzy and Mary.
    “ Kumm mit! ” Dat had called to her, offering to stop at Beiler’s Country Market on the way to Bird-in-Hand.
    “All’s I need is some sewin’ needles and thread,” she’d replied, skipping down the back porch steps to the waiting carriage.
    Mamma had come to the back door, calling that it was all right to go. “Have a gut time with your pop.”
    Rachel, silent as always, had realized just then that none of her sisters or brothers—or Mam—were comin’ this morning. Just her and Dat.
    “Well, now, hop in, Rachel. I’ll take-a-you along.” And Dat helped her up into the enclosed gray buggy, covering her real gut with several warm lap robes.
    She remembered feeling a bit more grown-up than she’d ever felt before in her young life. To think that Dat was taking her for a buggy ride to the store, and all by herself. Well, now, must he be thinkin’ his little girl was ready for such an adventure on a snowy day?
    The horse had trotted slower than usual, but that didn’t seem to bother Dat. He was gentle and kind to the animal, letting the mare set her own pace. And, funniest thing, Dat talked a blue streak, never stoppin’ once to ask her a thing, though, ’cause she was just too shy to answer him. But that day, that day, she had begun to change her mind ’bout having a conversation with adults. Talkin’ with a grown-up didn’t seem all that frightening anymore.
    Maybe it was the way the snow fell quietly, like a curtain ’round them, as they made their way down the long road. Or maybe it was Dat’s voice lulling her, oh so steadily, keepin’ her mind off herself for once—she didn’t know, really—but something stuck in her childish mind ’bout that wintry ride to market.
    When they arrived at the little country store, already there were two buggies parked out front. The folk who shopped here, her mamma had always said, liked cookin’ from scratch, as if there was any other way. And the shop owner, Joe Beiler, seemed to know it, too. So after locating the exact sewin’ needles she wanted and three colors of fine thread, she wandered over to the dry goods section while Dat chewed the fat with Joe.
    What she discovered made her eyes pop out nearly. Why, there was an amazing assortment of beans—seven kinds in all—and ten different noodles, along with six varieties of flour. All sorts of dried fruits, too, including raisins and dates. Nuts and oodles of other dry goods were on display along the long wooden