The Keeper Read Online Free PDF Page A

“I’d be a watchin’ yourself.” His face broke into a big toothy grin. “I smell a trap brewing!”
    “We don’t need help,” Julia said crisply.
    Peering over his spectacles, Uncle Hank looked around the room. Clutter was everywhere. The kitchen was the worst. Countertops were buried underneath a motley assortment of newspapers and mail. Last night’s food-encrusted dinner dishes were still piled in the sink. Even the pattern on the linoleum floor was hard to make out, littered with grass clippings that Menno had tracked into the kitchen and somehow managed to spread through the house. Furniture was shrouded under a white film of dust. They had worked so hard to get it all cleaned up before they hosted church, barely a month ago—that infamous morning when the bottles exploded. But since then, they had been working fourteen hours a day to get the fields ready to plant.
    “We’ve been pruning the orchards and planting the crops and taking care of the animals and trying to get the roadside stand up and going . . . ,” Julia started, but even she couldn’t deny any longer that they were in over their heads. Her time passed in a blur of trying to get the farm ready for another growing season, caring for her sisters and brother, and tending to her father. It didn’t help that Amos was an awful patient, ornery at being so confined, short-tempered and demanding. She fell into bed exhausted each night, woke in the morning, and started all over again.
    “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to have a little help, Julia,” Sadie said quietly. “Just until Dad is better.”
    “That’s right, Sadie girl!” Uncle Hank boomed, right into Sadie’s ear, and she cringed. “I’m sure Fern Graber is a fine housekeeper and a real good cook. And I’ll do alls I can to help out in them fields too, when I get a little more caught up out in the buggy shop.”
    Julia had to bite her lower lip not to spit out the words that wanted to roll off her tongue: Uncle Hank could be counted on for one thing—he couldn’t be counted on.
    Uncle Hank circled behind Menno’s chair and put a large hand on his shoulder. “But as for this beautiful spring morning, Menno and I have work cut out for us. We’re gonna head to town and meet this Fern Graber at the iron horse!”
    Menno looked at his father. “What’s an iron horse?”
    “It’s an old-fashioned word for a train,” Amos said.
    Menno thought that over for a long moment, then threw back his head and barked out that single, joyous “Haw!” that distinguished his laugh from everyone else’s.
    “Let’s be off, Menno!” Uncle Hank shouted. “But first things first. We’ll swing by Blue Lake Pond to see if the croppy is bitin’. After all, spring is upon us!”
    Menno jumped out of his chair and grabbed his straw hat off the bench. Uncle Hank tipped his hat to everyone as he held the kitchen door open for Menno. Amos looked longingly after them, watching the two men—one old, one young—head down the path with their fishing poles in their hands and a bucket of bait.

3
    A s M.K. drew close to the house on her way home from school that afternoon, the smell of something savory drifted her way from the open kitchen window. It was Tuesday, Haystack Day, but the smell coming out of the kitchen wasn’t anything like Sadie’s Haystacks. She eased into the kitchen, as quiet as a person could possibly be. A pot of beef stew simmered on the stovetop, filling the room with a savory aroma.
    Her eyes landed on the most glorious sight in the world: On the counter next to the oven were thick chocolate chip cookies, cooling on a rack. M.K. grabbed a cookie and took a bite. Bliss! Which could only be improved upon with a glass of cold milk. M.K. reached into the refrigerator to get the milk pitcher.
    “Get your hands out of that refrigerator!” a no-nonsense voice called out without so much as a how are you today . M.K. nearly jumped out of her skin. She spun around and