Free Almost Amish by Kathryn Cushman Page A

toward the back door. “Gary and Chris are about to unload it right now.”
    Julie wondered why Kendra would be so obviously delighted about something so mundane. And why would she feel the need to have the camera crew follow her into the house when she made this announcement?
    Whatever the reason, it temporarily freed her from her doughy task, so she gratefully plopped the dough into the mixing bowl, washed the flour off her hands and forearms, and followed Kendra through the door to the back porch. She stopped short when she saw what was in the back of the rusted white pickup truck parked outside. “What is that?”
    “I told you, it’s your new washing machine.” Kendra walked over to the truck and put her hand on what looked to Julie like a half barrel with legs sticking out of it, and some sort of device sticking up from one end. “Its design is based on the washing machines of the past, but there have been a few modifications that make it work a little better. The triangular shape of the agitator, for instance, supposedly makes the soap move through the clothes better.”
    Julie heard whispering and turned to see Angie saying something to Whitney, who nodded her head every couple of seconds. Then she looked up and said, “Wait just a second. We’ve done some research about the Amish, and this is not what they use. They use gas-powered washers. We”—she looked at Angie, who looked down—“I think they might have those wringer things, but they don’t have the complete hand-wash unit like that.”
    Kendra’s expression went from delighted to something far less civil. Whitney had been the one to challenge her, and Julie could see that the woman’s face bordered on downright agitation. “Well, I’m glad to see you did some research, Whitney. That is always an admirable quality—one that is often lacking in children your age. I’m sure your mother is happy to hear about your research, too. You’re focusing too much on the specific details. Our segment is being called Going Almost Amish . I know you know the almost word—you have used it yourself in order to avoid plain dresses, outhouses, and a house without air-conditioning. You’ve used it to barter for your brother’s telescopes. Now I guess I’m using it to introduce you to your new washing machine.”
    “Whatever,” Whitney mumbled, her face splotched red with anger. Or embarrassment. Julie wasn’t quite certain.
    Chris stood at the tailgate beside a man Julie had not yet seen. He was older, maybe mid-fifties. He had gray hair and wore faded jeans and a denim shirt, but something about the way he held himself made him seem a bit refined. “Where do you want it?” he asked.
    “Just outside the back porch, the one off the kitchen.”
    The men set it in place. It was obvious from the strain of their arms that it was heavy, but neither of them gave any outward expression to show this. Chris’s face remained as impassive as if he were watching paint dry, and the older man had something of a smile on his face. “How’s this?”
    Kendra nodded. “Just right. Thank you.” She turned toward the family then. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet your handyman.” She walked over closer to the older man. “You’ll be seeing a lot of him. He’ll be the one teaching you how to take care of the animals, repair fences, grow your vegetables—whatever it is that you need help with.”
    Gary nodded a greeting toward the group, and only then did Julie notice his eyes. They were that incredible shade of blue she’d always thought of as Paul Newman–esque. In fact, Gary was nice looking all around, in a rugged sort of way. “I have a rudimentary understanding of how this contraption works, if you’d like me to show you what I know. Just need some hot water and some laundry soap.”
    Julie couldn’t help casting a glance toward Susan. Susan was looking at him, no doubt about it. Not gawking, by any means, but how long had it been since Susan had