Journey to Cairo
an excerpt

Evelyn brought their lunch to them, but the pouty, sour expression on her face told them it was best not to ask questions. She was only eleven, and their mother could have gotten mad at her, or told her to do something she didn’t want to do. She handed the basket over without a word, and turned and picked her way back across the ditch and dry July grass towards the fringe of trees and shrubbery that separated the fields from the farmhouse. The boys didn’t think anything of it until the sun started to set, and around six o’clock their uncle and the other four field hands got in their truck to head for their home two miles down the road. Robert and Edward headed home, crossing the same ditch Evelyn had crossed, their feet plodding through the crackling grass and weeds and red dust, as they followed the familiar path.

But as they approached the house, Dorothy stepped out on the top step, her twelve-year-old face looking unusual stern and firm as she crossed her arms and scowled at her brothers. They stopped in front of her.