The Crossroads

“We should talk to Mr. Wilcox,” said Judy. “If he was ten back in 1958, he’d be only what now? Sixty?”

“I’m afraid that might prove somewhat difficult,” said Mrs. Emerson.

“There’s a Wilcox family that lives close to our house. Their son plays with my stepson. Maybe they’re related.”

“Unfortunately, this particular Wilcox passed away a few years back. Tractor accident. He was a farmer. In fact, he owned all the land on both sides of the highway near your home. Rocky Hill Farms? That’s what Davy Wilcox called his place.”

“Davy?”

“Yes.”

“What about Davy’s father?”

“Oh, he died ages ago. I remember meeting him when I was a child. A man of very few words, he always wore this Huckleberry Finn straw hat….”

Judy stood up from the table. “I have to go home.”

“Is something wrong, dear?”

“Yes. Davy Wilcox is my stepson’s best friend. And—he’s only ten!”