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  “Good morning, Margaret.”

  The cheery voice belonged to Mrs. Baker, who had been the first person to speak to Margaret on her first Sunday in town, four and a half years ago. At the time, Margaret thought her friendly and welcoming. Over the years she had realized Mrs. Baker simply liked to know everything that went on.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Baker,” Margaret said. Gray’s light touch on her elbow steered her away from the encounter.

  “People are starting to whisper about us,” Gray said into Margaret’s ear.

  Margaret was well aware. People whispered if she and Gray sat together in church, and they whispered if they did not. She had not meant for her relationship with Gray, as ill defined as it was, to come under speculation. Rumors would fly if she broke it off with him—or if she didn’t.

  They sat in Gray’s regular pew. When she came on her own, Margaret sat on the other side of the sanctuary and farther back. Everything felt odd from this perspective. The minister’s voice intoned more deeply. The organ swells sounded reedy. The angle of the light coming through the front windows washed out the faces of the choir. The scent of flowers on the altar tickled Margaret’s nose. More than once, as the choir sang an invocation and the minister announced the opening hymn, the urge to flee to the comforts of her own habits circulated through Margaret’s veins.

  And then the congregation stood, and Gray opened a hymnal and placed it so they could both see it. Margaret’s mouth moved, but little sound came out. Instead, she was enthralled with the notes coming from Gray. He sang the most exquisite tenor harmonies, earnest and confident and the sort of lilting sound Margaret could listen to for her whole life and never tire. Margaret had not heard Gray sing outside of church. What else did Gray sing other than church hymns? Folk songs? Love songs? Ballads? Opera? Perhaps nothing.

  As the third stanza began, Margaret tried to sing more robustly. Her voice was no match for Gray’s.

  Perhaps she was no match for Gray at all. Her stomach solidified every time they talked about the Amish. They never disagreed about anything else that Margaret could remember. It wasn’t that she thought husband and wife must agree on every point. But if Gray could think as little of the Amish as he seemed to, who else would he be willing to dismiss for his own convenience?

  Once Gray knew that Margaret intended to help Ella Hilty get the Amish school running smoothly, that could be the end of them.

  And perhaps it should be.

  If they stopped now, they might maintain a sincere friendship without expecting more from each other. Margaret would find a way to gradually see less of Gray. She would get used to being on her own again, as she had so long expected to be, and his attentions could turn elsewhere.

  If only she didn’t love having him near.

  After church, Margaret took the arm Gray offered for the stroll to his brother’s house. During the weeks of their casual courtship, the only time Gray had spoken of his brother was the day of the auction.

  “What does your brother do?” Margaret asked. “When he’s not setting up tents.”

  “Whatever he likes,” Gray said.

  “Is that a way of saying his employment is … unstable?”

  “You might say that. He used to run the old farm after our parents … but he ran it into the ground. I had to insist he sell and move into town. Sometimes I hire him to help me, but he’s picky about what he’s willing to do.”

  Under her fingers, Margaret felt the muscle of Gray’s arm stiffen.

  “I’ll warn you. Braden is Braden,” Gray said. “A little rough around the edges. Don’t take him too seriously.”

  “It’s kind of him to have us for Sunday dinner.”

  “He knows I’ve been courting someone. I wanted to wait until you and I knew each other better before introducing Braden.”

  Margaret fought the grimace her face seemed determined to form. She never should have agreed to meet Gray’s brother, not under the weight of doubt that they were meant for each other.

  They ambled toward a gray-shingled house on a corner.

  “Here it is.”

  Gray knocked on the door and then patted Margaret’s hand while they listened to the shifting footsteps inside. When the door opened, Margaret stared into the familiar features of Gray’s face. The eyes were a lighter brown, but they were set at the exact distance from the nose as Gray’s—the same slender nose with its gentle slope. The black curly hair was cut slightly longer than Gray’s with more flecks of gray, but the widow’s peak notched the forehead in the same spot.

  Margaret’s breath caught and she glanced at Gray.

  “Are we twins?” Gray said. “No. Just one stubborn combination of genes.”

  Margaret smiled through the doorway at the man who had not yet spoken.

  “Braden,” Gray said, “I would like you to meet Miss Margaret Simpson. Margaret, this is my older brother.”

  “Please come in,” Braden said. “It may take me a few minutes to get everything on the table.”

  “I would be happy to help,” Margaret said, stepping into a hall that ran through the lower story of the house, with a parlor and dining room on one side and—she supposed—the kitchen on the other side at the back, behind a room with a closed door.

  “Not necessary,” Braden said, turning to walk to the back of the house.

  Gray nudged Margaret’s elbow. They stepped into the parlor, and he leaned in to whisper, “I warned you he’s rough around the edges.”

  Margaret looked at the adjoining room, where a table had been laid with a level of care that suggested a woman’s touch.

  “Is Braden married?” she whispered.

  Gray rolled his eyes. “Goodness, no.”

  Braden emerged from the kitchen with a platter of sliced ham in one hand and a bowl heaped with mashed potatoes in the other.

  “I told her there were only three of us,” Braden muttered, setting the dishes on the table.

  “Her?” Margaret said

  “The housekeeper,” Braden said. “She never listens. She made two vegetables. Who needs two vegetables?”

  Braden disappeared into the kitchen again.

  “Let’s sit down,” Gray said, gesturing to the table. He pulled a chair out for Margaret, and she arranged herself in it.

  Braden returned with two hot vegetable dishes. “If things are overcooked, it’s her fault. I only followed the instructions she left to put everything in the oven.”

  “It all looks lovely,” Margaret said.

  Braden grunted and sat down.

  “I agree,” Gray said. “You should try to hang on to this one, instead of chasing her off like all the others.”

  Braden glared at Gray. The fire in his eyes startled Margaret.

  “I could say the same to you,” Braden said, glancing at Margaret. “Are you going to hang on to this one?”

  “If meeting you doesn’t frighten her off,” Gray said, “I just might.”

  Margaret’s legs were ready to bolt, but her mother had been a stickler for manners, so she concentrated on keeping her feet flat on the floor under the table.

  “Let’s eat,” Braden said.

  “Margaret likes to return thanks before a meal,” Gray said, bowing his head.

  Margaret bowed also, listening to the simple prayer of blessing for the meal that Gray spoke. When he finished, Braden picked up the platter of meat and offered it to Margaret.

  “I heard about the trouble on your street,” Braden said. “Twice now, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Margaret guarded her response as she laid a slice of ham on her plate.

  “You should be careful,” Braden said. “I would hate for any harm to come to my brother’s friend.”

  Gertie and Savilla gripped the sides of Ella’s cart while she rumbled to Gideon’s farm after school on Monday. Each day, it felt more and more natural to spend her afternoon hours with Gideon’s family, and the children had gotten used to having her there, even Tobias. The wedding was less tha
n six weeks away. Ella found comfort in establishing some routines now, before she married Gideon. The adjustment in December would be easier for everyone, including Miriam. Ella pulled around to the side of the barn and unhitched the cart to let the horse graze in the pasture. The girls ran ahead into the house. By the time Ella got there, Savilla stood in the kitchen with her face scrunched up.

  “What’s the matter, Savilla?” Ella said.

  “It’s almost three thirty,” Savilla said.

  “Yes, that’s right.” Ella set a stack of books on the counter.

  “Look at the food.”

  Ella glanced around the kitchen. Two winter squash from the garden. Eight potatoes, three of them cut in half. A plate with half a beef roast.

  “It looks like Miriam is getting a head start on supper,” Ella said.

  Savilla shook her head and picked up a cut potato. “This is turning brown. She wouldn’t leave food around to turn brown.” Savilla touched the roast. “And this isn’t cold. If she had just taken it from the icebox, it would still be cold. She hasn’t been here in a long time.”

  Apprehension shivered through Ella.

  “Aunti Miriam always has a snack out for us,” Savilla said. “Milk and cookies or some strudel.”

  Savilla was right.

  “Go see if she’s upstairs.”

  “Daed told her the upstairs was our responsibility now,” Savilla said.

  “Let’s just make sure,” Ella said. Miriam could be stubborn.

  While Savilla scampered up the stairs, Ella stepped out on the back stoop to scan the yard. Miriam could have decided to hang sheets to dry, pull overgrowth from the depleted vegetable garden, or do something else equally innocuous.

  Savilla thundered down the stairs. “She’s not anywhere in the house.”

  Gertie’s shout came from the dawdihaus. Ella and Savilla raced across the yard and burst into the small home where James and Miriam lived and ran through to the bedroom.

  “She won’t wake up,” Gertie said.

  Ella gulped air. “Has she said anything?”

  “I can’t understand what she’s saying,” Gertie said. She thumped Miriam’s shoulder.

  Miriam lay on the bed, pale, but beginning to thrash against the quilt.

  “Napping,” Miriam said. “Just … a few minutes.”

  Ella touched Gertie’s shoulder to nudge her out of the way. “Miriam,” she said, “are you feeling unwell?”

  “No,” Miriam said, trying to push herself up on one elbow.

  Ella looked into Miriam’s unfocused eyes. “Perhaps you should rest a little longer.”

  “I’ll make supper,” Miriam said. “It will just have to be simpler than I planned.”

  “I’ll look after supper,” Ella said. “The girls and I will start by making you some soup.”

  “Soup is for sick people,” Miriam said. “I may be a tired old woman, but I’m not sick.”

  “We’ll find something else, then. But you don’t have to worry about it.” Ella turned to Savilla. “Can you finish chopping the potatoes?”

  Savilla nodded.

  “And Gertie,” Ella said, “you can set the table for supper. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Is Aunti Miriam coming?” Gertie asked.

  “Shh,” Savilla said, grabbing Gertie’s hand. “Come on.”

  Miriam was sitting up now. Ella debated between encouraging Miriam to lie down again and taking her to the main house where Ella could keep an eye on Miriam and the girls at the same time.

  “How about some tea?” Ella said.

  “James will want kaffi,” Miriam said, rubbing an eye with one hand.

  “Kaffi, then,” Ella said. “I’ll make a pot here and you can take a cup over to the main house.”

  The door opened, and a man’s footfalls approached.

  “James?” Miriam said.

  He appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on in here?”

  “I took a nap,” Miriam said. “Ella and the girls are determined to make a fuss.”

  Ella exchanged a glance with James.

  “Well, if you’re tired,” James said, “you should have a nap. You know I’m always telling you that.”

  “It’s nothing.” Miriam leaned on James’s arm and stood up. “How were things in Seabury today?”

  “Our prayers for peace have been answered at last,” James said. “The war in Europe is over. The armistice was signed this morning in Paris. It’s all the English are talking about in town.”

  Miriam put her hand over her heart. “Many mothers and fathers will be glad to have their sons home again in one piece.”

  “I was just going to make kaffi,” Ella said.

  James smiled. “Kaffi is always a good decision.”

  Miriam threw off James’s supporting arm. “I’ll make the kaffi.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?” James evaluated the features of his wife’s face. Extra lines fanned out from the corners of her eyes, and the color of her cheeks lacked its usual height.

  “Old man, just go,” Miriam said. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you’ve neatly arranged the day so I won’t be alone for more than thirty minutes?”

  That much was true. James had invited the group of Amish parents, both fathers and mothers, to meet at the new schoolhouse after the students left on Tuesday afternoon. Ella would stay for the meeting, but the children would go home from school and Tobias would stay within shouting distance while he did the barn chores. If something happened, Tobias could take a horse and gallop for help.

  “Well, if you’re sure.” James kissed Miriam’s cheek.

  “I was tired yesterday,” Miriam said. “Can’t a person take a nap without everyone declaring it a medical emergency?”

  It was not just one nap. It was more and more naps. It was lost color in the face. It was a slower walk than James had ever seen in his spunky wife. But he knew when to keep his thoughts sealed.

  “I’ll try to make the meeting short and to the point,” he said before leaving.

  His extra moments with Miriam meant that when James arrived at the schoolhouse, parents already milled, awaiting someone who would take charge. Ella was dragging the smallest desks out of the way and encouraging parents to take seats in the desks large enough to accommodate them. Aaron King had thought to bring three of the church benches and was setting them up around the perimeter of the room.

  “Shall we start as soon as everyone has a seat?” Ella asked.

  The one person James most needed was nowhere in sight. James would have to do his best and hope the guest would still turn up.

  Gideon took a seat in the front row, and Ella sat beside him. Behind them others quieted. James stood and faced the assembly and cleared his throat.

  “We would all agree,” he began, “that the children of our church district are the future of our congregation. As a church, our obligation to them is to prepare them for eternal life in the kingdom of God. For this reason, the nature of their education is important to all of us.”

  James paused and glanced out the windows behind the rows of parents. He assumed his guest would arrive in an automobile. The row of horses and buggies would assure him he had found the right location. James wasn’t sure how much further into the meeting he could go on his own.

  “Although I am neither a father nor a minister,” James continued, “I want the best for our congregation. I want to know our children are on the path to salvation and not ensnared by worldly ways. For this reason, when Chester Mast began building this school that shelters us now, I was happy to help. Some of you have chosen to send your kinner here for Ella Hilty to be their teacher. Others are concerned about English retribution if your children do not attend their schools.”

  The sound of an automobile caused a few heads to turn. James breathed relief.

  “I have taken the liberty of speaking to an English attorney,” James said, “and I’m happy to s
ee that he has just arrived. My hope is that he will help us understand the English system more fully.”

  A car door slammed. Restless parents squirmed to see who would enter the building. James paced to the back of the room and opened the door.

  “Thank you for coming,” James said softly.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Percival Eggar said. “These farm roads and oak trees all look very much alike. You really do ‘live apart.’”

  James led the way to the front of the room. “This is Mr. Percival Eggar,” he said. “I met with him last week in his office, and I am confident that he can help us understand the risks and consequences of the choices fathers face as individuals, as well as our congregation, as we look for a way to stand together.”

  Percival set a briefcase on Ella’s desk. “In my office, Mr. Lehman laid out for me the events to this point—the notices from the school district, the pressure to enroll your children in the consolidated schools in Seabury, the fines as a consequence of noncompliance, and the decision to open and operate this school as a private institution not subject to the regulations of the school district.”

  Isaiah Borntrager raised a hand. James acknowledged it.

  “Why do we need an attorney?” Isaiah said. “They’re our children, and we’ll do what we think is best for them.”

  “I’m only here,” Percival said, “to help you understand your legal standing. I’m afraid the fines you’ve paid are only the beginning of your exposure.”

  “The United States is a place of religious freedom,” Chester Mast said. “That’s all we’re doing with opening this school.”

  Percival pointed at Chester. “That is exactly right. But the right to practice religion in a manner that conflicts with established law is bound to cause complications of interpretation.”

  “Don’t we have a right to believe what the Bible says?” John Hershberger said.

  “Of course you do,” Percival said. “The question is whether we can establish that your actions with regard to the education of your children fall into the category of religious belief. Some would argue that you are free to believe as you choose, but you still must obey the law.”