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because they were so difficult to harvest. She could help Myra with that, if she was still here. Samuel watched her, his face unreadable. She gestured with the basket.
    “I’m going to get some peppers to roast. Myra wants to put some up.”
    He nodded, looking at her as if knowing that wasn’t all that was on her mind.
    Annoyance pricked at her. “Who was the Englischer?”
    “His name is Bartlett.”
    He was telling her as little as possible. Why?
    “Did he say anything about me?”
    Now something did flicker in Samuel’s eyes—surprise, maybe. “Mr. Bartlett has a troublesome horse he wants me to work with. That’s why he came here, to ask me about the animal.”
    “I see.” She tried to smile. “I’m glad you’re getting some more business.” She hitched up the basket. “I’d better get on with the peppers.”
    She started to turn away. Samuel reached out, his hand clasping her wrist. She stopped, startled, feeling the warmth of his grip.
    “Why would you think the Englischer had come about you, Anna?”
    “I . . . I don’t.” She’d been an idiot, asking him that. “I just wondered. I mean, I suppose my coming back made a lot of talk.”
    “Among the Leit.” The Amish. “Why would the English know? Or care?”
    “They wouldn’t.” She tugged at his hand, feeling the strength of his grip. “What are the Amish saying, then? You’re in a position to tell them plenty, aren’t you?”
    His face tightened, making him look far older than she knew him to be. “I would not do that, and I think you know it.”
    She’d rather hang on to her anger, but he was right. That didn’t make her feel any more kindly toward him. She took a breath. “Sorry.” The apology was ungracious, but it was the best she could do. “I don’t believe you’d gossip about me.”
    He let her hand go, a smile flickering across his face. “I’m the last person who’d do that. I remember too well what it was like when I came back.”
    “Plenty of talk, I suppose.”
    “Ach, it soon died down. They found something else to talk about.”
    “ Someone else, more likely.” Her shoulders moved, as if to shake off the sense of people watching. Commenting. “That was one of the reasons I left. I hated everyone thinking they had the right to talk about what I was doing.”
    “Even when it was kindly meant?”
    “That was the worst.” He wouldn’t understand. How could he?
    Samuel’s hazel eyes were serious, intent on her face. “You don’t like people taking an interest in you.”
    “Not when it means they think they have the right to judge.” Her temper flared again in an instant. “I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now.”
    He continued to stare at her without a visible reaction, his face impassive. “That might make it a little hard to go before the congregation with a humble heart, don’t you think?”
    How did he know to press on exactly the point that bothered her most? She fought down the surge of temper that only he seemed able to unleash in her.
    “That’s between Bishop Mose and me, Samuel. Or are you wanting to be chosen for a minister the next time it comes around?”
    “I could not do that.” He pushed that idea away with a quick, instinctive movement of his hands. “But I do know what it’s like to come back after living English. I can see that something is wrong, Anna. If there’s anything you want to talk about, anything you think maybe the others wouldn’t understand—”
    “There’s nothing!” She snapped the words, not sure whether anger or fear predominated in her heart. “There’s nothing wrong, and I’d be pleased if you’d mind your own business.”
    Clutching the basket, she brushed past him and hurried to the garden.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Anna slid the skin from one of the peaches Myra had scalded, the fruit smooth and heavy in her hand. She hadn’t done this in a long while, but the technique came back to her, as if her fingers remembered what her mind had