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into the kitchen. She set her crocheting down on the table and went to stir the beef stew simmering for dinner. How Suzy’s death had come about was not at all clear to her. The Fisher family had said only that she had gone boating with some friends and an accident had occurred, although Nellie had shared a bit more privately with Rosanna. More than was necessary to be told around, she had added.
    So an Englischer had been Suzy’s downfall—her boyfriend, no less. Rosanna leaned over the pot of stew to taste it, adding more seasoning. What would possess a girl to go that route when there were so many nice Amish boys?
    For certain, Nellie Mae knew more than she was saying, and it wasn’t Rosanna’s place to pry. To Nellie’s credit, it took some amount of restraint to be tight-lipped—especially when Nellie had always said she felt “ever so comfortable” with Rosanna. From their first encounter as young girls till now, the two had shared openly.
    Yet Rosanna had noticed that despite Nellie’s sorrow, she looked almost radiant at times. Was Nellie sweet on someone? And if so, why hadn’t she confided it as she always had before with every boy Nellie’d liked even a smidgen? There was an air of mystery around Nellie lately, which wasn’t like her. If there was a young man, Nellie Mae had evidently decided to keep this one a secret.
    Lovingly now, Rosanna touched the unfinished blanket that would warm her baby this winter. Unexpected tears sprang to her eyes. She thought of the last infant she’d seen, at Preaching service last week, and the way the baby had snuggled so blissfully in her mother’s arms. She could only imagine what it might feel like to hold the wee one who was to be her own.
    “Will it be a son for Elias? Or a daughter for me?” she said softly, bringing the beginnings of the crocheted blanket to her cheek and holding it there.

    They’d all had their Saturday night baths, thanks to Dat, who’d built on a small washroom at the east side of the kitchen two months ago. Nellie was most grateful for a bathtub with running water where she could enjoy the privacy of bathing in a locked room. And she secretly liked having the medicine chest with its small mirror affixed to the wall. Having such luxuries certainly spoiled one.
    Nellie and Mamma were sitting on Nellie’s bed after Bible reading and silent prayers, their long hair still quite damp. “’Tis best not to yearn for what used to be,” Mamma said. “Even though I’d like to turn back the clock somehow.”
    “I think we all would, ain’t so?”
    Mamma nodded sadly. “Every day.” She paused and her face flushed as if she was eager to say something private.
    “Aw, Mamma.” Nellie touched her mother’s hand.
    Her mother sniffled. “I dream of Suzy so often.”
    Nellie rose and picked up her brush from the dresser, feeling a twinge of regret. Why don’t I dream of Suzy?
    Oh, how she’d longed to. The fact that she hadn’t—or couldn’t—troubled her greatly. Did this happen to others who grieved? Was it because she kept pushing the guilt away? Was she pushing away the memories, too?
    Her mother reached for the brush. “Here . . . sit awhile. I’ll help you get your tangles out.” She stood and began to brush through Nellie’s long hair.
    Nellie sighed, enjoying Mamma’s gentle brushing. She dared not tell a soul, but she had begun to forget what her sister looked like. Try as she might, Suzy’s features were beginning to fade, and Nellie felt panicky at the thought. For the first time, she yearned for one of those fancy photographs. Yet even without it, how could she forget her own sister’s face? So many things didn’t make sense . . . starting with the stunted sweet corn . . . and now all the talk amongst the People.
    Was this a sign of things to come?

C HAPTER 7
    Preaching service seemed longer than usual. Nellie and her family were cooped up in the deacon’s stuffy house, instead of gathering for the Sunday