“Are you leaving?” she asked.

  “Yah. I’m—” He looked toward the horses, and she could almost feel his desire to get away from there.

  “We’re going to join the older folks in singing,” she said feebly. “And they’ll put up a volleyball net.”

  “I don’t like volleyball.”

  “Oh.” Amanda liked it. She was rather good at the game.

  “Look, I don’t really fit in here,” Menno said. “I talked to Jonas a bit, and that was nice, but that’s one man out of twenty I can say anything to. They’re trying, but I just don’t feel comfortable. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “If you started coming to these events more often, you’d get more comfortable, and you’d get to know people better.”

  Menno looked at her mutely. He had no intention of coming to another social event, did he? She could see it written all over his face.

  “It’s not always fun for me either,” Amanda went on. “My friends are all married. I hold their babies and listen to them talking about family life. It’s hard being the single one—for women at least. I’m not sure what it’s like for men. But it’s not fun for me, either, all the time. But I keep going. I keep trying. I do things that are uncomfortable in hopes that one day I’ll be one of the married ones with my own babies.”

  That had been blunt, but she didn’t care anymore. He’d asked Elder Yoder to help him find a wife, hadn’t he? He was doing uncomfortable things too.

  “They think I’m a danger, you know,” Menno said.

  “And they’ll always think it if you don’t prove otherwise.”

  Menno tipped his head to one side in silent acceptance of that statement.

  “I wish you’d stay,” she said.

  “They’ll only rush you off and keep you away from me,” he replied. “And I will have to listen to the men make small talk.”

  “Then let’s see each other again—away from here,” she suggested.

  “Yah?” He smiled faintly. “I’m supposed to ask that, you know. It’s the man’s place to ask to see each other more.”

  As if Amanda were any good at these games.

  “You didn’t get around to it yet,” she replied.

  “I was getting there.” His warm gaze met hers, and his smile warmed too. “I was also going to ask your sister to come check on a sow for me. She farrowed, and I think there’s a problem.”

  “Okay,” Amanda said. “I’ll bring Tabitha by as soon as I can. How serious is it?”

  “Tomorrow is Visiting Sunday. It can wait until Monday, I think. The sow isn’t too bad, but I see some worrying symptoms.” They fell silent, and Menno shrugged. “Would you come with her?”

  “I normally do.”

  “But would you . . . make sure you came with her to my farm this time?”

  Amanda smiled and nodded. “Yah.”

  Menno pulled off his hat and bent it in his hands, then replaced it on his head once more.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you, Amanda,” he said. “It’ll be easier for me without all these people watching us have a simple conversation. I don’t mind your sister.”

  “I suppose I understand that,” she said. “But they mean well.”

  These people were their community. Sometimes it took some work to get past the jostling and imperfections of human beings, but it was worth it in the end. Ultimately, they took care of each other. This community was the church to which they belonged and to which they’d vowed their loyalty at baptism.

  “They mean to stop this between us,” Menno said. “That’s their intention.”

  He wasn’t wrong. “We’re both grown, though. We’re both members of the church. We can spend time together, if we like.”

  “Yah, we are.” That warm gaze locked onto hers again. “And I like you very much.”

  Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and she nodded quickly. “I feel the same.”

  “So . . . Monday, then,” Menno said.

  “Yah.” She wished she had something better to say, but her mouth was dry, and her pulse was racing.

  Menno headed to the corral for his horse. Amanda turned back to the gathering, and as she walked toward the chatting women—some of whom had joined the older folks in singing a hymn together, heads pressed together over a hymn book—she realized that Menno had not offered to drive her home.

  That was how courting worked. The man asked the woman if he could drive her back. He hadn’t asked. But he also hadn’t stayed the whole time, so maybe that was why.

  She looked over her shoulder to find Menno hitching up. He looked in her direction, and their eyes met. Her stomach flipped in response. He’d said he liked her. He’d said he wanted to see her. What had he said exactly? Oh, her brain was a muddle. But something was certainly happening between them, even if it wasn’t following the normal path.

  Menno had not asked to drive her home, which would be the signal to everyone here that he was interested in her romantically. But he had made himself very clear to her.

  24

  “You caused quite a stir,” Tabitha said to Amanda when they were finally hitched up and plodding up the drive toward the road. The sun hung low over the rolling Pennsylvania hillside. The air had started to cool, too, and the chirp of crickets rose up from the grassy ditch and the fields beyond. Behind them, laughter and a shriek from a volleyball game made Tabitha smile.

  A verse ran through her mind: “Thou annointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”

  It felt applicable tonight. She’d returned for moments like this one—soft wind, golden light, and a peace that surpassed understanding settling around her. There was something about Amish country that seemed to be nestled under Gott’s own hand, and she’d never quite felt this way in her Englischer life—not even in the quiet of an evening, on a hike in a park, or sitting on a chair on her apartment balcony. This particular kind of peace seemed reserved for Shepherd’s Hill.

  Amanda smiled. “I don’t mind causing a stir. It’s high time I shook things up a little bit.”

  Tabitha chuckled. She didn’t have it in her to lecture her younger sister. She was a grown woman, and she knew exactly how much she had to risk.

  “Did Menno enjoy himself?” Tabitha asked.

  “Sort of.” Amanda looked out the buggy window, then she sighed. “No, actually. He hated it.”

  “Oh . . . I’m sorry.”

  “He liked seeing me,” Amanda explained. “He’s just not used to spending time with the men anymore. It’s awkward for him. Maybe it’s awkward for all of them.”

  “I can understand that,” Tabitha admitted. Time would loosen the bolts, and eventually, those relationships would feel more natural. She was happy that she’d been able to reconnect with Katherine a little more tonight too. The men would know that Tabitha was a good veterinarian, and they’d trust her advice and instincts. The women would figure out that Tabitha was moral and trustworthy too. But it all took time. She’d settle in, and this evening she could feel it.

  “Didn’t he talk to Jonas, though?”

  “Yah, and they seemed to have a good chat,” Amanda agreed. “It looked that way, at least.”

  “It’s a good start,” Tabitha said. “And we all have to start somewhere.”

  “Menno did ask if we could go by and look at one of his sows that he thinks is sick,” Amanda said. “He said Monday would be soon enough.”

  “Yah. Of course. Is this an excuse to see you?”

  “Yes. I mean, he did especially ask me to come along, but he does need a veterinarian.”

  “What were the symptoms?”

  “A sick pig.”

  “Right.” Tabitha shook her head. “You said he liked seeing you, though? What does that mean?”

  “I wish I knew. But I like him, and he likes me.”

  Tabitha shot her sister a smile. “I’m glad. You deserve a nice boyfriend.”

  “I don’t want a boyfriend. I want a husband.”

  “First things first.” Like with settling into a community, these things took time. Amanda looked out the window again, and Tabitha sighed. “He does seem to like you a lot. I saw the way he was looking at you when you were walking away from him. I dare say everyone saw that.”

  “Looking at me how?” she asked, turning back.

  “Like he was halfway in love with you,” Tabitha replied. “He’s got a crush, that’s for sure. I’d say your baking worked.”

  Amanda smiled coyly and turned back to the window again. Let her enjoy it. Amanda hadn’t had the easiest time these last few years, and if she found a man she liked, and he liked her, too, maybe it was time for Tabitha to leave well enough alone.

  “I’m just going to drop off these canning lids for Rose on our way back,” Tabitha said, lifting a cloth bag at her side. “Katherine asked if we’d return them for her. It won’t take long.”

  Rose was weeding the garden in the last of the daylight when they arrived. She knelt in a row of leafy plants, and when they pulled in, she pushed herself to her feet and brushed her hands off, then planted them on her hips. Tabitha couldn’t make out her expression.

  Tabitha reined the horse in and handed the reins to her sister.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” she said to Amanda.

  Tabitha took the bag of lids and hopped down from the buggy. Rose crossed out of the garden and dropped a bucket of weeds onto the grass.

  “Hi,” Tabitha said. “We missed you at the strawberry shortcake social.”

  “I didn’t go,” Rose said shortly.

  “Yah . . . that’s why we missed you.” Tabitha gave her a small smile. “Katherine sent your lids back.”

  “Danke.” Rose accepted the bag. There was an obvious chilliness in her demeanor, and Tabitha paused uncertainly.

  “Rose, are you okay?” Tabitha asked.

  “Not really,” Rose said.

  “What’s wrong?” Tabitha stepped closer and lowered her voice. “What happened?”

  “I took your advice. That’s what happened,” Rose replied. “And it didn’t go well, I’ll tell you that. I never should have listened to the advice you got from Englischer therapists. Having it out with my husband did not clear the air or reveal what the problem was, and only ended in me sleeping in the guest room.”

  “Why are you doing that?” Tabitha asked.

  “Things are getting out of hand, and I’m not even sure my husband is glad he married me anymore!” Rose said, tears welling in her eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to give bad advice,” Tabitha said. “I’m so sorry, Rose. Can I help? Is there anything I can do?”

  Rose wound the cloth bag handle around her hand. “No, just leave my marriage alone. You have been away for a long time, and it’s almost like you don’t even know how to be Amish anymore.”

  That stung.

  “Rose . . . you should be able to talk to Aaron. That’s not cultural.”

  “It isn’t your business.”

  No, but Rose had come to them in tears.

  “You’re right, of course,” Tabitha said. “I just wanted to help. I didn’t want you to experience what I did.”

  “I won’t. If you’re worried that I’m going to divorce him and cast him aside, you can put your mind at ease. I’m Amish!” Rose said.

  As if Tabitha had had any choice in her own failed marriage. As if Tabitha was divorced because she somehow hadn’t loved her husband enough or hadn’t been devoted enough. The thing that Rose didn’t understand was that not all divorced women were callous, angry women who didn’t love enough. Many times, like in Tabitha’s situation, they were heartbroken women who’d loved with everything they had, and it hadn’t been enough.

  “That wasn’t fair,” Tabitha said, her voice shaking.

  Rose dashed a tear off her cheek. “I’m sorry—that was going too far.”

  But there wasn’t any warmth in Rose’s brown eyes, and she took a step back.

  “Are we okay?” Tabitha asked. When they’d been girls who’d sometimes shared bedrooms, buggies, and long, lazy summer afternoons, they’d been able to forgive all sorts of infractions, but they were grown women now, and the stakes were so much higher.

  “We’ll get there,” Rose replied.

  Rose turned around and headed back out into the garden, and Tabitha watched her go, hoping Rose would turn back. But she didn’t. She knelt down in the row again and continued her weeding. Tabitha turned back toward the buggy. Amanda was frozen in place, wide eyes fixed on Tabitha as she climbed back up into the buggy seat next to her.

  Tears welled in Tabitha’s eyes, but she stubbornly blinked them back. She had overstepped in a moment when she’d thought they were sisters sharing wisdom and insight. Apparently that wisdom was not one-size-fits-all. Thinking back on that conversation, Tabitha realized Amanda’s advice to simply stop reacting to things that were irritating seemed more prudent by far.

  Rose didn’t turn again, and Tabitha flicked the reins, swallowing against the lump rising in her throat.

  “Are you okay?” Amanda asked gently.

  “Yah. I’m fine. It’s been a long day. I’m just being emotional.”

  At the very least, Tabitha had thought that her painful life experience would give her some wisdom to impart. She might not be anyone’s wife or mother, but at least she could be a discerning woman with advice.

  Although, it seemed that the wisest thing was to keep that advice to herself. Here was her own pride pushing up its ugly head again. She thought she knew better. She thought she was experienced and could guide her sister. But she’d been wrong about that.

  So if she wasn’t here as a source of hard-won wisdom, what did Tabitha offer besides her veterinarian skills? Or was that where her contributions ended?

  25

  “Menno! Menno, open up!”

  Thumping on the door downstairs roused Menno Weaver from his sleep. He’d been dreaming of strawberries and warm breezes. He’d been watching Amanda talking with other women, and whenever he tried to get her attention, his voice had evaporated. He couldn’t raise a hand to wave to her. He couldn’t call out her name. It was a dream that mingled longing with a strange acceptance of the situation, and the more he struggled, the farther away Amanda seemed to slide until there was a field of waving grass between them.

  A voice popped the dream, and he groggily blinked his eyes open.

  The bedroom was dark, his blind drawn. In the dimness, he could just make out the softly ticking clock on his bedside table. The dream was slipping away now, and he couldn’t quite remember what it had been about. The feeling of frustrated longing remained, though. He looked at the clock more closely. It was two in the morning. There was another thump on the door downstairs, and he rolled over and threw back his covers.

  Someone whooped, and an engine revved, then the sound of tires retreating up the drive.

  “Menno! Open the door! Why’s it locked? Menno!”

  He knew that voice. His brother’s words were slurred, and Menno could hear him stumbling around on the porch outside. There was a creak and then the sound of breaking wood. That sped Menno up, and he headed to his window and pushed up the blind. He heaved his window open a little farther than it already was and leaned outside. The retreating car’s brake lights shone up at the road, then disappeared from view.

  “Simon, what did you break?” Menno demanded.

  His brother lay on his back on the grass, laughing, his arms flung out wide. The post that held up the clothesline was bent at a precarious angle. Menno would have to fix that, and anger simmered inside of him. Simon never stopped to think what work he caused others, or what money he cost them either with his drinking and carelessness. But that was some thick irony, because a few years ago, Menno hadn’t been much better.

  “What are you doing here?” Menno called.

  “What do you mean?” Simon rolled over. “I live here.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re staying with Emmanuel.”

  Emmanuel and his girlfriend lived in town, and Simon had been sleeping on their couch for the last few months. He’d been evicted from his own apartment for various infractions of the rules and late rent payments. Emmanuel had let him stay with him and Alanna for the short term, which had bled into something significantly longer.

  “What?” Simon lay there on his side, his legs scissored out across the grass.

  “You don’t remember?” Menno sighed. “You’re staying with Emmanuel and Alanna. You don’t live here.”

  “This is my house too!” Simon pushed himself up to a seated position. “Ugh, my stomach . . .” He slid back down to the grass again.

  This farm was the family home, and Menno had been living in it alone for the last couple of years. When their father died and left the farm to all four of them, Menno had bought them out for this very reason. So now Menno ran the family farm, and his brothers did whatever they felt like doing, but all of them had grown up here. They’d all worked this pig farm, done the chores, and done their best to avoid their daet’s attention. If Mamm ever came looking for her sons, this was where she’d come.

  Menno muttered something bitter under his breath, and he pushed himself away from the window. He’d better let his brother inside, or else he’d just lie on the grass out there bellowing all night—what was left of the night, anyway. Menno normally got up at four to start chores.

  Menno pulled on a pair of pants and a set of suspenders to hold them, then headed down the dark, creaking staircase. He stopped to light the kerosene lamp over the kitchen table with a match, the soft glow assaulting his sleepy eyes as the light flared up. Zeke snuffled from his crate as Menno shook out the match.

  “It’s not morning yet, Zeke,” Menno said. The last thing he needed was a hungry piglet on top of his drunken brother. Menno headed over to the side door and hauled it open.

  “You’ve got to stop coming here when you’re drunk, Simon,” Menno said, coming down the stairs. The night air was chillier than he expected, and he shivered.

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “Yah, you are.” Menno bent down, caught his brother’s arm, and hoisted him to his feet.