Brandishing a pitcher of iced tea and a basket of hot rolls, I follow the two women outside to the picnic tables. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Jacob has pulled out his pipe to smoke, a habit that’s frowned upon by some of the more conservative Amish. But then that’s Jacob for you. He’s also one of the few to use a motorized tractor instead of draft horses. In keeping with the Ordnung, he only uses steel wheels sans rubber tires. A few of the elders complain, but so far no one has done anything about it.

Within minutes we’re sitting at a picnic table, a feast of fried chicken and vegetables from the garden spread out on the blue-and-white-checked tablecloth. At the table next to us, my niece and nephews load fried chicken and green beans onto their plates. I glance over at Tomasetti and he grins at me, giving me an I-told-you-everything-would-be-fine look, and in that moment I’m content.

“Wann der Disch voll is, well mir bede.” If the tables are full, let us pray. Jacob gives the signal for the before-meal prayer. Heads are bowed. Next to us, the children’s table goes silent. And Jacob’s voice rings out. “O Herr Gott, himmlischer Vater, Segne uns und Diese Diene Gaben, die wir von Deiner milden Gute Zu uns nehmen warden, Speise und tranke auch unsere Seelen zum ewigen Leben, und mach uns theilhaftig Deines himmllischen Tisches durch Jesus Christum. Amen.”

O Lord God, heavenly Father, bless us and these thy gifts, which we shall accept from thy tender goodness. Give us food and drink also for our souls unto life eternal, and make us partakers of thy heavenly table through Jesus Christ. Amen.

Upon finishing, he looks around, and as if by unspoken agreement, everyone begins reaching for platters and filling their plates.

“The kids have grown so much since I saw them last,” I say as I spoon green beans onto my plate.

“It seems like yesterday that Little Hannah was a newborn,” my sister says with a sigh. “They grow up so fast.”

Jacob slathers homemade butter onto an ear of corn. “Elam drove the tractor last week.”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “And almost drove it into the creek!”

“Like father like son,” William mutters.

Irene pours a second glass of tea. “Katie, do you and John have any plans for children?”

I can tell by the way the pitcher pauses mid-pour that she realizes instantly her faux pas. Her eyes flick to mine. I see a silent apology, then she quickly looks away and sets the pitcher on the table. “There’s tea if anyone’s thirsty.”

“Maybe they should get married first,” Jacob says.

“I love weddings.” Sarah shakes pepper onto an ear of corn.

“Any plans for one, Katie?” Jacob asks.

In the interminable silence that follows, the tension builds, as if it were a living thing, growing and filling up space. I’m not sure how to respond. The one thing I do know is that no matter what I say, I’ll be judged harshly for it.