No one speaks for several minutes, as if in reverence to the grieving couple and their recently deceased daughter. Meeting Fannie and Samuel Esh is high on my list of goals, but I know that with them still grieving—and me being an outsider—it will require delicacy and tact.

I’ve just sunk the needle into my index finger when Laura breaks the silence with a more upbeat topic. “I heard Viola Beachy had her baby,” she announces with some flourish.

The women continue with their work, but sit up a little bit straighter. A new baby is momentous news among the Amish, especially the women. “Boy or girl?” Lena asks, pressing her hand protectively against her own protruding belly.

“Boy. Big, too. Nearly nine pounds,” Naomi puts in.

Ada snips a thread with the scissors. “I’ll take her and David a couple of my potpies tomorrow.”

“They’ll appreciate that,” Naomi says with a nod.

I look at Lena. “When is your little one due?”

“Another month or so,” she tells me. “Our fourth.”

“Only four.” Ada tuts. “You and Reuben had best get busy.”

“One at a time,” Lena snaps good-naturedly.

Chuckles break out around the table. I join in, hoping the women don’t notice that my stitches aren’t quite straight and not as evenly spaced as they should be. But the fabric I’m working with is pretty and the thread is a similar color, and hopefully won’t be too closely inspected.

A few minutes later, Ada sighs. “The quilt is going to be a pretty one.”

“Warm, too,” Laura puts in.

“Are you going to sell it?” I ask.

She grins. “Haven’t decided.”

I don’t know if it’s the part of me that’s still Amish—that will always be Amish—or nostalgia, but for the first time since arriving in Roaring Springs, I’m relaxed. I like these women; I’m comfortable with them. And it occurs to me how good it feels to belong. How easy it would be to slip back into the rhythm of the old ways. At this moment, Chief of Police Kate Burkholder is a distant memory, like someone I knew a long time ago. This afternoon, I am Kate Miller. An Amish widow trying a little too hard to fit in, make new friends, and start fresh.

The cowbell mounted on the door jingles. All eyes sweep toward the front of the store. The lights have been dimmed in the front section, but I see the silhouette of an Amish woman as she brushes snow from her shoulders and starts toward us.

“Hi, Rebecca,” Lena calls out.

Naomi looks up and smiles. “Nau is awwer bsll zert.” Now it’s about time.

“Sorry I’m late.” The woman—Rebecca—approaches the table.

Laura starts to rise. “We’ve got siess kaffi.”