“Sit. I’ll get it.” She reaches us, looking harried and stressed out. I guess her to be around fifty years of age, with a pleasant face, rosy cheeks, and eyes as green as a springtime hayfield. She’s generously built, tall, and solid looking. Her maroon dress falls nearly to her ankles. Red hair peeks out from beneath a black winter bonnet. A quilted sewing bag is slung over her shoulder. Her eyes take in the group, lingering on me.

“You’re the widow from Ohio,” she says. “Welcome.”

I offer a smile and introduce myself.

Setting her bag on the floor, Rebecca pulls out a chair and sinks into it. I’m trying not to stare, but her body language seems odd. Her movements are tentative and jerky. She digs into her sewing bag, but doesn’t remove anything. Ada has stopped sewing, her attention fastened on the newcomer. The other women have fallen silent.

Rising, Laura goes to the front of the store. Out of the corner of my eye I see her grab a mug and pour coffee. Back at the table, she sets it in front of Rebecca and reclaims her chair. “There you go.”

Rebecca mutters a thank-you.

“I heard that Esther girl had her baby this morning.” The words are spoken by Ada and in a tone reserved for unpleasant topics.

“Esther?” Naomi’s hands still.

Ada clucks her mouth in disapproval. “The maulgrischt out at the farm.” Maulgrischt means “pretend Christian” in Pennsylvania Dutch.

“Girl or boy?” Lena asks.

“Boy,” Laura tells her.

Naomi sets down the section of fabric she’s working on. “How old is she, anyway?”

“Sixteen,” Laura says. “Or so she claims.”

“I heard she’s not married. Never been married.” Lena looks from woman to woman. “Is that true?”

“It’s wrong, is what it is,” Ada grumbles.

Laura nods. “You mean her not having a husband?”

Ada gives her a canny look. “I mean all of it. Living out there with the bishop like she is, and him allowing it.”

I listen with interest as the women discuss the mysterious young woman living with Schrock. But some of my attention remains focused on Rebecca. I can’t pin it down, but there’s something going on with her. Tension seems to radiate from her. Is it stress? Anxiety? Fear?

“Bishop Schrock wouldn’t…” Lena struggles to finish the sentence. “You know. He wouldn’t. He’s the bishop.”

Ada frowns. “He’s a man, is what he is.”

“He saved her life,” Lena says emphatically. “He saved her soul from the devil.”

“Saved something for himself, more likely.” Rebecca spits the words as if they burn the inside of her mouth.

Lena gapes at her, offended. “He took her in when she had nowhere to go. He gave her proper clothing. Taught her the Amish ways and the word of God.”