Abe has already turned the buggy around. Mary sits in the rear along with a teenage girl, their legs covered with a hand-knitted afghan.

“Guder mariye!” I call out as I make my way to the buggy.

A rotund Amish man of about fifty grins at me. “Wei geth’s alleweil?” How goes it now?

“Ich bin zimmlich gut.” I’m pretty good. “You must be Abe Gingerich.”

“And you must be Kate Miller.”

I stop outside the buggy and offer my hand for a shake. “I appreciate the ride this morning.”

“It’s right on the way,” he tells me.

I peer into the back. “Hi, Mary. You look nice and warm back there.”

“We’re plenty toasty.” The Amish woman smiles back at me. “This is our daughter, Anna.”

I recall Suggs mentioning that the girl is special needs and about the same age as Rachel Esh had been. She’s got a round face and chubby cheeks mottled with acne. Though she’s wearing a black cape, I can tell she’s overweight. Her pale blue eyes are slightly strabismus, or cross-eyed, and possess the guilelessness of a much younger child.

“Hi, Anna.” I reach out for a shake. “Cold enough for you this morning?”

The girl smiles, looking uncertainly at my hand. “Even my nose is cold.”

“She’s shy until she gets used to people.” Mary elbows her. “Get on up front with your datt so Kate and I can sit back here and talk.”

I raise my hands. “Thank you, but I don’t mind riding up front.”

The woman reaches into a slot behind her and pulls out another afghan. “Figured we might need an extra this morning.”

Taking the cover, I climb into the buggy and settle onto the seat a respectable distance from Abe.

“What’s in the bag?” comes Anna’s voice from the rear.

“Anna!” Mary exclaims.

Smiling, I turn. “Date pudding,” I tell her. “Do you like it?”

The girl’s eyes light up. “It’s my favorite. I helped Mamm and Rachel make it once and it was good.”

I hold my smile, not even allowing myself to blink. “Is Rachel your sister?”

Anna falls silent, her eyes dropping to the afghan.

The woman picks up her daughter’s hand and rubs it between both of hers as if to warm it. Sighing, Mary turns her attention to me. “Rachel is a girl who stayed with us for a while. She wasn’t getting along with her family. We tried to help.…”

“She went to live with God,” Anna adds.

“Oh.” I feign shock. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a bad thing,” comes Abe’s voice from beside me.

“Rachel was a troubled child,” Mary adds.

“She went out in a snowstorm and died in the cold,” Abe finishes.

“How incredibly sad,” I murmur.

“It was truly awful and a terrible loss,” Mary says.

Though I’m already privy to the details of Rachel Esh’s untimely death, it doesn’t take much effort to show that I’m aghast at the thought of a young girl freezing to death.