Incredulity rises inside me, but I bank it. I look up at him. He’s standing too close, his head cocked. His gaze searches mine, as if he’s waiting for a reaction. Or something I’ve not yet revealed to him. For the first time it strikes me that I feel strange. My heart rate is too high. My hands and feet are still cold from the ride over, but the back of my neck is damp with sweat. The heat from the fire is making me sleepy, which is unusual because I’m “on.”

I startle when he reaches out, takes my left hand, and pulls me to my feet. For an instant I feel light-headed, but it quickly levels off. In the back of my mind I wonder if I’m coming down with something. Or if the stress is getting to me …

We’re standing face to face, about two feet apart. Around us, the house is so quiet I can hear the crackle of the fire, the wind driving snow against the window, the steady thrum of my heart. I know better than to let the moment unnerve me, but it does.

“Did your husband forgive you?” he asks.

“Forgive me for what?”

“You never gave him children.”

I glance down where my hand is enclosed within his. I try to tug it away, but he doesn’t release it. Despite my best efforts, I’m flustered. I feel unsettled and spaced out. I raise my gaze to his and find his eyes probing mine. I’m aware of my heart tapping hard against my ribs. The .22 against my thigh. The weight of my phone in my pocket.

“That’s private.” I say the words slowly, enunciating each syllable because suddenly I’m having difficulty speaking. “I prefer not to talk of such things, even to you, Bishop.”

“Artificial birth control is against the rules here. It’s against our conscience and is considered taking a life.”

Kate Burkholder would have told him to piss off. Kate Miller, bound by her faith and the Ordnung, is obligated to submit.

“I’ve never used it,” I murmur.

“Then why no children?”

“I don’t know.”

“Were you a good wife?”

“Of course I was.”

“You submitted to your husband?”

“Yes.”

“Always?”

I say nothing.

Gently, he turns my hand over so that it’s palm up. Again, I try to withdraw it from his, but he maintains his grip. I’m keenly aware of his proximity. The warmth of his skin against mine. Raising his other hand, he runs his index finger across my palm. A feather-soft touch, but I feel it with the power of an electrical shock.

“Did you have thoughts of other men?” he asks.

I stare at Schrock, taken aback. “Bishop, that’s an … inappropriate question.”

“So you did, then? While you were with your husband, you were thinking of another man?”

“Never.”

“Do you plan to remarry?” he asks.