“Sometimes.” Propped on an elbow, he smoothed the quilt until the regular squares lined up in unrumpled rows. “Anyone who holds himself apart is suspect. The community is patient because of the accident, but the mandate is clear—forgive and let God’s will be done. Now several years have passed. They believe we will return with full hearts, but we are not the people we were. My sister won’t admit she’s changed—that’s not our way. She is at war with herself, and she takes it out on those like you…and, at times, on Rebecca.” He rolled onto his back.

The hairs on his arms and chest caught the sun, gilding him in golden softness. He lay before her so open and vulnerable—the skin on his belly as delicate as a newborn babe’s.

He ran a hand through his hair and tucked it beneath his head. “I know I am not the same. I cannot adhere to the rules of the Ordnung as did my father and his father. For now, I stay. But I will shave my face, and I will build for the English, no matter what the deacons say. I will seek God my own way. I will live, to some degree, by my own rules.”

“Will they allow you your own rules?”

“Grudgingly. For Nora. And for Rebecca. But their patience runs thin.”

The blackbird hopped from branch to branch. She squinted into the leafy tangle, searching for its crimson-splotched wings. “Your sister forbade me to return to the farm after the gazebo is finished.”

He closed his eyes. “Forgive her.”

Silence fell over the clearing. She extended cautious fingers and stroked the soft curls at his temples. They were almost a baby’s curls, like the curls he never caressed on his own sweet baby’s head. The tragedy was unimaginable. Yet, this man lived it.

“Sometimes, when I’m out here, I feel God.” He opened his eyes and gazed into the treetops. “When the fog lies thick on the ridge and the world is quiet, I can begin to believe He is here.”

After so many weeks of restraint, to have him confide in her, even about such painful subjects, warmed her heart. She hugged her knees and opened to him in return. “I see God in the ocean.”

He rolled onto his side, facing her. “What’s it like? The ocean?”

Closing her eyes, she conjured the endless, undulating expanse and tasted salt on the sweet water breeze. “Vast. And moody. It’s never the same from one day to the next.” Rather like the color of your eyes.

“I would like to see the ocean.”

“I would like to take you.” His expression lit like fireflies flickered in his irises.

“In the pop-top?”

She smiled. “In the pop-top.”

“Where else have you been in the pop-top?”