The event was next Saturday—exactly one week away. Ordering on Wednesday gave the Rishels only two days to prepare the pies. How fast did they bake, anyway? Would two days be sufficient? Besides, she wasn’t sure the Rishels would fill a bulk order. She needed to leave time to come up with a backup plan in the event her Amish pie scheme fell through.

Well, if the Amish couldn’t wait, she supposed her sunflowers could. She stuck a twig in the row to mark her progress and gathered her tools. She had to contact the Rishels immediately. But how? They probably didn’t have a website or even a phone listing. Amish farms stretched for miles across the countryside. Who would know how to find them? Standing, she shook clumps of soil from her knees. The local Amish community couldn’t be that big, could it? Didn’t they all know one another like the people in Little House on the Prairie?

She grimaced at her own small-mindedness. Of course, they didn’t. But emboldened by the desire not to disappoint Mrs. Diefenderfer, she would try anything. She scooted back to the house. In between the weekly Farmers’ Market, her mother often stopped at an Amish farm stand a few miles out Route 45. What were the odds they’d know the Rishels? Peeling off her gloves, she snatched the van keys. Whatever the odds, she’d take them.

A hand-painted sign on the red tin roof read simply, “Fresh Produce.” Inside, an ocean of strawberries welcomed her. The humidity inflated her hair to twice its normal size, but a breeze wafted the scent of berries through the open-air building, cooling the back of her neck. Her mother always said you knew strawberries were fully ripe when they actually smelled like strawberries. These were good and ripe.

A birdlike Amish woman stood alone behind the counter. Tessa wandered among tables and studied her from the corner of her eye. Her face was spiderwebbed with wrinkles, but beneath a white prayer cap, merry eyes shone with spirit. Plain as they were, Amish folk wore clothing of such brilliant colors. They dressed in jewel tones—garnets, sapphires, and emeralds—shades far brighter than she ever dared to wear.

A couple dressed head to toe in black approached the counter and asked directions to a local quilt shop.

The old woman’s face lit up.

Who knew what secret dreams and unspoken joys dwelled in her heart? Perhaps, this matron lived a life just as vibrant as her amethyst dress. Tessa kind of believed so.

But could she guide Tessa on her quest? What’s more, how should she even broach the topic? Hey, so…do you happen to know Jonas Rishel and his sorta-mean wife and their super-beautiful kid?

The elderly lady leaned over the counter and pointed down the road.