“We’re lucky. Ours is really tall.” He scampered up several bales and glanced back. “Care for a roll in the hay?”

Unsure if the double entendre was intended, she laughed and scrambled behind him, picking her way toward the peak of the roof. Sharp-edged straw jabbed her hands and arms. No wonder cows chewed each bite for an eternity. Still a few levels below him at the top, she clung to a bale and gazed upward.

From behind a heavy rafter, he removed a bundle of canvas work gloves. Then something small and black emerged from the shadows. He held it out, and it caught a sunbeam streaming through a crack in the wall.

She gasped. “Samuel’s radio.”

“Don’t tell my mother.”

With a finger, she traced an x on her chest. “Cross my heart.”

Grinning, he returned the device to its hiding place.

Seconds later, a brownish blob descended. The gloves stayed together and landed as a pair in her hands. She studied them for a moment and glanced up. “What are these for?”

He unleashed a thick brown rope from a hook on the wall. The top of the rope vanished into soaring eaves. In seconds, he donned the gloves and planted a foot on a bulky knot. “Amish skydiving.”

She stared way down to the hay-covered floor. No skydiving of any variety was on her bucket list. Stomach clenched, she clambered upward. “You wouldn’t!”

With a whoop, he vaulted from the ledge. His straw hat took flight, and his face lit like a sun-sparkled, spring-fed swimming hole.

She flattened against a bale, scrabbling at straw. He swooshed past her perch almost close enough to touch, soaring in ever-widening circles. A laugh of pure joy rang from the rafters, and for half a second, she forgot she teetered in the stratosphere.

Then, he let go.

Clawing the rafter, she watched him plummet what looked like a mile, landing in a mountain of hay. Dropping to her knees, she peered over the edge. “Are you all right?”

He flipped onto his back. “Better than all right! Spectacular!” With a quick thrust, he pointed upward. “Grab the rope before it stops swinging.”

She scampered to the top bale. Tucking the gloves under one arm, she waited for the knotted end to circle within reach and lunged. She caught it and held on. “Now what?”

His face cracked into a smile. “Put on the gloves.”

A deepening certainty he wanted her to take up skydiving, too, blossomed in her belly. She tucked the rope between her knees and shoved her fingers into the heavy canvas. It was rough and brittle from years of dried sweat. “This seems like a genuinely bad idea.”

“Just try it!”

Still safely on the bale, she untucked the rope, placed a cautious toe atop the knot, and yanked. The rope pulled taut and shimmied in her grip. It seemed secure. After all, it just held Jonas.