Her belly fluttered, but she inched forward. “I’m Tessa Meadows. I’m sorry to bother you at home. I hope I’m not intruding.”

Nora stared stone-faced.

Clearly, she was intruding. Why hadn’t she thought to put on a skirt? She took a deep breath. “I need some pies.”

“We sell pies Wednesday at market. You can buy them there.” Nora shook her apron with a snap and spun.

“But I need lots of pies. A whole bunch.”

In the doorway, Nora pivoted. “How many are you needing?”

Darn it! She forgot to call Mrs. Diefenderfer. Thrusting a hand in her pocket, she twitched for her phone. Nora was barely tolerating her presence as it was. She didn’t seem likely to bide a call. Besides, Tessa probably wouldn’t have service way out in the country. Releasing the device, she squared her shoulders. “Three dozen,” she answered with a certainty she almost believed she possessed.

“Three dozen?” Nora raised her brows to the bottom edge of her head covering. “And when will you be needing them?”

“Saturday. Next Saturday.”

Nora frowned again. “Not much time.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I don’t even know if you do this sort of thing, but I just love your baked goods at the Farmers’ Market, so I was hoping you might help me out, even though it’s fairly short notice. It’s for a good cause—a charity event at the hospital.” Her voice trailed away. Babbling was probably not a trait valued by the Amish.

“What kind of pies?”

Another essential element she hadn’t considered. “Any kind?” The words came out more of a squeak than she would have preferred.

“Any kind,” Nora repeated through tight lips.

“All kinds. An assortment.” She threw her hands wide, as though a panoply of pies dangled from the trees. “I love strawberry. And the woman at the produce stand recommended your shoofly.”

“Esther sent you here?”

“Yes, Esther King. She told me to tell you so.” Nora scrunched her nose in an expression uncannily similar to her daughter’s, but the result was a scowl not a smile. Tessa hoped she hadn’t risked Esther King’s life by coming to the Rishels’ farm and pestering them for three dozen pies.

Clutching a post, Rebecca hopped to her feet. “You can do it, Mamm. You baked lots more for Marcus Dersham’s wedding last November.”

Nora shuffled forward and swatted at the railing. “Get down before you break your neck.”

Tessa stared. Nora’s gait was awkward and halting. Her left leg hung rigidly, like a weight she had to drag along beside her. How had she not noticed the woman’s limp at market? She must have been…distracted.

With a huff, Rebecca plopped onto her backside and kicked her heels against the rail.