It was a short flash into Willamette’s life, but it told me enough. What Willamette wanted was the same thing all of us want: to be loved, and to be accepted for who we are. She was testing me to see if I was going to reject her just like her brother had.

“Well,” I said, “your wardles are welcome here, as are you.”

“You mean that?” said Willamette.

I got a feeling then, a little burning around my throat, like some golden light was bubbling up in there. I knew whatever I said next would be right, would be exactly what she needed to hear, what her heart longed for.

“Your creativity is a gift,” I said, the words flowing easy as breathing from my mouth as if by instinct, as if I didn’t have to try at all. “It is one of the truest gifts of the Spirit. It was given to you to express what is deepest in your heart, to tell the truth about yourself and about this world. Don’t ever let anyone convince you that your gift doesn’t matter, that it doesn’t have a place here. Because I assure you that it does, and it always will.”

Her eyes got all big, and they filled up with tears like she was about to bust out crying at any moment, like that was the nicest thing anyone ever said to her in her life.

Willamette Darling hopped up on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek. Then she waddled off, crying, before I could say another word about it. I was stuck there, blushing, holding my wardle.

I had done that. I had made her that happy all on my own. All because I had seen what was happening in her mind. And my words were true, weren’t they? It wasn’t like I had lied to her or anything. Not exactly. Besides, I knew in the moment before she kissed me that she was a part of the Farm forever now, that she would follow this community to the ends of the earth if I asked her to.

The Spirit was moving, was working in me to draw them near.

You’re awfully pleased with yourself, aren’t you? whispered Jeremiah. But that was easy. There will be harder battles ahead. You must practice. You must prepare.

And I would. There was no other choice.

That night in my new bedroom, I sat worrying over what Jeremiah had told me. How could I grow? How could I be ready in time?

Grandma came to see me before bed, and I asked her that same question.

“The Spirit will work in you to grow and form you as it pleases,” she said. “You can’t go on worrying all the time. Do your part, and the Spirit will provide.”

“But how do you know that?” I said. “What if I’m just a failure?”