I park behind a black buggy. Midway to the house, I hear my name. I turn to find William and his youngest son walking toward me from the barn. Man and boy wear typical Amish work clothes—trousers with suspenders, blue work shirts and flat-brimmed straw hats. Their boots are covered with muck, and I realize they’ve been cleaning the hog pens and transferring manure to the pit.

William greets me in Pennsylvania Dutch. “Guder Mariya.” Good morning.

I respond in kind. “I’m sorry to disturb your work.”

“Isaac and I were just going in for the midday meal.”

Under normal circumstances, anyone that visits an Amish home during a meal would be asked to join them. The Amish are generous with food, and the women prepare large portions. But because I have been excommunicated, he doesn’t ask. I don’t take it personally, but it doesn’t bode well for what I’m about to propose. “Do you and Mrs. Zook have a few minutes to talk?” I glance at Isaac. “Privately?”

“There is much work to do.”

“This won’t take long.”

He grunts an unenthusiastic reply without looking at me.

I fall in behind them. We enter the house through the back door. The kitchen is a large room and smells of frying food and cooking tomatoes. From where I stand, I can feel the heat coming off the stove. A rectangular table draped with a blue-and-white checkered cloth dominates the room. Alma stands at the stove with a spatula in her hand, turning something in a cast iron skillet. She looks at me when we enter, and offers a small smile. Canning jars rattle in boiling water, and I know she’s probably been at the stove since the wee hours of morning. Though the windows are open, the room is uncomfortably hot and I break a sweat beneath my uniform shirt.

“Hello, Katie,” Alma says.

Feeling out of place, I smile at her. “Hello, Alma.”

The table is set for four people with plates, glasses filled with water, and napkins. William takes his place at the head of the table and growls, “Sis unvergleichlich hees dohin.”

“Next month you’ll be complaining about the cold.” Alma sets a plate of fried ham, green beans, sliced tomatoes and a piece of bread slathered with apple butter in front of him.

“Wash your hands, Isaac,” she says to her son. “And tell Billy to come down.” She looks at me. “Katie, would you like to join us?”

William gives her a dark look.

Frowning, she puts her hands on her hips. “Mer sot tem sei Eegne net verlosse; Gott verlosst die Seine nicht.” One should not abandon one’s own; God does not abandon his own.

“She is under the Meidung,” William growls.

“She is in our home.”