But no, I let Obie go, she thought as she began to read the letter.

Later, sighing, she thumbed through the pile and slipped that letter back into its envelope. She sat there, holding the letters, thankful for this time alone, though embarrassed she’d kept them this long.

I really should get rid of these, she thought, staring at the letters she had so treasured. Obie’s not mine to love.

Britta’s worry over Mamma had subsided somewhat over the past few days, and she played some of her best volleyball. She was thrilled to see Hazel again, as well as quite a few of Hazel’s and her respective girl cousins.

After they’d played hard, Hazel served cookies and lemonade amidst plenty of chatter and a bit of gossip. Britta, for her part, spent time talking with Cousin Miriam Mast, who was newly engaged and very happy to tell Britta all about it.

“Say, is Susie seein’ anyone?” Miriam asked quietly as they walked over to the springhouse near where Britta had parked her white scooter. They sat on the steps leading down.

“Not that I know of.” Britta felt uncomfortable discussing her sister like this.

“Susie’s real private, ain’t she?”

“Susie’s business is her own,” Britta replied. “And that’s just fine.” Then, since Miriam had been nosy, she decided to ask her a question. “I’ve been wondering . . .”

Miriam leaned closer, her blue eyes questioning.

“You’re close to Susie’s age. Have you ever heard ’bout when I arrived in Hickory Hollow?”

“Are ya talking about before you were adopted?”

Britta nodded her head, hoping Miriam might share at least a morsel of information.

“Well, years ago now I heard that, at some point, there was a caseworker who checked up on ya several times. Prob’ly normal for a foster child.”

“Where’d ya hear this?” Britta asked.

“Oh, Mamma telling one of her sisters. Just small talk, ya know.”

“When did the person stop checking on me?”

“Ya musta been two or maybe three. Old enough to walk and talk and play with the other little ones.”

Britta felt self-conscious, if not uneasy. “What if you were adopted? Wouldn’t ya want to know how it came about?”

Miriam’s face scrunched up. “I’m not sure I’d care much, to be honest.”

“Really?” Britta found this hard to believe.

Shaking her head again, Miriam glanced toward the small pond in front of the springhouse below. “How would your Mamma feel if she knew you were talking ’bout this with me?”

“Well, you’re not the only one I’ve asked.” Britta told her that she’d tried some time ago to get as many pieces together as possible. “Guess I want to finally satisfy my curiosity.”

“Curiosity . . . or is there more to it?”