She prayed a silent blessing over the day like Mamma had taught her to do. “Give your first thoughts of the day to God.”

Britta had always enjoyed the solitude upon waking, just as she loved being outdoors at sunset, listening to the earth’s music as the violet shadows lengthened. In summertime, whenever she felt sad, she liked to lie in bed and listen to the birds chirp their good-nights, her windows flung wide open as she said her rote prayers.

Another of her favorite things was milking their goats. That, and spending time with the stable cats. She loved the contented purr of her pretty black cat, Lucy, and paid such close attention to its changes in tone and tempo that she was almost sure she knew what the cat was saying.

Britta turned her thoughts to the day’s local farm sale. As much as anything, she enjoyed going to the auctions around Lancaster County, including the springtime mud sales in Gordonville, Kinzers, Strasburg, and other nearby towns. She particularly liked to look through the old books and the carnival glass and Anchor Hocking sets, though she couldn’t possibly afford to bid on the latter. Despite their cost, they still appealed to her, while Susie preferred admiring the quilts. It was so much fun going with Mamma and Susie, who always made her feel included as they stopped to talk with their many kinfolk and friends. Mamma had taught all of her children to pay close attention to the people in their lives, learning truths and gleaning wisdom from them. But Mamma didn’t talk about the woman who’d birthed Britta, and she wondered why.

Britta’s stomach rumbled, and her thoughts turned to the loaded chili dog she’d eaten at the last auction, her mouth watering at the memory. Today will surely be another wunnerbaar-gut time, she thought while brushing her long, wavy auburn hair. Quickly, she pulled it into a thick bun and dressed for the day.

Downstairs, she helped Susie make scrambled eggs, German sausage, and toast to serve with the strawberry jam Mamma had put up last summer and the raw honey Susie liked to purchase from their beekeeping Amish neighbors, Jonathan and Liz Ebersol.

Mamma was already sitting in her rocker near the back window overlooking the yard and horse stable. Despite the early hour, she looked rather spent. “You girls are spoilin’ me, doin’ all the work.” Mamma glanced their way, hands wrapped around her coffee mug.

“It’s our work, too,” Susie said as she fried up the sausage, her white half apron tied over the waist of her long black apron to keep it clean. “Besides, cookin’ makes us happy.”

“And it’s your turn to be looked after.” Britta turned the gas burner down under the scrambled eggs. “When’s Polly comin’ with the children?” she asked.

“Oh, about eight-thirty, I ’spect.” Mamma pushed her white Kapp strings back over her lean shoulders.