On an early July day two years after Kathleen Stratton left her baby in Hickory Hollow, a letter arrived in Aquilla’s mailbox, alerting her that Kathleen would be coming to pick up her little girl—she had completed her jail sentence.

Though fighting tremendous sadness, Aquilla had expected this moment. She gathered up all of little Britta’s clothing, including the Amish attire the petite toddler had been wearing—dresses and aprons and little nightclothes Aquilla had lovingly hand sewn.

When Kathleen appeared at the door, she looked thinner, and her lovely hair had grown significantly. There was a joyfulness on her face, though, and her eyes lit up when she saw Britta sitting on the floor playing with her faceless doll, wearing her Sunday best—a pale pink dress, white organdy cape and apron, and a tiny heart-shaped white head covering. Aquilla hoped it was all right to present Britta in church clothes to her mother.

“She’s grown so much!” Kathleen got down on the floor at eye level with Britta, clearly eager to hold her. “She looks so healthy, too.” Kathleen held out her hands to her daughter, who shrank back, frowning and looking up at Aquilla. The young woman momentarily grimaced. “Ah . . . of course. She doesn’t know who I am.”

Despite her own sadness at Britta’s impending departure, Aquilla’s heart ached for Kathleen. “Given time, she’ll bond with ya,” she told the young woman, wondering if she sounded convincing enough.

Shy as she was, tiny Britta got up and went over to Aquilla, wanting her to lift her up, which Aquilla did.

Kathleen continued to sit on the floor cross-legged in her jeans and tennis shoes. “She looks so cute in that outfit. Is that how she usually dresses?”

“Jah, but just for church or special occasions, so she fits in with the People. Usually she wears little aprons that match the color of her dresses. It’s all I know how to sew. Hope that’s okay.”

Kathleen didn’t seem to know what to say.

“I’ll go an’ get her things.” Aquilla excused herself, taking Britta with her to get her favorite blanket.

When she returned with a suitcase, she set it on the floor and put Britta down, wondering if she might warm up to Kathleen a little.

But Britta toddled back over to Aquilla’s chair, carrying her blanket, and curled up in it, starting to cry. “Mamma,” she whimpered. “Mamma . . .”

Still seated on the floor, Kathleen scooted over to her, trying to cajole her, but Britta cried all the more. Perhaps seeing how futile this was becoming, Kathleen left to go out to her car, where she sat for the longest time.

Aquilla looked out the window to check on her and saw her walking up the road now, wearing dark sunglasses under the bright cloudless sky.