“Well, both must sense your gentleness.” Hazel motioned for them to sit at the table, where she removed the plastic lid from the fudge and offered some to Britta.

“This time of year, it’s hard to quit nibblin’,” Britta admitted, taking a piece.

They enjoyed the rich fudge and sipped their cocoa, talking about the different kinds of pies and cookies they planned to make. Hazel mentioned wanting to make a brownie mix and put it in jars with pretty bows on top as gifts for some of their Englischer neighbors.

“Great idea!”

“’Specially for women who work all day away from home, ya know.”

Britta agreed, glad for this visit with Hazel, but later, as they were cutting out paper snowflakes and angels, she felt somewhat tense. Should I tell her? Is now the time? she wondered, remembering what Susie had said about Hazel always being a friend.

“You’re awful quiet—are ya thinking ’bout something?” Hazel asked, glancing at her.

“Ach, sorry,” Britta said quietly. “I’ve been wanting to talk to ya, since you’re my closest friend.”

“Everything okay?”

Britta couldn’t back out now. “Well, while I was in Missouri, Mamma finally talked with me ’bout my adoption.” She went on to share all that she’d learned. “I wanted you to know, hard as it is to tell ya.”

Apparently dumbfounded at this revelation, Hazel frowned, and her eyes fluttered.

Britta’s heart pounded. Have I made a mistake?

“How do you feel ’bout all this?” Hazel asked at last, her voice pinched.

“I felt just sick at first . . . and awful sad, too. I didn’t know what to think or how to feel, really. Sometimes I still don’t.”

Hazel shook her head, as if trying to absorb this. “Ach, to think that the woman who birthed ya . . . well, it’s shocking.”

Britta drew a slow breath. “I was hesitant to share it, worried you might see me differently.”

“Aw, Britta, I know you, and I know your adoptive family.” Hazel stopped for a moment, then continued. “Your birth mother made a terrible mistake and caused a painful break in Caleb and Aquilla Mast’s family tree. But she also did a selfless thing by letting Aquilla raise you as her daughter.” She reached for Britta’s hand. “I’m thankful for that.”

Ever so relieved, Britta gave her a smile.

“This doesn’t change anything ’bout our friendship. You’re my best friend.”

Britta squeezed her hand. “If ya don’t mind, will ya keep this to yourself? At least for the time being.”

“Sure, you can trust me.”

“I’ve thought of talking to the bishop and his wife,” Britta said. “I’d like to get his wisdom on what to tell or not tell folks. And, too, I have some questions to ask.”

“Bishop Beiler will know how to handle it, if anyone does,” Hazel said, encouraging her.

Britta truly hoped so.