Susie sat in the front room next to the stove, addressing Christmas cards. Always before, Mamma had mailed cards to the extended family on behalf of the three of them, while Susie and Britta would send a few to their closest cousins and friends. This year, though, with Mamma in Missouri, Susie wanted to send out more of her own, thinking Britta might want to do the same.

She got up to stretch and look out at the snow, wondering about Britta.

Staring at the front door, Susie remembered what her sister had said about Kathleen appearing there on the porch with baby Britta in her arms. She wondered if Mamma had kept this under her bonnet all these years because she realized how it would affect Britta and, possibly, her future.

Turning, Susie looked down to see a black cat hair on Mamma’s favorite chair, evidence of Lucy. Even as a little girl, Britta liked to sit in this chair and play with her faceless dolly, she recalled.

Despite the heartbreak of Britta’s tale, there was an unmistakable silver lining: Britta had come into Mamma’s life at just the right time. And I sure needed a little sister, Susie thought, remembering how she’d secretly believed that God had sent Britta along as a gift after Eli’s death.

Now if I can just tend to Britta’s troubled heart and help see her through to joining church. She stacked the completed Christmas cards and set them to the side, imagining the wondrous day of her sister’s future baptism. O dear Lord, be our Compass and gentle Shepherd, she prayed.

CHAPTER
39

The minute Susie and Britta finished pinning the washing to the basement clotheslines the next morning, Britta dashed upstairs to the kitchen. By the time Susie trudged up there, Britta was already sitting at the table with her writing paper nearby.

Susie began to prepare the ingredients for a beef stew for the noon meal, wanting to make something warm and hearty when it was so bitter cold outside. Even though winter hadn’t officially arrived by the calendar, it was making itself known.

Now and then, Susie glanced over at Britta, aware of how rapidly her hand was moving across the page. Although she was curious about whom she was writing to, Susie did not inquire.

When Britta finished and was folding the stationery, Susie asked, “How’re the table runners comin’ along for Elizabeth Lantz?”

“I got up early this morning to cut out all the pieces,” Britta replied, pushing the letter into an envelope.

“Des gut,” Susie said, continuing to chop celery and onions for the stew.

Britta leaned her elbows on the table and looked now at Susie. “I went out on a limb and told Hazel ’bout my birth mother last night.”

“I wondered.”