“She encouraged me to go ahead and talk to the bishop. So, after dinner today, I’m goin’ over there before the snow starts up again.”

Susie nodded, a little surprised. Even so, she replied, “You can always trust the bishop.”

“Mamma’s often said that, too.” Britta began to address the envelope.

“He and Mary’ll be glad to see ya, sister.”

Britta rose and went to the utility room behind the kitchen. When she returned wearing her winter things, she said, “I want to get this letter in the mail to Mamma. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Susie said, wondering what Britta had written.

Britta felt as if she were walking on eggshells as she entered Bishop Beiler’s farmhouse later that afternoon. Mary welcomed her into the cozy kitchen, where a number of the bishop’s white long-sleeved shirts were drying near the stove. The familiar smell of baking bread pervaded the room, giving Britta a sense of comfort.

About that time, Bishop Beiler appeared in the back doorway and greeted her with a smile above his long white beard. “Wie geht’s, Britta?” he said, removing his work coat and hat, coming in from the blacksmith shop, Britta assumed.

For an instant, she was taken aback at how casual he looked in his heavy black sweater over a blue shirt, open at the throat. “I hope I’m not interruptin’. . . .”

Bishop shook his head and moved a chair over near the stove for her. She was glad for the chance to warm up while waiting for Mary to join them. They’re kind to welcome me, she thought as the bishop went to wash his hands at the sink.

Then, suddenly, the realization of why she’d come made her jittery, and she wanted to change her mind and go home.

Mary broke the stillness. “Would ya like some warm tea?”

Britta nodded and thanked her.

“Looks like more snow’s comin’.” Bishop Beiler glanced toward the windows near the table as he pulled up a chair for himself.

“Weren’t many buggies on the road just now,” Britta replied.

He nodded, his big eyes soft. “What brings ya today?”

She glanced at Mary at the stove, pouring hot water, and wished she would return to the circle of three chairs. Her presence was a comfort, and Britta needed the support. “Ach, this is the hardest thing I think I’ve ever done,” she finally managed to eke out.

“Comin’ here?” Mary asked over her shoulder.

Embarrassed at how it sounded, Britta nodded all the same. She’d never had any reason to seek out the man of God on her own like this.

“Just relax,” Mary said. “I’ll bring ya a sugar cookie, too, with your tea.”

They must think I’ve come to confess sin, Britta thought, all the more nervous.