“I’ll have one, too, dear, while your hand’s in the cookie jar,” Bishop said, his gaze shifting toward Britta. He gave her a thoughtful look over his spectacles.

“Well, ya best watch your sugar, John,” Mary said, coming over with the tea, and a cookie for only Britta.

“Sad yet true.” Bishop gave a chuckle.

Britta felt a little sorry for him and, because of it, decided as she sipped her tea to eat her cookie later. Suddenly, the kitchen felt too warm. I must say what I came here to say.

“Take your time with your tea,” Mary said sweetly, as if sensing something was troubling her.

“I’m all right,” Britta said, again thankful Mary was there. She took a breath and began slowly. “While I was in Missouri, Mamma told me some things that alarmed me but also confirmed my feelings . . . of not fitting in. Well, of not bein’ worthy to be one of the People.”

Bishop’s eyes were fixed on her. He leaned forward and folded his callused hands, then pressed them against his full beard. “Go on.”

Slowly, she revealed everything she knew about her birth mother, and how she had ultimately given up her baby girl for Aquilla to raise.

Mary sighed as a big tear rolled down her round face.

Britta continued, “For most of my life, I’ve wondered if I belonged here in Hickory Hollow. Could this perhaps be why?”

Clearly shaken, Bishop leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his gray hair. “You were raised by a fine, godly Amishwoman who taught ya the things of the Lord.” He paused and drew an audible breath. “Because of that, you know that Gott’s ways are just and true . . . and sovereign.”

She agreed with a nod, weary from repeating this difficult account.

Bishop Beiler went on to say that, the way he saw it, she had been given the gift of a Plain life. “The beginning of a wondrous blessing, in fact.”

His words made her stop and think.

“I love Mamma so much, and my whole Mast family. And I’ve enjoyed growin’ up here, but learning that my birth mother killed Eli makes me feel unworthy.” She stopped to catch her breath. “It was a terrible tragedy for my adoptive family. And knowin’ now what I do, I feel I’m a reminder to them of it.”

Mary’s gaze skittered across to her husband.

“I understand why ya might think thataway,” Bishop said, rubbing his wrinkled forehead. “But listen when I say that it’s not how our Lord sees ya a’tall.” He shook his head. “Gott knows your heart better than you do, Britta . . . and He sees your faithful obedience.”