“May it be so,” she whispered, looking out at the rapidly falling snow. She could scarcely see the willow grove and the pond beyond. It’ll be beautiful once it stops. Maybe I can go skating again when the weather improves, she thought, wondering what the forecast was for next week. First she’d need to get Britta to help her clear the pond of all this new snow.

Tomorrow was an off-Sunday from Preaching service, but she was certain they would not be traveling to visit any relatives. Not in this weather. We’ll have to stay put, she mused, wondering how long Britta would be out there talking on the phone.

The snow had stopped in the night, leaving behind a glittering scene the next morning. The gazebo looked like a giant white muffin top, and the willows around the pond were cloaked in purest white.

After breakfast, Susie and Britta began to shovel out the back walkway, and it was only a short time before Jonathan Ebersol arrived to plow the drive.

Susie wondered if her sister would try to call Kathleen again, but she decided to let Britta bring it up. No sense encouraging her. . . .

This being the Lord’s Day, they would suspend all stitching, mending, and cleaning, and there would certainly be no sorting through boxes. As had always been Mamma’s way, there would be little or no cooking, either. Susie had adhered to that practice, choosing to make Sunday different than other days. Rather, she and Britta would enjoy reading and playing checkers, as well as writing letters.

“I hope you’re not upset with me for tryin’ to contact Kathleen,” Britta said during the noon meal of tuna sandwiches, potato chips, and fruit cup.

“Not upset, nee.”

“But you’re concerned, jah?”

“Concerned is a better way of putting it.” Susie reached for her sandwich.

Britta seemed to consider that. “I prayed last night, askin’ God to help me have the courage to call again . . . and for the words to say.”

Susie didn’t let on that she really wondered how this potential relationship would benefit Britta, although she could understand how Kathleen might want to know the daughter she’d given away.

“Will ya pray for me while I call?” Britta asked, eyes pleading.

“When?”

“After dishes are done. Hopefully this time she’ll answer.”

Susie looked at her dear sister. “What would ya like me to pray for?”

Britta sighed. “God’s will most of all.”

It was obvious how much this meant to Britta. “Jah, I can pray for that.”

Maybe it was because she had prayed herself, or maybe it was because Susie was praying even now, but Britta felt less nervous when she heard the phone ring this time.

“Hello?” came a woman’s mellow voice on the line.

“Is this Kathleen Williamson?” Britta asked softly.

“Who is calling, please?”

Britta’s heart beat fast. “It’s Britta Mast . . . from Hickory Hollow.”