“That sounds like Mamma, all right,” I said, tickled at how everything seemed to be falling into place. “I can just imagine her joy over Britta and me getting to stay here . . . and havin’ you in the family.”

“The feelings are mutual.” Obie finished eating his cookie. “I’ve had a soft spot in my heart for your Mamma for a long time.”

I had an idea. “What if we give her a call right now?”

Obie slid his chair back. “I was hopin’ ya might suggest it.”

Together, we made our way through the snow to the stable, and the conversation with Mamma felt like a warm breeze, her love radiating through the phone line.

“All gut things come to those who wait,” Mamma said sweetly. “The Wise Woman once told me that.”

I smiled and looked at Obie, whose head was against mine so we could both hear. “And to those who wait on the Lord,” I said.

“You didn’t know it,” Mamma went on, “but I prayed for the longest time that somethin’ like this might happen.”

Obie kissed my cheek. “I prayed for this, too,” he said.

My eyes met his as Mamma said how pleased she was that the house was staying in the family.

I agreed wholeheartedly and wished her a happy new year. And as Obie and I walked back toward the house, my heart was so full, I asked him to pinch me, to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

“Oh, believe me, you’re not. But maybe this’ll convince ya?” He stopped walking and leaned down to kiss me right there in the backyard before God and anyone watching.

I let a little laugh slip out, and he kissed me again.

“Well, s’pose I best be returning to work,” Obie said, grinning now. “It was Bishop John’s idea for me to take my break and come over to see ya, by the way.”

“I’m so glad he suggested it.”

Obie winked at me. “Denki for the tasty goodies, Susie. Blue-ribbon worthy.” He waved. “I’ll be seein’ ya real soon.”

I smiled, thrilled to hear it. Being newly betrothed, I looked forward to spending more time with him. It would be ten long months till November and the start of wedding season, but our courtship would be especially sweet, I was sure. After all, we’d been apart for much too long.

Author’s Note

One never can tell what will spark a novelist’s imagination.