“I didn’t have a chance on the ride home today to show ya what I bought for my hope chest. Hazel found some things, too,” Britta said, but then her expression turned tentative. “Her brother Obie stopped to talk with us.” Britta let the last words dangle.

“I saw him, too,” Susie replied.

Britta looked surprised, but Susie didn’t feel the need to share more.

“Honestly, I think he might’ve wished you were with him ’stead of another fella.” Britta put Lucy down and reached now for Daffodil.

It didn’t seem like it.

“Obie’s always been so nice.” Britta snuggled Daffodil, then tilted her head at Susie, looking at her. “Ach, you’re usually so happy when you talk about him, but you don’t seem that happy now.”

After Mamma’s seeming disappointment over hearing about Del, Susie wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s hard to explain,” she said, walking toward the back porch.

“I hope you’re not upset with me,” Britta said, getting up with Daffodil still in her arms. “I couldn’t bear it.”

“I’m pretty sure you could, jah?”

Britta laughed. “Okay, but I’d hound you till you forgave me. After all, the Good Book says you have to forgive me.”

Susie smiled at her teasing. “Aren’t you the clever one! But my chores and yours are waiting. We should prob’ly get busy.”

Britta nodded. “Mamma doesn’t call ya her Little Red Hen for nothin’.”

Susie ignored the remark and headed inside, where she went back to the sewing room to finish sketching out a family tree she’d been commissioned to create, the fifth of seven current orders. She wanted each cross-stitched tree to be uniquely special, and this one, a fiftieth wedding anniversary gift for Mattie Beiler’s uncle and aunt, would have extra curlicues and flourishes stitched around its four corners.

After a while, she went to the kitchen, where Mamma was writing a letter at the table. Susie opened the gas fridge and noticed a five-bean salad chilling.

“You didn’t have to make anything,” she told her mother, glancing over her shoulder.

“Just doin’ my part.” Mamma offered a smile. “I made us some meatloaf, too.”

Susie placed seven large potatoes in the deep sink. Turning on the faucet, she let the water pour over them before picking up the first potato and the paring knife, making a peel that grew nearly as long and wavy as Britta’s hair.

But Susie’s mind was not on the chore at hand. She realized that no matter how much she cared for Obie, he was probably never going to be anything more than a friend. Going forward, she might as well accept further invitations from Del, assuming he asked her again.

CHAPTER
4