While Mamma sat in the next room reading, Britta served a warm brownie to Hazel in the kitchen, topped with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream and sliced peaches. Britta scooted in next to Hazel on the wooden bench, both of them still wearing turquoise dresses from Preaching service.

Hazel took a bite of the brownie. “Ooh, this is delicious.”

“Susie made them yesterday. All I did was warm them up in the oven for a bit,” Britta told her. “She’s much better at baking than I am.”

Hazel took another bite. “Wanna know what Obie says ’bout Susie’s baking?” She was grinning now.

“What?” Britta was all ears.

“That no one else’s can hold a candle to it.”

Interested, Britta turned to look at her. “That’s really something, since you and your Mamma are practically blue-ribbon bakers.”

Hazel laughed a little. “If you ask me, he’s fallin’ for her.” She paused to take a sip of milk. “And finally, ain’t so? Honestly, Obie thinks Susie is the best at everything.”

Britta recalled her short conversation with Obie at the farm sale. “Well, she is, don’t you agree?”

“Oh, definitely.” Hazel paused a moment, observing her. “There’s only one problem.”

Britta stiffened. “What do ya mean?”

“I’m worried Obie might take a job workin’ for our blacksmith uncle a hundred miles from here.”

“Wha-at?” Britta felt like she’d been sloshed with a bucket of cold water.

“Well, it’s not for sure yet.”

Why would he leave? Britta wondered, puzzled by this.

“Mamma doesn’t want him to work so far away. And I don’t, either.”

That’s how Mamma felt when Allen and his family moved away, thought Britta. “I don’t blame either of ya.”

Hazel forked up another piece of her brownie and dipped it into the melting ice cream. “It wonders me how Obie will break the news to Susie. They’re such gut friends and all.”

Britta wondered, too. Evidently it seemed poor Susie knew nothing about this. Suddenly, Britta wished she were in the dark about Hazel’s unsettling news.

It’s mighty strange to know something about Obie before my sister. . . .

———

While Britta and Hazel were playing another game of checkers, Mamma walked into the kitchen and said she was turning in early. Cordial as always, though, she encouraged them to enjoy the rest of their time together, so they continued their checkers game and even managed to talk between moves about the books they had been reading.

Hazel mentioned some old Grace Livingston Hill paperbacks her mother had stored away and let her read.

“Mamma and I like those books, too,” Britta told her. “Susie used to read them, but not in the last few years. Just too busy.”

“She does seem that way.”

Britta reached for her black checker and jumped Hazel’s last king, trying not to smile with victory at hand—her third of the evening.