Close as we were, my adopted sister, Britta, soon to be thirteen, was excited about this birthday gathering, even though fewer of us would be present this year. In truth, most of the People didn’t make too much of observing birthdays in any case. Focusing attention on individuals wasn’t our way. Other days on the calendar were far more significant: Christmas, Easter, Baptism Sunday, and the fasting days prior to twice-yearly communion—days linked to God.

I hurried downstairs to the front room and noticed what a nice job Britta had done polishing all the wood surfaces after school yesterday. Our sister Polly managed to keep her house over in Landisville spick-and-span, even with a babe in arms, an eighteen-month-old toddler, and a school-age son. The last few years, it had fallen to me to take on most of the household chores, since Mamma’s once extraordinary get-up-and-go had been affected by asthma, which had worsened this spring with the melting of the snow. Despite being tired much of the time and having occasional shortness of breath, she refused to see a medical doctor, preferring to use folk medicine—most especially, a syrup from comfrey root, mullein, garlic, fennel seed, and apple cider vinegar—as well as other natural remedies her own Mamm had passed along.

After Polly and her family left for home that evening, I slipped into my coat to head down to the willows with Obie, while Britta sat on the steps of the potting shed, playing with her three former strays—Tabasco, Lucy, and Daffodil. Britta had been just a toddler when she developed a keen attachment to barn cats. She waved and smiled at Obie and me.

“I’ll be back soon,” I called as we walked toward the driveway. Obie had worn his Sunday best for my birthday gathering—black broadfall trousers, vest, and coat, with his pressed white shirt. Best as I could remember, he’d never worn his for-good clothes when coming to visit, not even the years he’d spent Christmas evening with us.

What could it mean? I wondered, half hoping I guessed the answer.

“Your birthday cake was delicious,” Obie said, blue eyes shining. “You outdid yourself again, Susie.”

I smiled. “Glad ya liked it.”

“Well, I wasn’t the only one,” he said as we headed toward the pond side of the willows. “Henry had seconds, I noticed.”

He chuckled, and my laughter mingled with his as we strolled around the big pond, talking about whatever came to mind, like we were so good at doing. Like we had always been good at doing.

He mentioned his fourteen-year-old sister Hazel’s friendship with my younger sister, and I agreed that it was a real blessing they’d recently forged such a strong relationship.