“Are ya ill, Susie?” Obie frowned and directed the horse to move onto the side of the road and halt.

She pointed ahead. “Up yonder’s where Eli and I were—”

Obie slapped his forehead. “Ach, I forgot. I’m awful sorry.”

“Ain’t your fault.” She pulled her scarf out of her coat pocket and wrapped it around her neck, tears threatening. “I go there often on my own, but mostly on foot. I’m not sure why it’s such a problem right now.” She hugged herself to try to settle down, like she did sometimes when sweeping the side of the road or raking leaves from the grassy ditch. “I’ve tried and tried to block that night out of my mind.”

“I can’t imagine what you went through, seein’ your brother . . .”

Sitting there with Obie’s full attention, she felt conflicted, at once comforted and uncomfortable and strangely vulnerable, and tempted to tell him something she’d buried since childhood and never told a soul. If anyone would understand, Obie surely would.

Susie shuddered suddenly, recalling how stubborn Eli had been before they began their walk home from Aendi Emmalyn’s that day. If only I’d stood my ground with him, she thought, tears welling up.

“Susie . . . you’re crying,” Obie said, fishing for something in his coat pocket.

“Still thinking ’bout Eli.” Sighing, she uttered, “And what happened before he was hit.”

Obie offered her his blue paisley handkerchief, concern on his handsome face.

She accepted the handkerchief, wishing now she hadn’t brought this up. Such bad timing, she thought.

“I’m a gut listener, ya know,” Obie said, a faint smile appearing.

That she knew, but she’d been caught off guard by her emotions. “I thought I could talk about it, but I guess I can’t. It’s just too much right now.”

He was quiet for what seemed like a long time, and when he spoke, his voice was muffled. “I’ve said this before, Susie, but you can tell me anything.”

Inhaling deeply, she exhaled slowly before admitting, “It’s the same awful grief, rearing its ugly head whenever I least expect it.”

“I’m sorry you still suffer so,” he said. “But I think it’s normal. My Dat said he felt that way after his uncle died. Never knew when the sadness would overwhelm him.”

“Jah, I feel like I might drown sometimes.”

“I wish I could help; I truly do.”

She nodded, glad she was able to confide at least that much. “You’re a help, believe me,” she managed to say.

“Gut, then.” He picked up the driving lines, checked over his shoulder for traffic, and directed the horse to move forward.

What came over me, crying in front of him? It wasn’t something she’d done before.