Except for Mamma on a few occasions, no one had gone with Susie to honor Eli’s memory on the anniversary of his death, or at any other time. “Okay, then,” Susie said softly. “We’ll leave right after dishes are put away.”

The sounds of Hickory Hollow this time of year were muted—no chainsaws were cutting logs in the distance, and few horse and buggies were out. Presently, the early evening sun cast long shadows through the trees lining the pasture not far from the road where Susie and Britta drove along. A flock of red-winged blackbirds dotted the sky, and Susie could hear the distinct call of the males.

“What was Eli’s favorite thing to do?” Britta asked.

“Well, fishin’ and goin’ turkey hunting with Dat—they did that at least a couple of times together.”

“Deer hunting, too?”

“Nee, Dat usually went with Allen to get his deer, but I think Eli would’ve grown up to be a gut shot.”

“How do ya know?”

“He had a gut aim at corner ball during school recess.” Susie laughed quietly. “Eli also liked to take me in the pony cart when Mamma asked him to go to the General Store to get odds and ends. She’d give him a list and stick the money in a zipped leather holder, and off we’d go.”

“You made some happy memories together, ain’t so?”

Susie nodded. “For sure and for certain. Just like you and me.”

As they arrived at the destination, Susie directed Atta-Girl toward the side of the narrow road, opposite the location of the accident, and came to a halt. Without speaking, she stepped down from the carriage and went around to the back, opening it to remove the rake and broom.

While Britta was climbing from the carriage, Susie crossed the road and began to rake a long patch of grass, including the sloped area beside the road where wild flowers would soon grow.

Britta wandered over, surprise on her pretty face. “Did ya see the bundle of flowers over yonder?” she asked, pointing.

“They show up here every year in the exact same spot.”

Britta walked over and leaned down to look at the bouquet but didn’t touch it. “They look fresh . . . smell nice. Must be handpicked, too,” she said, reaching for the broom propped against the horse fence.

“Ach, you don’t have to sweep,” Susie said. “That’s my job.” My responsibility . . .

Britta left the broom where it was. “Who leaves the flowers, do ya think?”

Susie had always found their appearance peculiar, since placing flowers as a memento like that wasn’t really something the People did. “I don’t know.”

“Mamma didn’t come earlier today, did she?”