“She rarely comes on the actual day, and I’ve never seen her bring flowers.” Susie stopped raking and paused to look at the pretty pink bleeding hearts, purple creeping myrtle, and white daffodils held together by the soft blue ribbon, its ends tied in a neat bow. “Mamma doesn’t even put flowers on Dat’s and Eli’s graves that I know of.”

Britta looked even more melancholy now. “Do ya remember what happened that day?” she asked timidly.

Susie inhaled sharply. I couldn’t even bring myself to tell all to Obie. “The driver must’ve lost control . . . was goin’ too fast in the rain, then swerved . . .” She couldn’t say more. Her stomach was a ball of knots.

“The English do drive fast.” Britta tilted her head, arms folded around her middle. “To tell the truth, I don’t even like travelin’ in the passenger vans.”

Susie nodded but stayed quiet.

“Hazel said her Mamma thinks the driver was prob’ly drunk,” Britta added. “But that could be gossip.”

“A hit an’ run is what it was.”

“A what?”

Feeling uneasy, Susie said, “The driver kept goin’ . . . didn’t stop, after hittin’ Eli.”

“Maybe the driver didn’t know anyone’d been hit,” Britta said. “Could that be?”

Susie would spare her the horror and not reveal that she’d screamed, over and over . . . nor speak of the low, hollow sort of cry Eli had made as the car struck him and he fell to the asphalt. The last sound he made. Oh, how she wanted to end this conversation.

Tears welled up in Susie’s eyes as Britta said, “I hope Eli didn’t suffer long.”

Susie found her voice again. “Mercifully, he went straight to Jesus.” She put down the rake, walked over to Britta, and stood next to her. “Honestly, talking ’bout this today maybe ain’t such a gut idea,” she admitted at last, then gently slipped her arm around her sister.

“I’m sorry.” Britta leaned against her. “Comin’ here’s awful hard. No wonder Mamma doesn’t want to do it very often.”

“Jah, who can blame her?” Susie said quietly.

CHAPTER
13

A full week swept by, and while the farmers all over Lancaster County were planting field corn for October harvest, Susie planted even more vegetables and completed two additional cross-stitched family trees, accepting orders for several more. She also helped Britta make plenty of popcorn balls.

Looking back, Susie could see that she was purposely filling up her hours, trying to keep from brooding on Obie’s decision to work for his uncle, so far away.

The first Saturday market day in May, while Susie waited with Britta and their mother for their van to arrive, Britta unexpectedly mentioned the wild flower bouquet she and Susie had seen at the spot where Eli had died.

“It was leanin’ against the white horse fence,” Britta told Mamma. “Real perty.”