Just then, a boy flew past them on an Amish scooter, right down the middle of the dusty road. Susie looked and thought it might be the same impudent boy Britta had just mentioned. But Britta seemed too absorbed in her thoughts to have noticed whoever it was, which was probably a good thing.

As they walked toward home, Susie realized that, from this end of the road, Hickory Lane seemed to stretch out far into the distance before it faded almost out of sight, skirted by cornfields and alfalfa on either side. Behind them, in the opposite direction, an early Fourth-of-July firecracker went off, followed by two more distant explosions.

“Do you know anything more ’bout my adoption?” Britta asked unexpectedly.

“Only that it took a while before Mamma could officially adopt ya. Sometimes it’s like that.” She paused. “And I remember prayin’ that we’d get to keep you.”

“Would Allen or Polly know more, do ya think?” Britta pressed.

“I’ve never heard either of them talk about it.”

Britta let go of Susie’s hand and began swinging her arms once again. “Well, someone’s gotta know somethin’,” she murmured.

“Why not ask Mamma again?”

“She wants to wait till I’m older.”

Susie wondered why that was, as well as why not having answers burdened Britta so.

“S’pose I oughta be submissive and quit askin’ so many questions.”

Susie glanced at her. “Could ya pray ’bout it?”

Her sister sighed. “I have . . . many times.”

Susie slowed her pace. “This seems awful hard for ya, sister. I’m real sorry.”

Britta nodded her head slowly. “I’ve kept it inside for all these years.” She wiped her eyes. “Not sure I can wait five more to know where I came from.”

Susie swatted at a shrill pitch near her ear. Then came the tiny prick on her cheek. Mosquitoes! she thought. “What’s it matter where ya came from?”

Britta laughed a little. “That’s kinda what Hazel said.”

“Isn’t where you are now more important?” Susie asked, then added more softly, “Ella Mae once told me that patience is a virtue the Lord rewards in His time.”

“Must be where Mamma got that idea.”

“Well, that, and from the Good Book,” Susie reminded her, thankful Britta felt comfortable talking to her so freely now.

CHAPTER
17

The hot, sticky days of summer slogged along, and with the heat came an abundant harvest of vegetables and berries. The mosquitoes were thicker than in recent summers, and one could hear the chirping of grasshoppers from sunrise to sunset.

Susie and Britta took turns working in their garden and at their roadside farm stand, selling the surplus once the canning and preserving were done. When neither of them could be out there assisting customers, they left the cardboard honor box with its slot for payment.