Once again, Susie tried to explain their older brother’s reasoning—his quest for land, and how he’d unsuccessfully searched all over Lancaster County and the surrounding area for a plot large enough to farm and then parcel out to his sons later in life. “Mamma says he’s been teachin’ his youngest children to fish and hunt and gather huckleberries out there, learning nature’s lessons. Sounds like a wunnerbaar-gut place to raise a family.”

“Do ya think he misses Hickory Hollow?” Britta stirred her applesauce, which she had yet to taste.

Does he miss us, she means. “Would ya like to write a letter, maybe?”

Britta shook her head. “What I’d like is for them to come back.”

Just then, Susie heard the gentle sound of the wind chime on the back porch. “Allen won’t be doin’ that. He believes he was led to go to Missouri, remember?”

Britta stared at her applesauce, still for a moment. “S’pose I’ll have to ask God ’bout that,” she murmured. “And about a few other things.”

Susie wondered what that meant as she poured fresh goat’s milk into a glass and carried it to the table.

“If I wasn’t adopted, I wonder where my home would’ve been,” Britta said, finally eating now. “I think a lot on this, honestly.”

“Well, if I knew, I’d tell ya.” For whatever reason, her sister seemed to be struggling today.

Britta sat quietly and asked no more questions. The silence felt ever so awkward.

After a time, Susie asked, “Would ya like to go to the farm sale over on Hershey Church Road this Saturday?”

Looking up, Britta nodded. “Hazel wants to go, too, so let’s all go together, if that’s okay.”

“Wunnerbaar,” Susie agreed.

“Who knows, maybe Obie will come along,” Britta added, brown eyes alight.

Susie smiled. “I’m sure he’ll attend with his father and brothers, like usual.”

Later that day, while hitching the buggy to Brambles, one of their two dark bay horses, Susie spotted the first robin of the season, hopping in the grassy area near the hitching post. The pretty red-breasted bird chirped merrily as it searched for worms, and Susie wished Mamma were there to see it. She loves the first sighting of spring, she thought, though she was pleased Ella Mae had invited Mamma for tea. The elderly woman had a winning way about her, listening without giving advice, unless requested, which drew folk—women especially—to unburden themselves while sipping her famed peppermint tea.

People don’t call her the Wise Woman for nothing, Susie thought as she climbed into the buggy. Picking up the driving lines, she signaled the mare to move toward the road. The horse trotted gracefully, black mane floating up and down with each stride.