“Thank the dear Lord,” Mamma said quietly as she sat at the kitchen table. “We haven’t had such a big snow in years.”

Susie rose to look out the back-door window, surveying the stable and the carriage shed. “So many branches are down.”

“We’ll get them cleaned up in no time,” Britta said with a glance at Mamma, as though concerned she’d be worried.

“Oh jah, Henry’ll be over first thing tomorrow.” Mamma seemed unfazed. “He always comes after a storm, ya know.”

“He and Polly sure do keep an eye out for us,” Susie agreed.

The sun penetrated through the mangled mess of willow branches the next morning, illuminating the broken boughs that had splintered and scattered all over the ground. Soon, shrubs and trees began to cast off their white burden as the melting began, with clumps of snow dropping unexpectedly from time to time.

Just as Mamma had guessed, Henry arrived via passenger van with his chainsaw and went to work on the downed limbs even before breakfast. Britta seemed eager to help him, so Susie was content to offer companionship to Mamma indoors, cooking breakfast for all of them.

The noise from the chainsaw made it hard for Britta to talk to her brother-in-law, clad in a black knit hat and woolen scarf. Even though he and Polly still lived in the area, she’d never been close to him or Polly—not like she had been with Allen and Sarah.

Nevertheless, Britta managed to get a question in to Henry, though at first the words froze in her throat before she could let them loose. She wasn’t sure if it was the bitter cold or that she was timid about asking.

“I’ve been wonderin’ something.”

Henry looked at her right quick, his thick blond bangs visible beneath his knit hat. “Jah?”

“Would ya happen to know anything ’bout my adoption . . . or my first mother?”

Henry straightened and studied her. “What do ya wanna know?”

Britta waved, trying to make light of it, but so far, she really hadn’t gleaned anything more than what Mamma had already told her. “No one ever talks about it. I mean, doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

Henry drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Well, I don’t know much, ’cept you turned out to be the answer to your Mamm’s yearnin’ for another child,” he said, leaning down to gather an armful of branches.

“After Eli died?”

He looked thoughtful. “Polly said she’d been wanting a baby even before that, really—prayed that one of the foster babies she looked after might come up for adoption. And you were the one that came along . . . the one God gave her.”

Britta considered this. “Know anything else?”

Henry shook his head. “Even if I did, it’d be your Mamm’s place to tell ya.” He dropped the branches into a dumpster. “Have ya asked her?”