She looked fondly at the main farmhouse. “We’ll get to live in my childhood home, a real blessing. And our babies will be born here, just as I was, and grow up to love the orchard, too.”

“Your father’s givin’ us a tremendous responsibility—and you’re ahead of me on a lot of the business side.” Sol chuckled.

“I’ll share with ya what I know.”

Sol slipped his arm around her waist. “We’ll be gut partners, I believe.”

“And not just for the orchard.”

The bountiful apple harvest that fall took nearly every ounce of energy and focus for Ellie and Sol, but the Saturday and Sunday evenings belonged to them.

One evening Ellie showed Sol her latest letter from Evan. “Look what he wrote,” she said, pointing to the words. “‘I’m sending my warmest and best wishes for a happy wedding day.’”

It had taken her aback, the wording Evan used. It sounded so stiff, like they didn’t really know each other.

“Evan’s on my mind more than I realize, I think,” Sol said. “I feel bad that we used to be friends but aren’t any longer.” He shook his head. “No one would expect an Amish guy to become a soldier.”

Ellie was quiet for a moment, pondering something she’d thought about but hadn’t voiced to anyone. Will Dat’s news about the orchard put a wedge between Evan and me once he finds out?

33

Mid-October, Ellie was still over the moon that Dat wanted her and Sol to manage the orchard in a few years. My not-so-secret desire, she thought, snuggling against the pillows behind her as she sat up in bed long after her parents had retired for the night.

She took her time reading several psalms, then rose to open the windows as she often did when the night was mild. The wind had picked up considerably, and the lantern flickered as she headed back to outen it before slipping back into bed.

Another long day tomorrow, she thought, pulling up the homemade quilts and hoping for a soaking rain in the night.

Suddenly waking to the sound of tires squealing, Ellie bolted upright in bed. She’d heard that sound before, and she trembled, recalling the terrible day of Sol’s attack. Rubbing her eyes in the dark, she soon recognized the smell of smoke and leaped out of bed, pushed her feet into her slippers, and pulled on her long robe as she hurried to a dormer window. Yellow-orange flames torched a number of trees in the southeast section of the orchard.

“Dat! Wake up! Fire in the orchard!” she yelled as she rushed down the stairs, then toward her parents’ bedroom. “I’ll call for help.” Heart in her throat, she dashed down the next flight of stairs, out the side door, and across the windswept meadow to the shared phone shanty in the neighbor’s field.