Cheryl blinked several times, then looked down at the counter, clearly trying to keep her composure. It was obvious how concerned she was, and it made Ellie feel sorry for her even though she didn’t like the idea of an outsider having a close relationship with her brother.

“I apologize for barging in like this,” Cheryl said at last. “But I needed to talk to someone else who cares about Evan.”

Ellie understood and told her so.

“I just hope he’s not . . .” Cheryl stopped and cleared her throat.

Ellie saw the fear in her eyes. “We’ll have to look forward to his next letters and give him to God’s care,” she replied, saying this as much for her own peace of mind as for Cheryl’s.

Cheryl nodded but couldn’t seem to speak, her lower lip quivering. She turned to reach for the doorknob. “Thanks for taking time for me, Ellie.”

“It’s okay,” she said, taken aback. “Come anytime.”

In that moment, Ellie felt sure of only one thing. Evan had told the truth about Cheryl Herr—she was as nice as she was pretty.

36

While Elisabeth and Ellie were hanging up the washing the following Monday morning, Lyle heard a knock at the front door.

Who could that be? He set his coffee mug on the kitchen table, then made his way through the house, mighty curious.

He opened the door to see two army men standing there, shoulder to shoulder. “Hullo,” Lyle said, a lump rising in his throat. He’d seen these types of uniforms on military men in the newspaper during the past few years.

“I have an important message to deliver from the secretary of the United States Army,” the older of the two men stated quietly. “May we come inside to talk with you?”

Lyle’s heart pounded as he stepped aside to let them in. “Is this about my son Evan?”

Without responding, the men entered, and Lyle realized he was holding his breath. “Have a seat,” he told them, then sat near the window, bracing himself.

“May I have your full name?” the younger man asked, not unkindly.

Dread crept nearer. “Lyle Hostetler.” Has Evan’s terrible decision come to this? Lyle wondered, suddenly feeling light-headed.

“The secretary has requested me to express his deepest regret that your son, Private Evan Hostetler, has been reported missing in action during combat.”

“He’s missin’?” Lyle asked with a small sense of relief. “Not deceased?”

The same man nodded slowly, his expression sympathetic. “You shouldn’t give up hope. Your son may have been taken prisoner, and if so, the authorities will be notified directly once he’s located. Are other family members at home that we should speak with?”

“My wife and daughter are here, but I’ll break the news to them.”

“If you’re certain,” the other man said.