In the lantern’s light, he leaned back against the dresser and looked at his wife, all curled up beneath the sheets. As emotionally spent as he was, it was beyond him how she could sleep.

Still contemplating what had transpired earlier, Lyle turned to pull open a drawer and find his pajama bottoms. Thankfully, Ellie had pushed her brother to say something, or they might all still be at that kitchen table.

Lyle said his rote prayers, then pleaded with God to help them through this rough patch with Evan. We need Thy strength, O Lord . . . and Thy mercy.

8

The next morning, Ellie couldn’t help noticing hardly anyone spoke at breakfast. She hadn’t slept well, finding it impossible to get comfortable, then rising to pace the floor in her room. Eventually, she’d opened the windows at each end of the narrow hall outside her room. All the while, she’d prayed, asking God for the right words to say to her brother, who seemed downright conflicted. He needs guidance from someone who’ll take him under his wing. But who? Would either Jonah or Rudy step forward to lead their ill-advised brother back onto the right path? But they had their own small farms to tend to, juggling their work at home with the orchard work with Dat. And they had families to look after.

Even Dawdi Hezekiah was uncharacteristically quiet as he ate, glancing every so often at Evan, who looked as solemn as when he’d returned from Jack Herr’s funeral more than two months ago. Evan drank his coffee and moved his scrambled eggs around with a fork, sporadically taking a bite.

Poor, weary Mamm slumped in her chair to the right of Dat. At one point, she started to speak but instead shook her head and reached for a glass of water, then her coffee, and then her water again.

To Ellie, it felt like the calm before a storm, and by the way her father’s jaw twitched, surely one was coming.

At noon, Mamm served a corned beef and cabbage casserole to all the family members who’d been working in the orchard. As with breakfast, Ellie said barely a word except to compliment her mother on the delicious meal.

Meanwhile, unlike his behavior earlier, Evan had piled food on his plate and was making quick work of it. Frankly, she had assumed he’d lost his appetite following yesterday’s lottery drawing. But now he didn’t seem bothered by the outcome.

She felt tense there at the table as Jonah, Rudy, and Titus began to rehash the details of the draft lottery, which they’d surely read about in the morning newspaper, The Intelligencer Journal.

“Sol’s lottery number is eight,” Jonah said, raking his hand through his bushy brown beard. “He told us the minute he arrived at work, mighty relieved that he registered as a CO last year.”