Stealing a glance at my grieving brother, I wished I hadn’t pushed myself into the conversation. After all, we’d been talking about Jack’s burial service. “Killed in a hopeless war,” I’d heard some womenfolk murmur. It was such a tragedy. “I’m awful sorry, Evan. I should’ve kept my thoughts to myself.”

He leaned down and picked up a handful of freshly fallen pink blossoms. For a moment, he appeared to be pondering something.

“What’re ya doin’?” I asked him.

He looked at me without saying. Then at last, he smiled. “Hold out your hands.”

I stepped closer, opening my palms, and he placed the few blossoms there like he did when we were little, knowing how much I loved them and everything about the orchard.

“Remember when I’d put them in my hair?” I asked.

“Wasn’t that long ago, really,” he said, eyes soft and gentle.

For fun, I sprinkled a few on my head, glad I hadn’t worn my bandanna yet today.

“Now you’re the pertiest Amish girl in Bird-in-Hand,” Evan said. “I daresay you could have any fella your heart desires.”

I broke into a smile. “Ach, Evan, I only care ’bout one boy.”

“And who would that be?”

“Ain’t tellin’.”

Evan chuckled, shaking his head.

“Anyway,” I said wistfully, “the day I marry is the day I leave the orchard behind.”

Evan nodded, a look of empathy on his face.

“Kinda strange that it’ll be the best day and the worst,” I added.

He looked at me. “For your sake, I wish it could be different, Ellie. Maybe we could manage the orchard together . . . if things work out that way.”

And miss out on love and having my own family? I thought, though I was moved by his caring. Truly, I couldn’t have asked for a better brother. If anyone deserved to inherit the orchard, it was Evan.

“All of this’ll be in your capable hands,” I replied.

“Remember, you can always visit,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes.

He reached for the blossoms in my hair, but I ducked and scooted away. Laughing, he patted his straw hat. “I’ll be seein’ ya at breakfast.” He gestured toward the right, then went on ahead up the walkway of thick grass between the trees.

Already missing the banter, I watched him go as I imagined him running the orchard when Dat retired in a few years. No one loved the orchard and the work involved quite as much as Evan—except, of course, me. Through the years, we’d spent long hours together out here, especially during the springtime and the harvest, talking and laughing as we worked from sunrise to sundown.