Only a moment passed before he appeared with his mare and tied her to the post, then began to pull the gray enclosed carriage out of the shed and into the sunlight. Gabe backed the mare into the shafts, giving Anna a kind of tutorial as he worked. He seemed quite serious about the hitching-up process—as an essential part of his life, it had become second nature to him. But Anna had to wonder why he was giving her a running discourse on what he was doing, step by precise step.

When at last they were on their way, Anna beside him on the front seat, Gabe began to talk about her “excellent involvement” with the other volunteers. “Also, with one rider specifically,” he added.

She assumed he meant Emmie but wondered what he might say further.

“My sister-in-law Barbara Mast—I know you’ve met her—has been sayin’ what I believe, what I hope, to be true.”

She turned to look at him, there on the driver’s side of the carriage, holding the driving lines in a more relaxed manner than Sadie ever had.

“Barbara thinks Emmie might be on the verge of a breakthrough,” he continued.

Anna remembered holding her breath as Emmie nuzzled up to Promise, leaning her head against his flank as though Emmie didn’t know Anna was observing her. And then today, she’d reached for Anna’s apron.

“What do you think?” Gabe glanced her way.

Anna shared with him what she had observed. Then, for no particular reason, she asked why he thought Emmie had stopped speaking when her mother died.

“Emmie’s life was stitched into Emily’s,” he began. “Emily liked to call her a Mamma’s girl, since her every waking minute was spent with my wife. Their bond was precious.” Gabe also mentioned that he’d built his first tree house for his wife and Emmie. “They played house in there, took naps in the afternoon, had picnics, and whatnot all.” He paused and looked the other way for a moment.

Then, his voice quieter now, he went on. “Emily adored Emmie and had so many plans for her when she grew up. She wanted to teach her to cook and do piecework and quilt and garden and sew, like all the other Amish girls. But Emmie was only three when Emily died of cancer after a short remission.”

Anna was aware of how Gabe’s face softened whenever he spoke of his daughter. “Emmie’s your gift from heaven,” she said, hesitant to say more yet appreciative of how frank Gabe had been about such a painful subject.

“I can’t help but think that you and Emmie have a special connection, too,” Gabe said, startling her. “She doesn’t respond even to her Mammis the way she does to you, Anna.”

But I’m basically a stranger, thought Anna.