After I helped Sadie redd up the kitchen, I headed to my room to read more of Mammi Eliza’s journal. Toward the back pages, I noticed something at the end of her November entry that year, where she was counting her blessings at Thanksgiving time. I don’t regret coming home from Strasburg when I did. God’s hand was on me, I know that for sure. And, too, a certain young man here in Mifflinburg has caught my attention: John Slaubaugh, who asked me out for a date. I’m so happy!

That evening, when I visited Gabe, he told Emmie that he was going to marry me come November. “She’ll be your new Mamma.”

Emmie’s eyes widened, and she let out a giggle.

I looked at Gabe, wondering if he’d heard it, too.

Emmie reached for her dolly on the wooden bench next to her and held it up. “Anna,” she said clearly, pointing to the doll.

“Ach, honey-girl,” Gabe murmured softly.

Tears sprang to my eyes. “You named your dolly after me?”

Nodding, Emmie’s eyes sparkled.

“Oh, sweetie.” I reached for her, and Emmie’s little arms slipped around me, holding on as if for dear life.

There were only a handful of perfect moments in an entire lifetime, I realized, and here I’d cherished two such moments in the space of a single day.

Thank you, dear Lord, for hearing my prayers, I prayed silently, looking first at Gabe, then dear little Emmie. Such an unforgettable day of days!

Author’s Note

During an autumn stay at a New Hampshire inn, I came across a coffee table book titled Sermons in Stone by Susan Allport, which intrigued me with its many historical facts about the stone walls of the Northeast. To my surprise, the paperback edition of that same book appeared under the Christmas tree that year, wrapped and tied with a pretty bow from my husband, Dave, and I was happily able to finish reading it. As I often do, I filed away my impressions—the tiny first seeds of this novel—and later wrote the manuscript titled The Stone Wall.

While in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, for Amish-related research a year later, I strolled along the back roads near Strasburg’s historic stone walls and took pictures to assist my art director for this book cover. All the while, I remembered those initial stirrings of the story of Anna Beachy and her quest for a fresh start, and I thanked God for small beginnings.