On Sunday morning, I heard my mother moving around the room. I sat up in bed. “You can sleep a little longer,” she whispered. “It’s early.”

I shook my head. “I’m up.”

Gray light leaked between the blinds, leaving pale stripes on the walls. My mother was wearing the green dress she’d had on when she stepped off the train six days ago. Her suitcase stood near the door, her basket, black cape, and traveling bonnet on top of it. “The time went so fast,” I said.

“Good times always do.”

I went to the bathroom to wash and dress. When I returned, my mother was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Come here,” she said, patting the place beside her. “I want to say something to you before we go downstairs.” I sat beside her as she reached for the hairbrush on the bedside table and began to brush my hair. I remembered how my childhood had been filled with mornings like this, quiet ashy dawns with my mother beside me, pulling a brush through the tangles of my long hair. “So, now you’ve seen both sides. You’ve seen your aunt’s life and you’ve seen mine. One day you’ll make your own choice.”

I sat still, enjoying the tickle as my mother worked the brush through my hair and smoothed it with her sturdy hands. This was the first time she had ever discussed the possibility that I might not return to Amish life.

“What are you saying?” I asked softly.

“I’m saying that I don’t want another member of my family under the bann.”

“So if I decide to stay here…”

The brush fell away from my hair with an abruptness that startled me. My mother shook her head urgently. “Let’s not talk about that now,” she said. “I can’t bear to think of it.”

“Okay,” I said. Then I added gently, “But you were the one who brought it up.”

“I know. But there are some things on my mind.” I waited. She went back to brushing my hair. “Lately I’ve been thinking about Kate’s brother. His mother’s heart is broken. I’ve wondered how things might have been different for that family if they had agreed with William’s decision not to be baptized. Maybe they’d still be in contact now.”

I listened quietly.

“So I want you to know,” she continued, “that I don’t want to live the life that Kate’s mother is living. Do you understand?”

“I do,” I said softly.

“And whatever choice you make,” she said, “don’t make it for a boy. Don’t stay here for Joshua, and don’t come home for Daniel. Make the choice for yourself.”

I looked at my mother. She stopped brushing my hair and waited for me to answer. “I understand.”

“All right, then,” she said, her voice sounding more like the brisk, no-nonsense mother I had left behind, and less like the unexpected friend I had found in the last six days. “Now, let’s go downstairs and face those good-byes that we’ve all been dreading.”

In the kitchen, Beth was standing at the sink, staring out the window, her fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee. When she turned to us, I saw that her eyes were red and swollen. “Well,” she said, with forced cheer in her voice, “what would you like for breakfast?”

“Whatever’s easy,” said my mother, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

While Beth whisked the scrambled egg batter, I set the table and my mother made toast. Minutes later we gathered around Beth’s kitchen table. I scooped a bit of egg onto my fork, but when I tried to swallow, my throat ached with the effort. I glanced at my mother and aunt, who seemed to be having the same trouble.

My mother set down her fork. “Is there any way we can have an easy good-bye?”

Beth shook her head, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Not a chance.”

“I didn’t think so,” said my mother, with a sad laugh.

I got up and carried the plates and coffee cups to the sink, listening to the quiet comfort of the sisters at the table together. When I turned back, I saw my mother and Aunt Beth, their hands stretched across the table, their fingers interlocked. Watching them, I realized that one day I’d be saying good-bye to one of them.

Forcing myself to look away, I saw John standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Is it time already?” asked Beth. John glanced at the clock and nodded. My mother and Beth released each other’s hands and stood up from the table, their movements slow and fluid.

“I’ll put your things in the car, Becky,” said John. “And I’ll wait for you outside.”

I followed my mother and aunt through the living room to the front door. My mother was walking with exaggerated straightness. At the front door she turned and reached for me. I stepped into her arms. She pulled me close and whispered into my ear, “Remember what we talked about.” I nodded. My throat felt clogged. “And take care of your Aunt Beth. This is going to be a hard day for her.”

I stepped back, my hands gripping my mother’s arms. “This was…” I fumbled, groping for the right words. I tried again. “This was an important time for me.”

“For me too,” my mother said.

I stepped aside and let Beth take my place in my mother’s arms. She was crying now, and my mother stroked her hair. My mother’s face was pale, and her lips twitched. “Watch your mailbox for letters, Beth. They’ll be coming.”

“The bann.” Beth choked out the words. “You can be punished.”

“I’ve been punished all these years without you,” my mother said. “There’s nothing worse they can do to me. It can’t be Good Amish to give up someone you love.” She reached for the door and opened it, then turned back to look at Beth, whose face was twisted with emotion.

“It’s okay, Elizabeth,” my mother said. “Your sister is here.”

My mother was right about one thing. It was going to be a hard day for Aunt Beth. After my mother left, Beth looked like a child lost at the fair. I helped her clean the kitchen and then followed her to the guest room to strip the sheets off the beds. She stood in the middle of the room with the bundle of bedding in her arms.

“Do you want me to put them in the washing machine for you?” I asked gently.

Beth shook her head and sat down on one of the beds, letting the sheets drop from her arms, onto the floor. I sat beside her and put my arm around her shoulders. “Everything’s good now. You and my mom are together again.”

Beth laid her head on my shoulder. “Yes,” she said. “Together but apart. I guess it’s better than the way it was before.”

“Much better,” I said. But I thought about Beth’s words. Together but apart. That’s how it was for me too. I’d have letters, and maybe other visits, but I was apart from my family and friends. It was something I hadn’t let myself think about during the excitement of coming here.

Beth turned to me, her face drawn, as though she had just finished a long day of work. “I think I need to lie down for a while,” she said. “Is it okay if I take you back to Rachel’s a little later?”

I followed Beth to her room, feeling protective and grown-up. Beth crawled into bed, and I pulled the quilt over her.

“I just need a few minutes,” she murmured as I turned off the light and closed the door.

While my aunt rested, I started a load of wash and remade the beds with clean linens. Then I cleaned the guest bathroom and hung up fresh towels. I was anxious to get back to Rachel’s house, to call Josh, to see the children. But the sadness in Beth’s eyes was tugging at me. It was a relief when Uncle John returned from the train station.

“Aunt Beth is lying down,” I told him. “I think she wants to be alone for a while.”

John nodded. “I’ve been dreading this day,” he said. “It was so hard when she said good-bye to her sister the first time.”

“How was my mom?”

“She barely said a word in the car. And she wouldn’t let me walk her into the station.” He paused and looked at me, a question in his eyes. “And how are you?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer. I would miss my mother, but there were other things on my mind now. I had promised Josh I would call him as soon as I got back. This was going to be a new beginning for us. The truth was, I couldn’t wait to see him, but I worried that saying it would sound like I was happy my mother had left.

“I’m okay,” I said.

“All right, then,” said Uncle John. “Let’s get you back to Rachel’s house.”

I ran upstairs to get my suitcase.

My room at Rachel’s was comforting and familiar after the days away. I sat on the bed thinking about the time I had spent with my aunt and mother, hearing their revelations, seeing their faces etched with emotion.

All through the week they had treated me like an adult, and I had been proud to be trusted with their secrets. But now I was tired of being an adult. I was ready to be sixteen again.

I picked up the phone and called Josh.