Clara lost the entire day. By the time she got home from the Stutzman farm, she’d missed the afternoon run of the milk wagon, her usual prospect for hitching a ride to a farm near Fannie’s. Though she might still walk the six miles before darkness fell, she hesitated to leave without being sure her father was on the mend—or at least resting well—and Hannah was so full of after-school chatter that there was no place for Clara to break in and explain she was leaving. Clara recognized the precise moment she looked out the window and knew it was too late.

She barely slept.

On Friday morning, Clara paced before daylight the mile to the corner where she knew the milk wagon would pass. The words in Fannie’s notes replayed in her mind. Though a stone dropped in her stomach when she realized the driver was Yonnie Yoder and not one of the two other—more pleasant—dairy drivers, Clara put a smile on her face and asked for a ride that went past the Maple Glen Meetinghouse the Marylanders used. At least she knew he would not require conversation beyond an initial greeting and departing pleasantries.

When he let her off, Clara ignored Yonnie’s silent scowl and thanked him for obliging her with a ride. He no more approved of her visits to her Marylander relatives than he did his employer’s choice to do business with the Marylanders.

None of that was Clara’s concern. She only needed to see Fannie. When she knocked on the back door, Clara smelled the bacon and eggs Fannie cooked every day for Elam’s breakfast. Her empty stomach gurgled in response.

Fannie fell into Clara’s arms. Elam was gone to the fields or the barn, and Sadie stood on a chair with her skinny arms in the dishwater. Clara felt Fannie’s tremble and squeezed her shoulders hard, while at the same time catching Sadie’s grin. The girl was especially proud that she had lost three teeth and smiled wide to show her accomplishment.

Fannie composed herself and touched her daughter’s shoulder. “Sadie, thank you for helping with the dishes. We’re going to go see Grossmuder, so please tidy your bed before we go.”

Sadie pulled her hands out of the water, splashing droplets on Fannie and Clara. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said to Clara, pulling her lips wide again.

Clara smiled at Sadie and then turned to Fannie as soon as the girl was out of sight. “We’re going to see your mother? Is she all right?”

Fannie pulled the last plate from the sink and rinsed it in clear water. “Yes. As far as I know. It seems she has not been confiding in me.”

“But you’re very close to your mother.”

“You’ll see,” Fannie said. “Sadie!”

Fannie would reveal little in her daughter’s presence, so Clara did not press. Instead, as they walked they talked about the state of Fannie’s vegetable garden and whether the hens were laying enough eggs. Sadie circled around them in her bare feet, asking the names of sprouting vegetation and pointing out the birds swooping from their nests. On an ordinary day, Clara would have enjoyed the leisurely two-mile morning stroll. Today each step twisted her anxiety tighter.

Clara heard the aching breath Fannie drew as they approached Martha kneeling between the budding rows of flowers across the front of the house. Sadie raced ahead to greet her grossmuder, throwing her weight against Martha’s back and disturbing her balance. Martha recovered quickly, but in the effort it took to stand up, Clara saw more than the strain of age.

Martha was not an old woman. She was only forty-four and actively managed her household.

Not only forty-four. Clara corrected herself mentally. A woman having a child at forty-four was not the same as a woman weeding her garden at forty-four. Already Martha’s balance was off. Already her back arced slightly to compensate for the rising mound in the front.

Clara swallowed hard. Worry shot through her even as she reached out to put a hand on Fannie’s arm.

“But your youngest brother is twelve,” Clara whispered.

Fannie’s response was a choked sob.

Even as Clara kissed her aunt’s cheek, she felt the color drain from her face. Once, a woman in the church was pregnant at forty-six. Even the English doctor said it was dangerous.

Martha patted Sadie’s head. “There’s strudel in the kitchen. Why don’t you go get a piece?”

Sadie’s penchant for strudel propelled her into the house.

“You don’t have to hide what you feel,” Martha said softly to the two young women before her. “Clara, you’re worried something will happen to me or the baby—or both of us. Fannie, you’re heartbroken even though you want to be glad.”

“Aunti Martha,” Clara said—but she did not know how to finish her sentence.

Beside Clara, Fannie pushed her breath out slowly. “You didn’t tell me. You waited until I could see it.”

“I didn’t know what to say,” Martha said. “I know how much you want another child.”

Clara moistened her lips and glanced at her cousin.

“Gottes wille,” Martha said. God’s will.

They went inside for strudel and coffee. Sitting on a stool, Sadie’s face was already smeared with cherry filling. When Fannie took cups down from a shelf, clinking nearly obscured the toddler’s cry.

“Thomas is here?” she said.

Martha nodded. “Lizzie asked me to keep him for a few hours this morning.”

Sadie wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “I’ll get him.”

“Be gentle,” Fannie called after the girl. “Hold his hand. Don’t carry him.”

Thomas, her brother’s son, was a year and a half old. When Fannie heard the news that he was on the way to the newlywed couple, she was genuinely glad for them. But now another two years had passed. In all that time, Fannie had not had even one delayed cycle, not one morning of conflicted signals from her body, not one morning of hope that her faithful patience was rewarded at last. Lizzie and Abe likely soon would announce that they were expecting another boppli, and Fannie would once again have to kiss their cheeks in congratulation.

Sadie returned to the room with a crooked grin on her face and a sleepy boy wobbling on his feet.

A boy.

A son would please Elam. A stair-step row of sons, with another daughter or two along the way, would split his face in permanent joy. Fannie wanted to give Elam that vision. She wanted to hold that vision for herself.

But after more than five years since Sadie’s birth?

Fannie looked at her mother heating coffee at the stove. Perhaps if she steeled herself with enough pastry, she could say she was glad for her mother.

She wouldn’t be glad—not yet. But she would try very hard to say that she was.

Clara was grateful to be back at Fannie’s house. Though the outing lasted barely three hours, it had exhausted Clara. It was not the miles they strode in lovely sunlight.

Her aunt was right. Clara was fearful, and Fannie was heartbroken.

At least in Fannie’s home, neither of them had to pretend they felt differently. They only had to avoid speaking of the subject in Sadie’s presence. As soon as Clara dropped into the davenport, Sadie snuggled against her and nudged her way under Clara’s arm.

“Did you bring me a story?” Sadie looked up at Clara’s face hopefully.

Clara stroked Sadie’s hair. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t think of it this time.”

“Will you send me one in a letter, then?”

“I’ll have to finish one,” Clara said. “I’m in the middle of Joshua and the Battle of Jericho.”

Sadie turned her head toward her mother across the room. “Mamm, do I know that story?”

“I don’t know,” Fannie said. “Do you?”

“You’re being silly,” Sadie said. “Just tell me if I know it.”

Clara tickled Sadie’s neck. “If you don’t remember, then I guess you don’t know it.”

“But you do, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then tell me from your head.” Sadie scratched one bare foot. “You can send me the paper later.”

“Well, let me see. Have you ever been surprised by a very big job? Something that seemed so hard that no one could do it? Maybe it made you afraid?”

“I remember when I was afraid of feeding the chickens.”

“Bigger!” Clara said.

Sadie pushed her lips out, thinking. “I used to be afraid of carrying the milk bucket from the barn when it gets too full.”

“Bigger!”

“I’m not afraid to pick up Thomas.” Sadie giggled. “Mamm is afraid I’ll drop him, but I’m not. And I’m not afraid to let the horse take an apple out of my hand.”

“You’re a brave little girl,” Clara said. “But I’m sure if you think very hard, you’ll remember something that seemed like a big, huge job, and when you do, you’ll know just what Joshua felt like when God told him to lead the people in a walk around the city of Jericho. Joshua had to be brave enough to lead the people, but he also had to be brave enough to believe that when he obeyed God, the very tall and very thick walls around Jericho would fall down. That’s how the people would get inside the city.”

Sadie’s eyes were wide and bright. “Are you going to make sounds in this story? I like it when you make sounds.”

“Now that you mention it,” Clara said, “there are some very exciting sounds in this story. I’m going to need your help with them.”

Sadie clapped.

“I’ll make some lunch,” Fannie said. “It should be ready by the time you get to the part about walking around the city seven times.”

“We’ll be hungry by then,” Clara said. “Now Sadie, let’s practice a trumpet sound.”

Clara kept her voice cheerful for Sadie even as she watched the deepening droop in Fannie’s shoulders.

After lunch, Sadie scampered outside with a promise that she would not stray far from the house. As soon as her daughter was out of earshot, Fannie turned her strained face toward her cousin. They stood at the front window watching Sadie run in circles.

“She’s a gleeful child,” Clara said. “I hope I didn’t wind her up too much with all the marching and horn blowing.”

Fannie gave a wan smile. “She’ll never forget that story. She remembers all the Bible stories you tell her. And soon as she gets a letter, she makes me stop everything and read it.”

“We’ll have to work on teaching her to read them for herself.”

“Thank you for coming.” Fannie squeezed Clara’s hand. “None of my friends here would understand. Everyone in the church will think it’s such happy news.”

It was happy news. Perhaps on another day Fannie would be able to make herself feel the gladness new life should bring.

“Have you decided whether to marry Andrew?” Fannie said.

Clara pulled her bottom lip down in a grimace. “What will I say if he asks me again?”

“Yes! You should say yes!”

“I know. I do care for him. Truly I do.”

“Then don’t try his patience any further. The wedding season will be here before you know it.”

Fannie’s mind flashed to what might happen by this time next year. Andrew and Clara could marry in the fall or early winter. By next summer, they could have a baby of their own on the way.

And it would be one more child wrenching at the grief in Fannie’s heart, even though Clara would be terrified at the prospect of giving birth.

Martha’s child—Fannie’s own brother or sister—would be sitting up on a quilt in the sunshine, perhaps even rocking on hands and knees preparing to crawl.

Fannie swallowed the thickness of her throat. The world did not stop because God did not find her deserving of another child.

“Don’t miss out on Andrew’s love,” Fannie said. “If there should be a child…”

“Let’s not talk about that now,” Clara murmured. “I should go.”

Fannie nodded. If Clara didn’t get to the Maple Glen Meetinghouse on time, she would miss the milk wagon going back across the border.