field that ran alongside the lane.
Susannah’s mind called up all the things she had to be thankful for—her family, her health, a community that had supported her through a difficult time and now a perfect spring afternoon.
Ten minutes later, they reached the mailbox. Susannah had her hand inside, trying to reach to the back, where it seemed at least one piece of mail always managed to land, when Shiloh stepped closer and Sharon began to bounce from foot to foot.
“Someone’s coming,” Sharon said.
Susannah shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun, at first curious and then disbelieving and finally completely confused. What was he doing here?
Micah Fisher had taken his time finding his way out to the farm. He’d figured that as long as he was in town, he might as well check things out. Then he’d realized he was hungry again, so he’d stopped by the coffee shop where the two Amish ladies had been standing. He ate a leisurely lunch and used the time to charge his phone since he wouldn’t be able to do so at his grandparents’ farm.
The sun was low in the western sky by the time he hitched a ride to the edge of town. The driver let him out at a dirt road that led to several Amish farms. He’d never been to visit his grandparents before. They always came to Maine. But he had no trouble finding their place. His mamm’s instructions had been very clear.
As he drew close to the lane that led to the farmhouse, he noticed a young woman standing by the mailbox. A little girl was holding her hand and another was hopping from foot to foot. They were all three staring at him.
“Howdy,” he said.
The woman only nodded, but the two girls responded with “Hello”—one whispered and the other shouted.
“Can we help you?” the woman asked. “Are you...lost?”
“Nein. At least I don’t think I am.”
“You must be if you’re here. This is the end of the road.”
Micah pointed to the farm next door. “Abigail and John Fisher live there?”
“They do.”
“Then I’m not lost.” He snatched off his baseball cap, rubbed his hand over the top of his head and then yanked the cap back on and down to shield his eyes. “Say, don’t I know you?”
“Absolutely not.”
“But I’ve seen you before...in town, when I first arrived. You were standing outside the bakery with a plain-looking girl.”
“If you mean Amish, we all are.”
“No, I meant plain.” He smiled to suggest he was teasing, though honestly the other girl had been so pale as to be translucent and had worn the traditional white kapp and a gray dress. She could have been a cloud or a puff of fog or a figment of his imagination.
But the girl in front of him?
She wasn’t someone you’d quickly forget—daring brown eyes, a kapp pulled so tightly that not a hair escaped, which only served to accentuate the exquisite shape of her eyes, bright color in her cheeks and a sweet curve to her lips. Her dress was a pretty dark green with a matching apron.
And she was his neighbor?
Perhaps Gotte had provided him an ally through this trying time of his life.
Micah stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Micah—Micah Fisher. Pleased to meet you.”
“You’re not Englisch?” Instead of shaking his hand, she reached for her other sister. They had to be siblings from the way they looked up at her and waited to see what she’d do next.
“Of course I’m not.”
“So you’re Amish?” She stared pointedly at his clothing—tennis shoes, blue jeans, T-shirt and ball cap. Pretty much what he wore every day.
“I’m as Plain and simple as they come.”
“I somehow doubt that.”
“Since we’re going to be neighbors, I suppose I should know your name.”
“Neighbors?”
“Ya. I’ve come to live with my daddi and mammi—at least for a few months. My parents think it will straighten me out.” He tugged his ball cap lower and peered down the lane. “I thought the bishop lived next door.”
“He does.”
“Oh. You’re the bishop’s dochder?”
“We all are,” the little girl with freckles cried. “I’m Sharon and that’s Shiloh and that is Susannah.”
“Nice to meet you, Sharon and Shiloh and Susannah.”
Sharon lost interest and squatted to pick up some of the rocks lining the caliche lane. Shiloh hid behind her schweschder’s skirt, and Susannah scowled at him.
So, not an ally.
“I knew the bishop lived next door, but no one told me he had such pretty doschdern.”
Susannah’s eyes widened even more, but it was Shiloh who peeked out from behind her skirt and said, “He just called you pretty.”
“Actually, I called you all pretty.”
Shiloh ducked back behind Susannah.
Susannah narrowed her eyes as if she was squinting into the sun, only she wasn’t. “Do you talk to every girl you meet that way?”
“Not all of them—no.”
“And do you always dress like that?”
“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”
“And why did you arrive in a pickup truck?”
“Because a friend offered to bring me.”
“An Englisch friend?”
“Say, what is this—the third degree? It feels like it, and as far as I know, I’ve done nothing to land me in trouble.”
“Yet.” Susannah snatched up Sharon’s hand and turned back toward the bishop’s house.
“It was gut to meet you,” he called out, knowing it would fluster her. Just his luck that the girl next door would be a killjoy. He’d met enough Amish girls like her to fill the back of a pickup truck twice over.
They were so disapproving.
It rankled him.
It also made him want to do something reckless, like throw a party
