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for? Was he worried you would lose your way?” Elizabeth unloaded the basket into their propane freezer.
    â€œHe plans to attend an event in Shreve on Saturday. James Weaver wishes to meet Amish women not from our district, and Cal agreed to go with him.”
    â€œGreat news.” Elizabeth clapped her hands as though at a horse show or theater performance. “But why did he meet you at Country Pleasures?”
    â€œHe wants Adam and me to join them, believing there’s safety in numbers. Please don’t tell Rebekah. If she stalks James like a serial killer, he’ll be unable to make new friends.”
    â€œSarah Beachy,” Mamm scolded. “A serial killer? Have you been watching TV at Mrs. Pratt’s? I suggest you limit yourself to the Hallmark Channel so you don’t put such nasty ideas into your head.” Elizabeth made that clucking sound with her tongue—a gesture every mother masters eventually. “Rebekah likes James in a perfectly normal way.”
    â€œJust the same, let’s give James a chance to see some new faces.”
    Begrudgingly, her mother nodded.
    â€œWould you mind if I walked to Josie’s? I’d like to take the Yoders a loaf or two of these sweet breads.”
    â€œOf course not. Why would I mind?” Her mother placed the last two tightly wrapped loaves by the door.
    â€œ Daed gets mad when he comes inside and finds you fixing supper alone. He thinks I work too hard for Mrs. Pratt and not hard enough at home.”
    She laughed from the belly. “Eli is so old-fashioned. Don’t be surprised if he insists you quit your job the moment you and Adam announce your engagement. Run along. I’ll tell your father I ordered you to go, because that’s what I’m doing. Tell Margaret Yoder I’ll see her at quilting.” She transferred the breads into a smaller basket. “Are you up to something, sweet girl?” Elizabeth Beachy couldn’t be fooled for long; she could sniff out a sly plan while standing in a garden of summer roses.
    â€œMaybe. I’ll let you know if I’m remotely successful.” Shrugging into her cloak, Sarah grabbed the basket and headed for the door, kissing her mother’s cheek on the way out. “In the meantime, say a prayer that the love-bug bites not one, but two people in our neighborhood.”
    â€œThe love-bug? First serial killers, now romantic insects?”
    Sarah closed the door behind her and headed around the barn with energy that belied her long workday. The Yoders lived on a different township road, but a well-trodden path connected the two farms. The trail wound between fenced pastures, through the orchard, around the woodlot that stretched into the hills, and past an abandoned gristmill. Seldom did a trip to Josie’s not include a five-minute break at the piece of history from a bygone age of agriculture. Sarah would standon the ivy-covered stone wall and peer down into the cascading water far below. The mill itself was beyond repair, yet the grapevines and rampant wildflowers softened its decrepit appearance. A rusty waterwheel had locked into position for all eternity, but Sarah loved it here—so peaceful, so quiet. She could still her mind and listen to God prodding her in one direction or another. Right now, He told her to get a move on or there wouldn’t be time for her errand.
    Josie was outdoors when Sarah rounded the corner and approached the house. Josie Yoder—petite, small-boned, with sparkling green eyes and hair so dark it looked black. Since Sarah was tall, blonde, freckled, and brown-eyed, the two were polar opposites physically. But in other ways, they were sisters under the skin. They often guessed what the other was thinking with amazing accuracy.
    â€œHi, Josie,” Sarah called while still yards away.
    Her friend turned at the clothesline, a billowy white sheet in hand. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you work at