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Hannah.”
    “I hope you like it,” she said.
    “I already more than like it,” he said, shaking his head. “But all this food is a little much.”
    “If we don’t pray soon, the food will be cold,” Jake said. “Would you please ask the blessing, Mr. Brunson?”
    “I would be glad to,” he said, bowing his head. Hannah followed, closing her eyes. It was strange that Jake would ask an English man to lead in prayer in their house, but she trusted his judgment. Plus he was a gut friend—not like the Mennonites who sought to lead them astray.
    “Dear Father in heaven,” Mr. Brunson prayed. “I thank You tonight for these, my two friends Jake and Hannah. I thank You that they have invited me into their home. I thank You for this wonderful food Hannah has worked so hard to prepare. I pray that You bless Jake and Hannah’s efforts and their kindness, both to me and to so many others.
    “I thank You for Jake and the hardworking man that he is, for the honesty he shows in his business dealings, for the quality of his work, and that he cares about the people who buy the furniture he makes.
    “Bless now this wonderful food that is before us, and give us Your blessing for the rest of our evening together. Amen.”
    Jake lifted his head, and Hannah avoided Mr. Brunson’s eyes. She was sure there were tears in her own, and it might be best if Mr. Brunson didn’t see them. He had said some wonderful things about Jake in his prayer—which were all true, but still, her people didn’t just go around saying things like the Englisha people apparently did. And certainly not in speaking to Da Hah.
    “Mashed potatoes first,” Jake said, passing the bowl to Mr. Brunson. He heaped his plate high, and then poured on the gravy Jake handed him.
    Mr. Brunson is planning to eat his fill tonight, which is gut, Hannah thought. Jake too piled on the mashed potatoes. Both men already loved her food, she could tell.
    After a few minutes of casual conversation, there was a lull. Mr. Brunson cleared his throat, and Hannah glanced at his face. It had sobered, as if he had something important to say. She held her breath as he laid his fork on the table.
    “Perhaps this is not the time to say it,” Mr. Brunson said. “But I don’t know when a good time would be.”
    Hannah was glad when Jake said, “Speak what’s on your mind, Mr. Brunson. We’ll make it the right time if it isn’t already.”
    “Well,” Mr. Brunson said, clearing his throat again. “You are a minister, aren’t you, Jake?”
    “ Jah, ” Jake said. “I am. The youngest one around here, but a minister.”
    “Then can you tell me what happens if I wish to date one of your women?”

Six
     
    Jake paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth, as Hannah gasped.
    “I hope I haven’t been too forward,” Mr. Brunson said. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. But how do you deal with outside people who wish to marry one of the Amish women?”
    “I do assume you have someone in mind?” Jake asked, clearing his throat. “Or you probably wouldn’t be asking. Have you spoken with the woman in question about this matter?”
    “Not in the way you mean,” Mr. Brunson said. “But I buy the occasional dozen eggs from her stand along Highway Two, and I have spoken with her when we met once in the grocery store in Libby. I didn’t want to pursue the matter any further until I knew what the proper steps would be.”
    “Then you mean Mary Keim,” Jake said. “She’s the only one who has a stand along Highway Two.”
    “She is a widow?” Mr. Brunson asked, glancing at Jake’s fallen face.
    “She is,” Jake said more stiffly than he intended. An awkwardness fell over the room.
    A shadow crossed Mr. Brunson’s face. “I’m sorry about this. I had no intention of disturbing you with my question. I wouldn’t want anything to affect my friendship with you and Hannah or with your people. I have a very high regard for your faith.”
    “Yes, we know you do,” Jake said,