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Nathan fled outside as though the house were on fire. He couldn’t bear her look of pity and didn’t want to be cajoled into standing around a cradle making cooing and clucking noises. Those were things that women did. Right now he wasn’t cut out to be somebody’s
daed
. How could he look into the sweet face of his son and not see his beloved Ruth staring back?
    Tonight he would thank God for his aunt, who had been willing to leave her own family and move in with them. Having raised six children of her own, Iris Fisher knew all there was to know about
kinner
. Abraham would receive the tender loving care he deserved while Nathan could get back to work. If he was going to turn this place into a profitable farm again, it would take all of his energy and attention. A child was something he had desperately wanted with his wife, but now that Ruth was gone an infant became a confusing puzzle—like the first time he tried to use a cell phone. And he was sure he would never be able to look at that baby and not remember what she had given up for his sake.
    Nathan hurried to the barn for evening chores. He cleaned stalls, spread fresh straw for bedding, scrubbed out water troughs and feed buckets, and groomed horses until it grew so dark he couldn’t see two feet in front of his face. He worked until his back muscles ached and his stomach growled from hunger. But at least when he returned to the house to wash off the dirt and sweat of hard labor the kitchen was empty. A low-burning kerosene lamp cast dancing shadows across the walls. His plate of dinner had been left on the table—four pieces of cold and dried out chicken, fried potatoes in a similar state, and a large serving of pickled beets. Iris had thoughtfully spooned the beets into a separate bowl so the juice didn’t stain the rest of his meal. But he could have easily overlooked red-tinted chicken as long as he didn’t have to talk to his aunt or anybody else about recent events.
    Or about what he planned to do with the rest of his life.



Three
     
     
    N athan heard a baby cry in his sleep. The sound had interrupted a pleasant dream in which he had been fishing in a rowboat on their farm pond back in Indiana. He had pulled several bigmouth bass from the water, one after another, while his father leaned back in the stern, watching him in amazement. “Haven’t you any bait on your hook?” Nathan had asked his father in the dream.
    “
Jah
, I have plenty of worms left,” his father had said. “But the fish seem to like your line better today.”
    The sun had felt hot on his back and shoulders while a cool breeze across the water had kept them comfortable. He couldn’t have imagined a more perfect summer day. Nathan remained in bed after realizing he’d been dreaming, burrowing deeper under the covers.
    But the crying was real, the sound emanating from the next room. This was the third time the baby had awoken him during the night. Glancing at his windup clock, he punched his pillow and then swung his legs out of bed. He had only fifteen more minutes until his four thirty milking and figured he might as well get up.
    As he passed the guest room—now the bedroom of his aunt—he heard soft cooing in an attempt to lull the child back to sleep. A twinge of guilt gripped his heart.
How much sleep will Aunt Iris receive if the
boppli
remains fussy night after night?
But Nathan had few options, considering he had signed a one-year lease on the farm. Because an Amish man kept up his end of a contract, it would be at least eight months before he could move back to Indiana where his
mamm
and sisters lived. They might be able to help with his son, but they couldn’t solve the problem of few farms in the area available for lease.
    A man needed to work to live. So he and his squalling child would have to stick things out here for the foreseeable future, as long as Iris didn’t return to her decidedly quieter home with her own sons.
    Nathan dressed and headed to the