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of “natural” things that were just plain evil, but now was not the time for a philosophical discussion. “Has anyone else noticed their cows acting funny?”
    Hannah nodded. “Leah Hershberger said her husband mentioned the cow was tremblin’ when he milked her. Thought she’d been scared bad by a fox out in the pasture. And that was jus’ before they all got sick.”
    I made a mental note to tell that to the CDC liaison, Dr. Turner. “Anyone else notice sick cows?”
    â€œOne farmer’s cow come down lame, real sudden like. Can’t find a thing wrong with its foot. And Abe Miller on Willow Brook had a birthin’ calf get stuck and kill the mother.”
    This was becoming less helpful, as far as I was concerned. If people were afraid, nearly anything could be blamed on a curse.
    â€œAre any other families sick?”
    â€œNot so far,” Hannah said quietly. “Praise God. But I’m scared to death when one of mine so much as sneezes.” Hannah poured some milk from a small pitcher into her coffee cup. And I suddenly realized I’d put milk in my coffee too—and had drunk it. I knew the Yoders had their own milk cow. Fresh, raw milk was as ubiquitous as water in these households. My stomach wanted to cast it up. I fought the urge.
    â€œHannah . . . it might be wise for you to stop drinking your cow’s milk. Just for a bit.”
    â€œWhat?” Hannah looked shocked, like I’d suggested she fly to the moon.
    â€œLook, the CDC is investigating the Kindermans’ deaths, and hopefully they’ll soon know exactly what caused them and if there’s a link to Will Hershberger’s death. But it’s possible that whatever made them sick was passed on from the cows to the family in the milk.”
    â€œBut our cows ain’t sick!” Hannah looked distraught, as if the idea had not occurred to her and she found it shocking, repellent.
    I leaned forward and covered her hand with mine. “We don’tyet know what’s going on. It’s possible a cow could be sick for a day or two without showing any symptoms. And meanwhile, this sickness could still be passed through the milk.”
    Hannah went pale, then paler still, as horrors passed behind her eyes. “But . . . they haven’t said . . . The truck picked up yesterday like always.”
    I heard what was behind the denial in her words. Because there was Hannah’s family, yes. But the Yoders didn’t just have a family cow, they had a small herd and they sold the milk. And beyond this farm there was an entire community that sold milk by the tons and depended on the money from it.
    I held Hannah’s gaze, and we shared a silent dread.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. The CDC knows what it’s doing.
I forced a reassuring smile. “I’m probably being paranoid. But if there’s even a small chance . . .”
    Hannah got up abruptly and opened the door of her refrigerator. She took out a plastic gallon of milk and poured it down the kitchen sink. She spoke stiffly. “I can keep the kids from drinkin’ it in my kitchen, but Isaac’s not gonna wanna stop production. Not with no proof the milk’s bad.”
    I was pretty sure she was right and that Isaac Yoder wouldn’t be the only one.
    â€”
    Amber Kruger dropped off her dog, Lemon, at the neighbor’s at six A.M. on Tuesday morning. She’d never been a morning person, and the first hour of her Tuesdays and Saturdays were ahuge drag. But by the time her intern, Rob, arrived at her apartment and they’d driven to their first stop of the day, she was ready to smile and enjoy herself. She always felt a heady lift of spirits pulling into Willow Run Farm in Bird-in-Hand.
    Amber loved her little business, and she didn’t care what anyone said, particularly not her conservative jerk of an ex-husband. She’d started