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I agreed as he climbed into the truck. “Bye!”
    He paused and threw me a smile. “I’ll see you later.”
    I watched him drive away.

Chapter 5
    M artha found me upon my return to the house and finished the tour. Afterward I asked about the possibility of borrowing some clothes. In my jeans and sweater, I felt like a visiting alien.
    I also hoped that the children might stare at me less if I looked like them.
    Martha considered my idea, eyed me up and down, and called for Sara.
    Sara and I are, apparently, about the same size.
    She caught the vision, enthusiastically going through her own clothing collection and creating a pile of garments for me to try. She gave me two dresses of varying dark blue, a black apron, long black socks, a white kapp, and a black bonnet for outdoor wear. “If these don’t fit,” she said, “I’ll make you new ones.”
    â€œI don’t know that I’ll be here that long…”
    â€œI sew fast.” It wasn’t a boast, just a statement.
    â€œLet me try these first,” I said, carrying the pile back to my room.
    There were no mirrors inside, but I had a small compact mirror stuffed into one of my bags. When I’d finished dressing, I held my arm as far from my body as I could. The glimpse I caught caused me to physically flinch.
    Breathe
, I told myself.
Clothes don’t change who you are. While you might appear to the casual passerby to be a cautious, conservative farmwife, you know that underneath you are a liberated, talented, tough biker babe.
    I did not recognize the woman in the mirror. I’d known Jayne Tate for a while, and Jayne Tate didn’t wear dark dresses—or any dresses at all, for that matter. And yet, when I moved, so did the simply-clad woman.
    There was something oddly Marx Brothers about the whole thing.
    I found Martha in the kitchen. She didn’t say anything about my change of attire. Instead, she handed me a sack of potatoes and a paring knife. “If you would like to help with dinner,” she said, “you may peel these.”
    Gideon walked through the door when I was halfway through my first potato.
    After my conversation with Levi, I expected Gideon to resemble a haggard, ugly old miser.
    He looked more like a moustache-less Santa Claus, his beard to his chest, cheeks rosy from outdoor work. His eyes lit up when he saw me. “You are Jayne?” he asked, his voice tinged with a Germanic accent.
    â€œYes, I am.” I offered my hand, which he studied for a moment before shaking.
    He turned abruptly from me toward Martha. “Is dinner ready? I’m starved.”
    â€œAlmost. I’ll call the children in—” she started to say, but the sound of children’s feet on wood floors drowned her out.
    â€œGrandma!” they cried in unison, joy marking every face.
    I peered out the window to see a tiny old woman emerge from a car. A dress like Martha’s hung on her thin frame, although the older woman’s had a floral print.
    Martha removed her kitchen apron and joined her children outside.
    â€œThat is Martha’s mother, Ida Gingerich,” Gideon said, but he offered no further explanation.
    Martha and her children led Ida into the house. “This is my mother, Jayne. She’s staying for dinner,” Martha said as she entered. “Mother, this is Jayne Tate. She is our guest for the time being.”
    I wanted to ask what Martha’s mother was doing with a car, but I refrained. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Gingerich.”
    â€œVery nice to meet you, Jayne,” she said, casting a shrewd glance over my person. I got the feeling she knew something I didn’t. “Call me Ida.”
    Martha and I finished preparing dinner while Ida sat in the kitchen. They spoke in Pennsylvania Dutch, as far as I could tell, and I really didn’t mind. Their world made no sense to me, and my brain had had about all it could take. Trying