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photo album. “Well, aren’t you the bold one? An Amish man giving pictures as a gift.”
    “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
    “Oh, I’m definitely telling.” She winked before flipping through it, seeing images Iva had taken—pictures of her niece and nephew; of the orchard; of everyone eating at the table, all except Iva, who was taking the picture. Most were carefully done, showing no one posing and only a few discreet but full faces. What a beautiful treasure.
    Her heart jumped when she came across a picture from last fall of Samuel with her niece asleep in his lap and her nephew standing at his knees talking to him. She remembered being in the living room with him when this happened. It was a Saturday evening, and she and Samuel were goingover business stuff when Arie climbed into his lap and soon fell sound asleep. It’d stolen her heart that day, but she hadn’t realized Iva had taken a picture of it.
    When she turned the page and saw a collage of tiny images, an odd sensation skittered through her. The page blurred for a moment. Was it her imagination, or was God trying to share something with her? As she prayed and ran her finger over the collage, she realized someone from the core group was missing. But every one of them was on that page mere moments ago. The blurry images wavered and shifted before being covered with a black veil. She blinked, and nausea churned. Someone in an Amish dress had disappeared from the page, and the rest were fighting to survive without her.
    Rhoda’s insides quaked, but she wouldn’t share her thoughts with Samuel. She searched the image. It seemed that either Phoebe or Leah was gone. Rhoda couldn’t tell which, but fear ran cold chills down her spine. The missing one wasn’t just living elsewhere. She was beyond being reached by any human method.
    Alarm gripped Rhoda, and she couldn’t swallow.
    Dear God, please let these thoughts just be my imagination .

FIVE
    The house seemed unusually quiet for a Sunday evening as Leah tiptoed down the stairs. She didn’t have to sneak out, but that was easier than having to meet the eyes of those she shared a home with as she left to attend an Englisch church week after week.
    Her brother and the others knew where she went on Sunday evenings—Unity Hill Church.
    She pulled her coat and scarf off the wooden pegs. Before she opened the front door, Steven walked out of the kitchen, a small plate of banana pudding in one hand and a spoonful of it on its way to his mouth. He spotted her and lowered the spoon. His gentle smile was outweighed by the concern, maybe also disappointment, in his eyes. “That time again, huh?”
    Leah nodded. “I’ll be back around ten.”
    “Okay.”
    Leah started to open the door.
    “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything, but then again”—Steven crossed the living room, closing the gap between them—“maybe I should. Would you mind if I share a few thoughts … just out of concern?”
    “I’m going to church, Steven. Not to some sinful place.”
    “I know, and I want to like the idea, but it concerns me. We live as we do because we believe it’s the community’s responsibility to live as close to the ways of the New Testament as possible.”
    “And it concerns me that the Amish may be seeking a fulfilling life through giving up who God has made us to be so we can serve a man-made community.”
    “Is Unity Hill less of a man-made community than the Amish community?” Steven stood there, the expression on his face indicating deep humility, but his eyes radiated desperation that she would hear him this time . “The Word says to ‘lead a quiet and peaceable life’ and not to be ‘conformed to this world.’ ”
    She had no doubts that his concern was genuine. “We agree on what the Word says, Steven. It’s how one accomplishes those goals that divides us. Rather than the Ordnung dictating how I should live, isn’t it possible the decision should be between each individual and God, just as