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loudly. “And the waterfall.” She pulled it away from Mr. Schmidt and held it so she could see the front. “And the flowers. They’re edelweiss.”
    Mr. Miller kept his eyes on the document as he spoke. “Edelweiss? Are you sure?”
    Mrs. Glick was too enthralled with the box to answer. I wanted to take it from her but turned my attention back to the letter. “Can you read it?” I asked.
    “Most of it.” Mr. Miller paused. “It’s to an Elsbeth. From Abraham, her father.” He squinted. “He says he’s leaving her a place called Amielbach when he dies in hopes she will return home someday.”
    A place called Amielbach
. That must be the name of the house, the one carved into the lid of the box.
    “Does he mention anything about Pennsylvania?” Surely that was where the house was.
    “No. He doesn’t say where the property is.” Mr. Miller stretched his back.“The letter is written in high German, mostly. That’s what I learned as a kid. But there are some odd phrases like…” He read words that sounded as if they were German to me—
wie
and
der
. Then something like
Esel am Berg
. He lifted his head. “It means being perplexed by an unexpected situation. But the phrase isn’t high German. It’s considered a Helvetism, a colloquial saying in Swiss German, which is technically an Alemannic dialect.” I must have looked perplexed because he started to speak slowly. “It’s a dialect similar to what’s spoken by a group of Amish in Indiana. It originated in Switzerland, but it’s evolved over the years. And the language the Swiss Amish use today is oral, not written.” For a minute I thought he was going to dive into a full-fledged lecture about the development of German dialects, but then he stopped abruptly as if he remembered he wasn’t teaching.
    Sophie’s head swung around, and she looked me straight in the eye. It was a knowing look, but I had no idea what it meant.
    “It
is
from Switzerland.” Mrs. Glick hugged the box. “I knew the flowers were edelweiss.”
    Mr. Miller extended the letter. “He goes on and on about being disappointed that Elsbeth is giving up her dream of being a teacher and her opportunity to work as a tutor. Sounds like it was for a wealthy French family. But that’s pretty much it.”
    “Does it say
why
she gave up her dream?” I asked.
    Mr. Miller again skimmed the pages. “No, just that he’s sorry she did.”
    “Thank you.” Disappointed, I took the pages from him. The analysis of the language was interesting, but I was hoping for more information. Next I reached for the box, but Mrs. Glick hugged it tighter.
    I stretched out my arms and then clapped my hands together, as if I could command the box to come to me. “I didn’t know there were Amish in Indiana,” I said, hoping to distract her.
    She stood, the box still in her arms. “They came with the last wave from Switzerland, more than a hundred years after the first group of Amish.”
    “You could stop by Indiana on your way to Pennsylvania,” Sophie said softly as Mrs. Glick finally relinquished the box. “You might find some information there.”
    James half stood and then sank back onto the couch, his plate lurching backward with the movement, his roll tumbling to his lap. His eyes met mine. “Pennsylvania? Lex, what’s going on?”

F OUR
    I averted my eyes but knew my reddening face gave me away. “How about dessert?” I asked brightly. I turned toward the hutch and, speaking over my shoulder, said, “Mrs. Miller, your lemon meringue looks delicious.” As my guests served themselves from the top of the hutch, James shot me a questioning look. I mouthed, “Later” and turned my head away.
    After dessert Sophie said she had a mother to check on and she would talk to me soon. James assured the guests that he would clean up; we both knew most of them needed a nap by now. One by one they left, telling me I was in their prayers and whispering “God bless you” as they descended the back