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downstairs. Was it her lively niece Emma with her mamma and younger siblings? Normally Nellie would hate to miss a morning’s fun with her five-year-old niece and her two younger brothers, Jimmy and Matty. Six-year-old Benny, now a first-grader, would be at school.
    Soon Nan brought in another cold cloth to replace the warm one, and Nellie tentatively sipped the cup of lukewarm chamomile tea, sweetened with honey.
    “This’ll do ya good . . . not too hot to spike your fever.” Nan’s voice was as gentle as Mamma’s might have been . . . or Suzy’s.
    “Kind of you.” Nellie lifted her eyes to Nan, whose blue eyes were ever so bright. Her sometimes-distant sister was being unusually attentive. Whatever the reason for the change, Nellie Mae was grateful.
    “Martha’s downstairs with the children,” Nan said, confirming Nellie’s earlier hunch. “Here for a quick visit.”
    “I’d hate for any of them to get this flu.”
    Nan agreed. “We’ll keep the little ones downstairs, but I’ll be checkin’ on you in a bit.”
    “Denki, sister.” Nellie offered her best smile.
    Nan left the room, leaving the door ajar.
    Once, when Betsy Fisher was in her teens, she’d gone walking along one of the back roads, only to be knocked down by the thunderous boom of a low-flying jet plane.
    She recalled the sensation of being stunned by the sound and sight of the enormous plane even now as she held her granddaughter Emma on her lap while sitting at the kitchen table. This time, though, the shock had reverberated from a few simple words.
    “We’re looking into buying a tractor.” Had her daughter-in-law really said such a thing?
    But clearly she had, and Martha went on to add that her husband, James, and his younger brother, Benjamin, had recently hired a driver to take them into town to talk to a contractor about installing electricity in both their houses.
    Ach, what a big can of worms we’ve opened. Betsy was appalled, knowing even more was sure to come.
    Her head spun with the realization that yet another group had obviously exploded forth from Manny’s New Order church, this one bent on all things modern. For sure and for certain, the Beachys were much too fancy for her liking.
    She suddenly realized she must have been holding Emma too tightly, because the little sweetie protested and slid off her lap. She felt stricken, similar to the way her eardrums had been assaulted years before, although presently it was her sense of right and wrong that was being shaken. Betsy had lived long enough to know that when certain things were set in motion, one simply could not stop the coming change.
    Before Cousin Kate was to arrive for the babies’ midmorning feeding, Rosanna wanted to prepare two loaves of bread to bake. She’d missed kneading bread dough, missed the feel of the flour between her fingers. There’d been precious little time for either baking or quilting—her two fondest interests—since Eli and Rosie had arrived. Even so, she cherished her time with her babies, holding them longer than necessary, spoiling them at every turn. Oh, the joy of cradling such snuggly wee ones close to her heart, where she had longed for them as dearly as any birth mother.
    No wonder Kate offered to be an occasional wet nurse, she thought. How could anyone resist such adorable children?
    It nagged at her, though, that Eli was Kate’s obvious favorite. Rosanna brushed away her frustration and began to measure the sifted flour. Then, setting it aside, she combined the shortening, salt, sugar, and boiling water, mixing them together till the shortening was dissolved. At last she was ready to add a mixture of yeast, sugar, and warm water and thoroughly blend all the ingredients in her largest bowl.
    She thought of her mother, deceased now for many years. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to have Mamma here, helping to nurture Eli and Rosie, offering loving advice on everything from feeding schedules to how to burp Rosie when she seemed so