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light evident in their eyes as they talked softly of those ‘‘pairing up,’’ unaware of Annie’s hollow heart.
    They continued whispering of the fun in store, hoping one of them might find the colored corn—Indian corn—for a special prize of candy or cream-filled cookies.
    Then, for no particular reason, Annie happened to glance up. There was Esther coming through the back porch and mud-room area, hesitating slightly before stepping foot in the kitchen, looking awful tired and pale.
    Lickety-split, Annie set down her paring knife and wiped her hands on her apron. She rushed to Esther’s side. ‘‘Ach, I’m so glad you’re here!’’ She pulled her into the kitchen. ‘‘Where have you been keepin’ yourself?’’
    Esther blinked her pretty eyes, blue as can be. ‘‘Oh, you know me . . .’tis easy to get caught up with the little ones.’’
    â€˜â€˜Well, two in diapers must be nearly like havin’ twins.’’
    Esther nodded. ‘‘Jah, seems so at times.’’
    â€˜â€˜Who’s with them today?’’
    Esther paused. ‘‘Uh . . . Mamma came by, said I needed to get out a bit.’’
    Annie agreed. ‘‘I’m glad she did!’’ She led Esther over to the section of the table where the cousins were still coring and peeling. ‘‘How does your big girl like first grade?’’
    â€˜â€˜Laura thinks goin’ to school is the next best thing to homemade ice cream.’’ Esther gave Annie a quick smile. ‘‘But I miss her help at home . . . for sure.’’
    They went over and began working on the first bushel basket. Then, after a bit, when the next group of women had the apples quartered and ready for the sugar, cinnamon, and water, they all took a short break while that mixture cooked.
    Annie sat with Esther at the far end of the table, pouring extra sugar into her own cup of tea. ‘‘Laura’s always been keen on learnin’, seems to me.’’
    Esther nodded, holding her teacup. ‘‘She’s doin’ all right . . . in school, jah.’’
    â€˜â€˜I remember I always liked spelling best.’’ She bit her tongue and almost said drawing, too. But, of course, that subject was never taught in the little one-room schoolhouse over yonder. ‘‘I remember your favorite was geography. Am I right?’’
    Esther’s lip quivered slightly and she was still.
    â€˜â€˜You all right?’’ Annie touched her arm. ‘‘Come, let’s walk over to the outhouse right quick.’’
    â€˜â€˜No . . . no. I’ll keep workin’ here—you go on.’’
    Annie was stumped. Esther looked to be troubled about something, so why did she clam up like that?
    Hurrying out the back door, Annie headed around the side yard to the wooden outhouse. She hoped Esther was all right, really she did. Essie, as she’d called her when they were girls, had always been a most cheerful playmate. She and her family had lived a ten-minute buggy ride away, so she and Annie got to visit each other often, and Annie loved it, being the only girl in a family of boys. She also remembered that up until Essie’s courting years, she’d worn a constant smile on her pretty face.
    But sadly it wasn’t long after Essie married Ezekiel that the infectious smile began to fade. Soon Essie was asking folk to drop her youthful nickname. ‘‘Call me Esther from now on,’’ she insisted.
    In the few months following her wedding day, Esther became sullen, even distant, and within the year, she was scarce at gatherings. When she did go to help can vegetables and fruits or put up canned meats, she didn’t say much unless spoken to first. It was as if Esther had to be pried free of something each and every time.
    Annie could not put her finger on the reason for