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this small community,
     he’d soon learned after arriving here. Amish and
Englisch
didn’t just interact at a business level; many became friends. Some Amish even attended
     prayer meetings at the Carash house. He’d witnessed that with his own eyes when he’d
     stopped by to talk to Dave about training Blue.
    Gideon removed his hat and sauntered over to the wooden table with the red-checkered
     tablecloth. Gas lanterns hung above each table from previous Amish owners, but electric
     Christmas lights had also been strung around the room by the non-Amish owner, Annie.
    He sat, and an Amish waitress brought him a menu.
    “We have everything tonight except the meatloaf,” she explained. “That went quick
     like.”
    Gideon eyed the fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans on Edgar’s plate.
     “No need for a menu.” He pointed. “I’ll take what he’s having, except I want the whole
     thing covered in country gravy.”
    The waitress chuckled. “The green beans too?”
    Gideon nodded. “
Ja
, that’s the best way. The only way, in fact, Mem could get me to eat my vegetables.”
    “You got it.” The waitress shook her head and giggled as she hurried to the kitchen.
    “She’s a pretty one.” Edgar pointed to the exiting waitress. “It’s one of the Peachy
     girls—Eve. She’s watched passels of Amish bachelors come and go fer years now with
     the same look of interest in her eyes.”
    “Really?” Gideon glanced back over his shoulder. “I didn’t notice.” Truth was there
     were very few women who caught his attention—except for that
Englisch
gal with the red hair and equally untamed disposition. Leave it to him to fancy the
     last girl in this area he should take a liking to.
    Edgar’s fork scraped on the plate as he scooped his mashed potatoes into a pile.
    Gideon breathed in deeply, his stomach rumbling. Even though all the baking was done
     in the morning, the connecting kitchen and bakery still smelled of fresh bread, cinnamon,
     apples, and strawberry pies.
    “What was yer name again, son?” Edgar asked. “There are too many bachelors to try
     to keep straight.”
    “Gideon.”
    Edgar nodded and then took a large bite of mashed potatoes. When he’d finished swallowing
     he dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “That’s not a common name.”
    “Not too common. I knew one other Gideon back in Bird-in-Hand. An older gentleman.”
     Did his parents regret naming him “mighty warrior”? Inside he felt anything but.
    The waitress returned with a glass of water, then hurried off again.
    Edgar rubbed his gray, bushy eyebrows. “I remember a lad called Gideon. His family
     vacationed here one summer.”
    Gideon chuckled. “Edgar, you have a wonderful memory. Do you remember the name of
     every visiting Amish child?”
    “No, not close. But I’d never forget that name. Called it a thousand times at least
     during the search.” Edgar took another sip from his coffee.
    Gideon’s heart cinched in pain, and a strange knowledge came over him. This man had
     been there—been part of the rescue team that had found him on that mountain. Surely
     there couldn’t be two searches, two young boys with the same name.
    He rubbed the back of his neck, and a thousand needles pierced the skin on his arms.
     He knew he should ask about that time. That’s what he’d come for, wasn’t it? To know
     the truth?
    Instead he thought of the stone-cold glare in Dat’s eyes.
Maybe I don’t want to know
.
    Gideon nodded but didn’t speak. When his dinner came he ate half a piece of chicken
     and some of the potatoes. They talked about other things: the weather, the snow melt,
     and the results of the Amish auction a few weeks ago. Gideon knew if he asked a few
     questions, this man would be able to tell him all he longed to know—what really happened
     those few days—but fear caught the words in his throat and wouldn’t release them.
     There was a reason Dat hadn’t wanted Mem to tell him the