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was she knew. And in her running she’d spent too many quiet nights alone
     when she could have sat around Dat and Mem’s table. When she could have curled next
     to the wood fire under a quilt and chatted with Mem about her day. Now it was too
     late.
    A cool wind blew, caressing her face. Tears rimmed her eyes. The mare tossed her head
     slightly, seeing the line of parked buggies.
    Visitation—and the first viewing—had been last night. She’d spent the whole day cleaning
     and then had made sandwiches for dinner. Feeling as if she was going to get sick—or
     maybe pass out—Lydia had pinned up her hair, washed up, and dressed in a simple garment
     before they’d welcomed folks into their home. Mem had lay in a plain pine coffin on
     the back, screened-in porch. Lydia had stood silent by Dat’s side, the dust carried
     on the breeze through open doorway tickling her nose.
    As the women from the community had passed the casket, she’d tried to remember which
     ones had helped wash Mem’s body and dressed it in the long, white dress,
kapp
, and apron—the same
kapp
and apron Mem had worn on her wedding day. After the viewing, the local bishop performed
     a short service. Even now Lydia couldn’t remember the words. Had she been listening
     at all? Not really. Instead, her mind had replayed the many moments she’d spent in
     her mother’s loving arms—memories she hadn’t allowed herself to think about for years.
    Last night, nearly one hundred people had strolled by her mem’s open casket—almost
     everyone in the community, including Gideon, although Lydia did what she could to
     not make eye contact with the handsome bachelor. Everyone spoke to her and Dat about
     Mem’s kind heart. Mem had that way with folks. You met her once and felt as loved
     as her best friend. It was a trait Lydia wished she had picked up…or did she? It was
     the
community
part of being Amish that Lydia had fled from.
    And now the Amish funeral would finalize all Mem’s years of living.
    Dat parked the buggy next to the Sommers’ house. Two men waited to tend to the buggy
     for them. She took the wildflowers from the passenger’s seat, and after dismounting
     they walked to the front door. Neighbors already gathered inside. Lydia placed her
     free hand in Dat’s, and they stepped inside together.
    The casket had been carried to the Sommer house. A row of children sat with their
     mems. She remembered being their age and attending funerals just like this one. It
     had been a normal part of Amish life.
    Lydia tried to ignore the stares. Dat released her hand and moved to the living area,
     where the men took their seats. There were two seats closest to the casket—one for
     him, one for her. At funerals family members of the deceased were allowed to sit together.
     But she couldn’t make herself sit there yet—in everyone’s full gaze.
    Instead she crossed her arms over her chest as an older woman approached.
    “Lydia, I’m Ruth Sommer. This is our place.” She offered a welcoming smile and eyed
     Lydia’s clothes. “That’s a pretty dress.”
    Lydia studied the woman’s eyes. Her comment appeared to be genuine. Lydia glanced
     down at her simple black frock. It wasn’t typical Amish dress, but as close as she
     could find without pulling out her Amish clothes. She’d thought about wearing them—to
     honor Mem—but she didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.
    Ruth motioned to the kitchen. “Lydia, this is my daughter, Marianna.”
    Lydia followed her gaze to a young woman by the kitchen sink—an
Englisch
woman. She was pouring a cup of water for a toddler—a daughter, maybe, or a sister?
    Marianna stepped forward and offered a sweet smile. “It’s
gut
to meet you. I hope you’ll stay around. And this is my husband, Ben.” A handsome
Englisch
man with bright blue eyes stepped forward, and Marianna nodded knowingly. Even though
     Marianna didn’t dress Amish, she wore a simple dress and a head scarf. Her