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tonight because I'm thinking about Sunday. Trying to figure out what in the world I could talk to Aaron about on the drive home. We haven't talked much—been doing mostly lookin' at each other. I could ask about the herd he's building, but that might make him feel as if I'm questioning if he's a good provider or not. I could ask about the house he's building, but maybe if I did he'd think I'm already hanging my curtains in his window. Maybe we can just talk about his art. I haven't heard much about it lately. When we were kids, not a day went by when he wasn't sketching some creature when he should've been doing math equations.
    I also can't sleep thinking about this move. I hope Dat's words are more clouds than rain.

CHAPTER THREE

    Marianna opened her eyes, then scanned her room. The only glimmer of light was a beam of moon penetrating through a sliver of curtain that she hadn't fully closed. She'd tried to fall asleep for hours, and nothing worked. She'd hummed to herself, tried to count back from one hundred, she'd even written in her journal, which usually helped her mind wind down. But not tonight. Maybe it was the light that bothered her—or at least that was a good excuse.
    Marianna sat up in bed and reached for the window curtain, tugging it closed all the way. As in all Amish houses, the curtains were white, but at age ten she'd convinced her father to install two hooks to hold up an extra blanket over the window. She'd lied to him, telling him that the light from the moon had kept her awake. But the truth was that when she was small, her mother had said her sisters looked down on them from above. That might have been comforting for her mother, but Marianna hadn't liked it one bit. What would they think of her sleeping in their bedroom. In their bed?
    Her first dresses had belonged to her sisters. Her dolls too. It was only later she realized that might have been the reason her mother had looked away when Marianna tried on her "new" dresses. Had refused to play dolls with her. Had made excuses when Marianna wanted to be tucked in at night.
    "I want this time to be for just me and my girl," Dat had said as he unfolded the quilt and laid it over her. Yet she could see the truth in his gaze. He hadn't fought for this time. He'd accepted it as his. And she tried not to let it bother her as she could hear Mem in the other room, reading to the boys.
    But that was long ago . . . Marianna turned to her side. Dat hadn't tucked her in for five years at least, and now it was only occasionally she heard Men reading to the other kids. Marianna tucked the pillow under her chin. That didn't mean the empty void she felt inside had filled. She'd enjoyed her siblings, worked hard at her job, enjoyed writing her friends, dreamed about Aaron . . . but nothing could fill the hole the size of her mother's handprint, centered on her gut.
    Outside she heard the sound of a breeze rustling tree branches—and something else. A car perhaps?
    She rose, her toes curling against the cold floor, and went to the window to lift the curtain. She could see taillights in the distance. Could it be? Was it Levi?
    She didn't want to think about that now—about him leaving. She didn't want to think about her sisters, especially since she still lived in their room, slept in their bed. Instead, she thought of the day, and the conversation with Aaron.
    The barn raising had resulted in a large barn, filling the horizon, but even larger loomed Marianna's questions. Did Aaron like her as much as she liked him? Would she be around long enough to find out?
    She let the curtain drop and grabbed the battery-powered flashlight she kept on her dresser, then she walked to the trunk where she'd tucked away the quilt she'd worked on during the winter. It was white with an intricate pattern. She'd started hand stitching the pattern in brightly colored thread.
    Spring planting, caring for new baby animals, and her work at the Ropps and in their own garden hadn't