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another week with Teresa and her family in Middlefield.
    Miriam had never blamed their choices. She knew in many ways she was a riddle to her parents. They’d never intended to raise a constantly late, somewhat dreamy girl who would rather stick her nose in a book or bake pies than be at a singing or gathering of young people.
    Of course, much of the reason she’d read so much was because most of the boys had never spared her a second glance. No matter how hard she’d tried, her hair had never lain smoothly under her kapp . No matter how many times she said no to dessert she never lost weight.
    She’d been a wallflower, waiting on the sidelines for something, anything, to happen. After a while, she stopped going to avoid the disappointment.
    But now it looked like things were about to change. Her father seemed relieved, her mother was pleased as punch, and Miriam was struggling with the unusual feeling of doing something that her mother was pleased about.
    Or perhaps, it was more the feeling of relief that came from actually “being” the daughter her mother wanted.
    Shaking off that bit of melancholy, she glanced at the time, saw that Junior was sure to arrive in a few minutes, and scurried to the living room. Once there, she lit two of the kerosene lamps, carefully set the plate of cookies on the coffee table, then filled two glasses with ice.
    Just as Junior knocked at the door.
    After sharing a somewhat anxious look with her mother, her mamm walked back to the kitchen and Miriam let Junior inside.
    “ Wilcom ,” she said as she stared up at him in the doorway. He looked much the same as he had at the restaurant, though he’d changed shirts. This one was white.
    “Danke.” He took off his hat, then stepped inside, seeming to swallow the oxygen as he filled the room. Junior looked at her, at the plate of cookies on the coffee table, then practically crushed the rim of his hat in his hands. “Thank you for letting me come over.”
    Letting him? That seemed like an odd choice of words. For the first time, a bit of unease filtered through her. She’d imagined he’d be all smiles, maybe even teasing her a bit, like she’d seen him do with his family and friends.
    Instead, he wasn’t even smiling. Only standing awkwardly. She took things into her own hands. “Junior, please have a seat. Would you like a glass of lemonade or tea?”
    He looked as if he were about to refuse, but nodded instead. “ Tay , if you don’t mind.”
    If she didn’t mind? She’d offered!
    “I don’t mind at all. Um, I’ll be right back.” Needing to take a moment to gather her thoughts, she took her time walking the few steps to the kitchen. Steadfastly ignoring her parents’ questioning looks, she poured tea into the two prepared glasses, took a deep breath, then entered the sitting room again.
    Junior was eating a cookie. “These are gut , Miriam.”
    “Danke . ”
    “Are they oatmeal raisin?”
    She would have thought that was obvious. “Jah . ”
    “You ah, bake a lot, hmm? Someone at the restaurant told me that you bake a lot of the pies and rolls.”
    “I enjoy baking.” She set both glasses on the table, then opted to sit on one of the sturdy chairs across from him. She needed the distance from him, and she also felt like she needed to be able to look at him directly. There was something not quite right about this visit, but she couldn’t put her finger on why she felt that way.
    Junior bit into the cookie again, chewed.
    She took a sip of tea. Crossed her legs. Waited almost patiently.
    Finally, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Miriam, we’ve known each other a long time.”
    “Years,” she agreed, smiling encouragingly.
    “Jah . ” He sat back, looking more uncomfortable with each passing second. “Um. I know we’ve never been the best of friends, but I’ve always thought that we could be, you know?”
    No, she didn’t. Actually, his words were a complete surprise to her.
    Though