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her own ears. Eber had declined to take a horse with him, and he had been gone long enough that he could be anywhere on their acreage. When Ruthanna stepped out far enough to scan the horizon around the house—just to be sure Eber was not near—hail stung her cheeks. White icy mounds swelled around her as ever-larger hail pelted the finer base layer.
    With one hand on her rounded abdomen, Ruthanna shielded her eyes with the other and peered through the onslaught of white. Eber’s white shirt would be lost against the hail. His black trousers would be her only hope of glimpsing him. Methodically, she scanned the view from left to right for any movement. Chickens in the yard scurried into the henhouse, but Ruthanna expected at least one or two would not survive the storm. Horses whinnied on the wind in their pasture. Ruthanna offered a quick prayer of thanks that their two cows were safely in the barn at the moment.
    But she did not see Eber.
    Within minutes, the hail was five inches deep. Ruthanna stepped back into the shelter of the doorframe, watching this mystery of spring. Only a few weeks ago five inches of snow would have been cause for rejoicing. Precious moisture would have melted into the ground and prepared the soil to welcome seed meticulously buried at precise depth and intervals. Even if hail had come before the seeds sprouted, the crop might have survived. But this! This was only terror.
    Her father would have reminded her Gottes wille . God’s will. Could it really be God’s will for twelve obedient Amish families to suffer this racking devastation?
    And then it was over. The sky had emptied and stilled. Drenched, Eber limped from around the back side of the barn.

    Willem shoved open the barn door and hurtled toward the horse stalls. The stallion bared his teeth and raised his front legs in protest against the commotion. Willem slushed hail in on his boots. Frozen white masses in various sizes melted into the straw that lined the barn floor. Willem’s tongue clucked the sequence of sounds that he had long ago learned would calm the frightened horse. He would not enter the stallion’s stall until he was sure the animal had settled, but Willem spoke soothing words and familiar sounds. In the stall next to the stallion, the more mild-tempered mare hung her head over the half door hopefully, making Willem wish he had a carrot to reward her demeanor.
    On the other side of the barn were the empty cow stalls. Intent on farming, not husbandry, Willem only had one cow. The hail’s beating had been brief but swift, and Willem could not predict how the cow would have responded. He hoped it had not tried to bolt through Eber’s fences.
    Bareheaded, Willem stood in the center aisle that cut through the barn and stroked the mare’s long face. Only two drops plopped on the top of his head before he raised his eyes and saw daylight through the barn’s roof. Dropping his gaze, he saw that his feet stood in a mass of freshly damp hay. Hail had beaten its way through two wooden slats only loosely thatched over. Willem had hoped for proper shingles this year, but that required cash.
    He put a hand across his eyes and bowed his head. Any of his fellow Amish worshippers might have thought he was praying, but Willem knew the truth. The thoughts ripping through his mind at that moment were far from submissive devotion to God’s will. He forced himself to take several deep breaths before moving his hand from his eyes and again surveying the damage to his barn and the distress of his stallion. He could only imagine what his fields must look like.
    Months of praying for favorable weather. Weeks of coaxing seeds to sprout in undernourished soil. Evening upon evening spent bent over the papers on his rustic wooden table writing out calculations and scenarios essential to the survival of his farm.
    A hail storm was not part of the equation.
    Willem pushed breath out and said aloud, “We will be all right.”
    The stallion