Free Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy by Cindy Woodsmall

the need to break that connection is why you moved away from Ohio and joined the Amish in Pennsylvania.
The shunning of the past two and a half decades has been bitter. When it is my time to die, I do not wish to leave you behind with acrimony in your heart against me.
With all my love,
Zabeth
    Like hornets buzzing in panic during late fall, Hannah’s thoughts zipped around furiously without landing anywhere.
    Who is “Dearest One”?
    She flipped to the backside of each page, looking for a clue. There was none, not even a date anywhere on the letter, so it could be really old, although it didn’t appear to be.
    She glanced back to the closing of the letter. Zabeth sounded like a woman’s name. Skimming the note for any hints of whom it was to, Hannah paused at the word Ohio . Her father had a few distant relatives in Ohio, but he didn’t have a sister. Most of his brothers lived outside Lancaster, where his parents were buried.
    She’d been told her grandparents Daadi John and Mammi Martha had moved to Lancaster several generations ago. So whoever Zabeth was, she—or he—had probably been a sibling to one of Hannah’s grandparents.
    In spite of her disappointment, the few moments of reading the letter had given Hannah’s raging emotions a welcome distraction. But her attention wasn’t drawn away for long, especially over something that went back to her grandparents’ youth.
    Deciding that the letter was none of her business and not of interest anyway, she put it back where she’d gotten it—careful to hide it better this time. But one nagging thought kept coming at her as she headed for bed. Would she one day send a letter begging her siblings to write to her?

L uke positioned the harness over the gentle mare’s muzzle, then slid the bit into her mouth before placing the bridle around her head. He connected metal fasteners, leather straps, and leads from the horse to the courting buggy. Blue skies and wispy clouds filled the late-September sky. It was perfect weather for an outing. Since there’d been church last Sunday, no services would be held tomorrow.
    As he hooked the shafts from the buggy to the mare, he wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. He’d been courting Mary Yoder for nearly five months. Tonight, after the singing, he was going to ask her to marry him. He hoped she was willing to do all that it would take for them to wed.
    He threw the leather straps across the horse’s backside and pulled its tail through the loose restraints. He remembered the first time he had worked up the nerve to ask Mary if he could take her home after one of the singings. He’d spent hours that day polishing his buggy to a shine and grooming the mare in preparation. He grinned as he looked at the buggy and horse he’d readied for tonight. He didn’t feel any less nervous now than he had then.
    In spite of Hannah’s attitude about the singings, he thought the ritual was a good setup. All those of courting age within the community gathered in a barn and sang a cappella for hours. One or two of the older singles would start the hymn at a faster pace than used during church times. And even though the bishop and some of the parents were always there, plenty of laughter and quick-witted humor rang out during the singings. Sometimes words were altered to make the serious lyrics come to life with youthful glee. As long as the songs stayed respectful, the bishop allowed it.
    Young people could get to know each other better during a ride or two home, without anyone committing to a relationship. If they weren’t compatible, no one’s feelings got hurt. The man didn’t have to take a girl home again if he didn’t want to. The girls never had to accept a ride from anyone.
    This was one area that parents didn’t get involved in, not even with a suggestion. The bishop saw to that. He said God was responsible for putting young people together, not man.
    In his years of going