The Search by Suzanne Fisher

had forgotten how horses always seemed to know things that people didn’t.
    Billy jumped up from the table. “That’ll be my cousin, Maggie. She was coming by to get me for a youth gathering at the Smuckers’ this afternoon.”
    “Good,” Bertha said. “It will give Bess a chance to meet some other young folk.”
    Billy froze. A look of mild panic lit his eyes. He spoke hesitantly. “She seems awful young for a gathering—”
    “I’m nearly sixteen!” Bess said indignantly.
    Billy looked unconvinced.
    Bertha waved that concern away. “Die Yunge kenne aa alt waerre.” The young may grow old too.
    That only confused Billy.
    “Besides, your Maggie Zook is only twelve or thirteen and she’s welcome,” Bertha said.
    “But . . . it’s Maggie! You know Maggie. She’s thirteen going on thirty. Besides, she’s the bishop’s daughter. Who’s going to tell her she can’t go?”
    As Bess saw Billy’s hesitation, her face clouded over. Bravely, she lifted her chin. “Actually, I had plans of my own this afternoon.”
    “Like what?” Bertha asked.
    Bess looked around the kitchen until her eyes rested on a jar of homemade jam. “You were going to show me how to make rose petal jam.”
    “Can’t,” Bertha said. “It’s Sunday.”
    Billy still looked uncomfortable. He scratched the top of his head. “She really shouldn’t . . .”
    “Sure she should,” Bertha said, clamping her granite jaw. “Besides, Lainey and I got us some visiting to do.” She shot him a deeply dangerous look.
    Defeated, Billy slumped to the wall, plucked his hat from the peg, and held the door open for Bess. She grabbed her bonnet and brushed past him, head held high.
    Lainey went to the window to watch them drive off in Maggie’s buggy. When they were out of sight, she turned to Bertha, who was still seated at the table, halfway through a third slab of pie.
    Lainey sat back down at the table. “There’s something I’d like to tell you.”
    Bertha picked up the blue speckled pitcher and refilled their glasses. Then she added three teaspoons of sugar into her glass and stirred. “What’s that?”
    “I’ve never thanked you for helping me like you did, years ago. You always made me feel welcome in your home, and you took an interest in me and helped me and my mother out. It’s thanks to you that I’m a Christian today.”
    Bertha picked a loose thread from her apron front.
    Lainey could have been talking about the weather. She tried again. “Bess is a lovely companion for you.”
    “She’s a nervous little thing. Jumpy as a dog with fleas. But time will fix that.”
    Then quiet fell again. How could Lainey shift this conversation in the right direction without making Bertha suspicious? A stray thought fluttered through her mind, something she hadn’t noticed before. She cocked her head. “When Bess left just now, she called you Mammi.”
    “So she did.” Bertha took a sip from her glass.
    “Isn’t that the Deitsch word for grandmother? I . . . thought she was your hired girl.”
    Bertha snorted. “Not hired. Doubt I’d hire her—she oozes away like a barn cat when there are chores to be done.” She looked straight at Lainey. “But she is my girl. My only grandchild.”
    Lainey was confused. “I thought Jonah and Rebecca and their daughter were in Ohio.”
    Bertha smoothed her skirt and pulled in her lips. “Rebecca died in that buggy accident, long ago.”
    “Oh no,” Lainey said. That news was a shock to her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t . . . I thought she had survived it.” She stood and went to the window, then turned to Bertha, confused. “So Jonah remarried?”
    Bertha shook her head. “Not yet. Far as I know.”
    “Are you . . . ?” Lainey’s voice cracked and she had to start over. “You can’t mean that Bess is Jonah’s daughter? That girl with the blond hair?”
    Bertha nodded. “Bald as an egg until she was two years old.”
    Understanding flooded through Lainey and she