Heartless by Sara Shepard Page B

her parents’ suspicions. “Um, I came to help with the preparations,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound incredibly foolish.
    Lucy glanced at something behind Emily. “There’s Mary now. Do you want to go say hi?”
    Emily followed her gaze. But Mary was much smaller and dumpier than the girl Emily had seen in the woods just days ago. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, showing off her chubby cheeks. “Um, that’s okay,” Emily said glumly, her heart yo-yoing. She turned back to Lucy, inspecting her face. Lucy’s lips were pressed tightly together, like she was biting back a secret.
    Lucy opened the door wider, letting Emily in. They walked into the parlor. It was a big square room, lit only by a gas-powered lantern in the corner. Handcrafted wooden chairs and tables crowded the walls. A bookshelf in the corner housed a jar full of celery and a large, well-worn copy of the Bible. Lucy walked into the center of the room and gazed at Emily carefully. “Where are you from in Ohio?”
    “Um, near Columbus,” Emily said, blurting out the first Ohio town she could think of.
    “Oh.” Lucy scratched her head. This must have been an acceptable answer. “Did Pastor Adam send you to me?”
    Emily swallowed hard. “Yes?” she guessed. She felt like she was an actress in a play, but no one had bothered to give her the script.
    Lucy tsked and glanced over her shoulder toward the back door. “He always thinks things like this will make me feel better,” she muttered acidly.
    “I’m sorry?” Emily was surprised at how annoyed Lucy seemed. She’d thought the Amish were eternally temperate and calm.
    Lucy waved her thin, pale hand. “No, I’m sorry.” She turned and started down a long hall. “You’ll take my sister’s bed,” she said matter-of-factly, leading Emily into a small bedroom. Inside were two twin beds covered by lively colored homemade quilts. “It’s the one on the left.”
    “What’s your sister’s name?” Emily asked, glancing at the bare white walls.
    “Leah.” Lucy punched a pillow.
    “Where is she now?”
    Lucy smacked the pillow harder. Her throat bobbed, and then she turned away toward the corner of the bedroom, as if she’d done something shameful. “I was just going to start the milking. Come on.”
    At that, she marched out of the bedroom. After a moment, Emily followed Lucy, snaking through a rabbit warren of hallways and rooms. She poked her head into each room, aching to see Ali in one of them, sitting in a rocker, her finger to her lips, or crouching behind a bureau, her knees pulled into her chest. Finally they crossed the big, bright kitchen, which smelled overpoweringly like wet wool, and Lucy led her out the back door to an enormous, drafty barn. A long line of cows stood in stalls, their tails swishing. Upon seeing the girls, a few of them let out loud moos.
    Lucy handed Emily a metal bucket. “You start on the left. I’ll do the right.”
    Emily shifted her feet in the scratchy hay. She’d never milked a cow before, not even when she had been shipped to her aunt and uncle’s farm in Iowa the fall before. Lucy had already turned away, tending to her own line of cows. Not knowing what else to do, Emily approached the cow closest to the door, slid the bucket under her udder, and crouched. How hard could it be? But the cow was enormous, with strong legs and a broad, trucklike butt. Did cows kick, like horses? Did cows bite?
    She cracked her knuckles, eyeing the other stalls. If a cow moos in the next ten seconds, everything will be okay, she thought, relying on the superstitious game she’d created for tense situations like this one. She silently counted to ten in her head. There weren’t any moos, although there was a noise that sounded suspiciously like a fart.
    “ Ahem ”
    Emily shot up. Lucy was glaring at her.
    “Haven’t you ever milked a cow before?” Lucy demanded.
    “Uh.” Emily grappled for a response. “Well, no. We have really specific