passing the time.”
“ Danki , but I can manage.”
Mari put her open palms on her mother’s chest and straightened her arms, pushing back. Rhoda compensated for the disturbance in balance by adjusting her grip.
“Mari!”
Rhoda’s tone carried a warning Clara had first recognized years ago, but Mari ignored it. Instead, the little girl shifted her hips from side to side.
“I want down!” Mari said.
Rhoda gave the child a stern look, but she set her on her feet.
“It’s a long way for Mari to walk,” Clara said. “I would be happy to go.”
“I’m going to take the cart,” Rhoda said.
“I don’t like the cart.” Mari threw herself to the floor.
“Marianne Kuhn, you get up this minute.” Rhoda planted her hands on her hips.
Mari had been a tempestuous toddler, and even now at three years old and with a more than adequate vocabulary, she still pitched fits. Rhoda responded by striking an implacable pose. Clara was never sure who would be more stubborn, mother or child.
“Get up!” Her hands still on her hips, Rhoda now widened her stance.
“No!” Mari flung her arms over her head.
“We’re going to get Hannah.”
“I don’t like Hannah!”
“Hannah is your sister.”
“No, Clara is my sister.”
Clara averted her eyes, not wanting to witness the color that would flush through Rhoda’s face at her daughter’s declaration.
“Please,” Clara said, “let me go for Hannah.”
Rhoda huffed. “Under the circumstances, all right. But take the cart. Hannah will get halfway home and start complaining about having to walk.”
Clara couldn’t disagree with that assessment. Hannah was likely to stop in the middle of a field and insist that she couldn’t walk another step.
Clara snatched a kapp off a hook and set it on her head before stepping around her youngest sister’s tantrum.
“I want to go with Clara.” Mari sat up.
“You most certainly will not.” Rhoda glared.
Mari put a finger in her mouth and glared back.
Clara took the stairs quickly, whistled for the mare in the pasture, and hitched up the cart. The horse trotted cooperatively down the lane. As Clara arrived at the Schrocks’ farmhouse, the front door opened and Mattie Schrock stood on the porch.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Mattie said. “I was just thinking I might have to bring Hannah home myself.”
Clara got out of the cart. “I hope she hasn’t been any trouble. She loves to play with Priscilla.”
“They played together nicely,” Mattie said. “But ever since breakfast, Hannah hasn’t been feeling well.”
“Hannah is sick?” Clara glanced past Mattie and into the house.
“She’s up in the girls’ room. I made the other children leave her alone to rest.”
“May I go up?”
“Of course.”
Upstairs, Clara touched the sleeping girl’s forehead. Heat answered her inquiry. Hannah stirred.
“I’m here to take you home,” Clara said softly.
“My throat hurts.” Hannah’s raspy reply gave evidence of her claim.
Next to the bed, a full glass of water appeared untouched. Clara picked it up. “Will you drink some water, please?”
Hannah shook her head. “It hurts to swallow.”
“Just a sip?” Clara put the glass to Hannah’s lips.
Hannah took a drink, grimacing at the effort.
Clara set the glass back on the side table and slid her arms around her sister’s slight form, whispering a prayer of gratefulness for the cart.
At home on the Kuhn farm, Clara carried Hannah into the house and laid her on the davenport.
“What’s going on?” Rhoda came in from the kitchen, Mari trailing behind her in an improved mood.
“Hannah is sick.” Clara arranged a pillow under Hannah’s head.
“I’ll sit with her,” Rhoda said.
Clara started to move away, but Hannah grabbed her wrist.
“I want Clara,” Hannah whispered.
“Clara has taken good care of you to get you home,” Rhoda said, “but your mamm is here now.”
“I want Clara,” Hannah repeated, tightening her
“ Danki , but I can manage.”
Mari put her open palms on her mother’s chest and straightened her arms, pushing back. Rhoda compensated for the disturbance in balance by adjusting her grip.
“Mari!”
Rhoda’s tone carried a warning Clara had first recognized years ago, but Mari ignored it. Instead, the little girl shifted her hips from side to side.
“I want down!” Mari said.
Rhoda gave the child a stern look, but she set her on her feet.
“It’s a long way for Mari to walk,” Clara said. “I would be happy to go.”
“I’m going to take the cart,” Rhoda said.
“I don’t like the cart.” Mari threw herself to the floor.
“Marianne Kuhn, you get up this minute.” Rhoda planted her hands on her hips.
Mari had been a tempestuous toddler, and even now at three years old and with a more than adequate vocabulary, she still pitched fits. Rhoda responded by striking an implacable pose. Clara was never sure who would be more stubborn, mother or child.
“Get up!” Her hands still on her hips, Rhoda now widened her stance.
“No!” Mari flung her arms over her head.
“We’re going to get Hannah.”
“I don’t like Hannah!”
“Hannah is your sister.”
“No, Clara is my sister.”
Clara averted her eyes, not wanting to witness the color that would flush through Rhoda’s face at her daughter’s declaration.
“Please,” Clara said, “let me go for Hannah.”
Rhoda huffed. “Under the circumstances, all right. But take the cart. Hannah will get halfway home and start complaining about having to walk.”
Clara couldn’t disagree with that assessment. Hannah was likely to stop in the middle of a field and insist that she couldn’t walk another step.
Clara snatched a kapp off a hook and set it on her head before stepping around her youngest sister’s tantrum.
“I want to go with Clara.” Mari sat up.
“You most certainly will not.” Rhoda glared.
Mari put a finger in her mouth and glared back.
Clara took the stairs quickly, whistled for the mare in the pasture, and hitched up the cart. The horse trotted cooperatively down the lane. As Clara arrived at the Schrocks’ farmhouse, the front door opened and Mattie Schrock stood on the porch.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Mattie said. “I was just thinking I might have to bring Hannah home myself.”
Clara got out of the cart. “I hope she hasn’t been any trouble. She loves to play with Priscilla.”
“They played together nicely,” Mattie said. “But ever since breakfast, Hannah hasn’t been feeling well.”
“Hannah is sick?” Clara glanced past Mattie and into the house.
“She’s up in the girls’ room. I made the other children leave her alone to rest.”
“May I go up?”
“Of course.”
Upstairs, Clara touched the sleeping girl’s forehead. Heat answered her inquiry. Hannah stirred.
“I’m here to take you home,” Clara said softly.
“My throat hurts.” Hannah’s raspy reply gave evidence of her claim.
Next to the bed, a full glass of water appeared untouched. Clara picked it up. “Will you drink some water, please?”
Hannah shook her head. “It hurts to swallow.”
“Just a sip?” Clara put the glass to Hannah’s lips.
Hannah took a drink, grimacing at the effort.
Clara set the glass back on the side table and slid her arms around her sister’s slight form, whispering a prayer of gratefulness for the cart.
At home on the Kuhn farm, Clara carried Hannah into the house and laid her on the davenport.
“What’s going on?” Rhoda came in from the kitchen, Mari trailing behind her in an improved mood.
“Hannah is sick.” Clara arranged a pillow under Hannah’s head.
“I’ll sit with her,” Rhoda said.
Clara started to move away, but Hannah grabbed her wrist.
“I want Clara,” Hannah whispered.
“Clara has taken good care of you to get you home,” Rhoda said, “but your mamm is here now.”
“I want Clara,” Hannah repeated, tightening her
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