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Two days after Rebecca Mast’s return to her childhood home in Lost Creek, she walked down the lane of the family farm toward her future. Her black widow’s dress contrasted starkly with the pale greens and bright yellows of a sunny spring day in the Pennsylvania countryside. Her son, six-year-old Elijah, trudged next to her, holding tight to her hand rather than skipping and hopping ahead down the lane like one of his cousins would.

It was early yet, she assured herself. Surely soon he’d forget the darkness of the past few years and be like any other Amish child his age. That was the heartfelt prayer of her heart for her son. As for herÖwell, the return to normal would take longer, if it ever happened.

But at least she was home, with her family around her, and today she would take the first step toward a new life for her son and herself. That alone was something to make her heart thankful.

The frame two-story house came into view ahead of them, standing at the point where the farm lane met the country road. When her mammi had written that old Mr. Evans had gone to live with his daughter and put the house up for sale, she’d known exactly what she wanted to do with the money she’d receive for selling the farm she and James had owned in Ohio.

The down payment James’s brother John had given her had been enough to cover the cost of the house. John’s continuing monthly payments would pay to remodel the old place into a secure, peaceful home for her and Elijah, and the quilt shop she’d have in the downstairs rooms would support them. That was the extent of her dreams for the future, and it was enough.

Daniel Mast stood waiting by the back porch, leaning against one of the posts as if he could wait there all day for her, if need be. As they came closer, her stomach tightened as she searched the tall, broad figure for a glimpse of the neighbor boy who’d been her childhood playmate. She didn’t find him, nor did she see the gangly teenager who’d told her all about his crushes on the girls in their rumspringa group.

Daniel had grown into a strong, sturdy-looking man. It was her own uncertainty that made her long to find something in him that was familiar. The rich, glossy brown of his hair was a bit darker now, and the fact that he didn’t have the traditional Amish beard allowed her to see his stubborn jaw.

He’d always had that stubbornness. His golden brown eyes had a glint of kindness that she felt sure reflected his kind heart, and his lips curled in a familiar grin. Her tension evaporated, and she smiled.