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all of us.” She handed the folded napkins to M.K. “Just let me know what you decide.”
    A pregnant silence filled the room. Fern blew out a stream of air. “All righty, then. But you all will have to eat what I serve.” She pointed to Sadie. “Even the overfed one.”
    Throughout the discussion, Sadie had been feeding steadily from a pan of brownies. She had taken a paring knife from the drawer and cut out a small piece, then evened out the cut by slicing another bite, then another and another. When she realized Fern was referring to her, she froze, midbite, and looked up, horrified.
    “Fine. We’ll eat whatever you make for us,” Julia said. “No complaining allowed.” She gave M.K. a look of warning.
    M.K. raised her small shoulders as if to ask, “What?”
    Fern scowled, but Julia’s amiability took the fight out of her. “I don’t want people messing up my kitchen.”
    Julia motioned to everyone to leave the kitchen. Sadie dropped the paring knife in the brownie pan in a huff.
    Outside, Menno and M.K. ran to the barn to check on Lulu and the puppies. Sadie and Julia lingered behind, watching the sun slip behind the row of pine trees that framed Windmill Farm in the west, making for early sunsets.
    Sadie turned to Julia. “Do I look fat?”
    Julia put an arm around Sadie. “No. Not at all. Not in the least bit. Absolutely not.” She pinched her thumb and index finger together. “Well, maybe just a little.”
    “I am! I’m fat!”
    “It’s just baby fat, Sadie. You’ll grow soon and it will disappear.”
    “I stopped growing a year ago and I kept eating.” She let out a soft sough. “I am. I am a fat girl. Fat, fat, fat.”
    “Sadie, don’t let Fern Graber get to you. Fern is just . . . Fern.”
    Sadie took a few steps down the porch and turned back. “You’re sure I don’t look fat?”
    “I wouldn’t want you any other way than how you are right now, Sadie,” Julia said truthfully.
    Sadie smiled and crossed to the barn.
    Julia walked over to the garden and examined the flowers along the front row. She loved her flower garden, small though it was. It had been her mother’s garden, her special joy. And now the garden gave Julia constant pleasure. Julia had always felt a special kind of peace whenever she gazed around the garden. The crocuses, narcissus, daffodils, each blooming briefly, sometimes only for a day, then withering. She snapped off the dead blossoms every morning, though she hadn’t that morning, so she did it now. When she finished, her hands were stained with yellow and orange from the crocus stamen. As the peaceful scents of the garden stole over her, she felt a peculiar excitement.
    It felt good, being so direct and assertive with Fern. Really, really good. And yet to Julia’s surprise, she felt relieved when Fern decided not to quit. Her father’s heart trouble was taking a terrible toll on Windmill Farm. On all of them. Julia kept expecting her father to make a full recovery. Surely, any day now, his heart would regain its strength. The Lord knew they needed him.
    And how Menno needed guidance. He was a strong boy and could work hard at times, but he needed to be told what to do and how to do it. He needed someone working alongside of him. Instead of providing daily instruction, Amos had been retreating from life. He stayed in his robe and slippers, staring out the window of his bedroom. The neighbors pitched in as often as they could, but they had farms to run too. Even with Sadie and Menno’s help, Julia couldn’t keep up with both the house and the fields. As March had turned to April—spring planting time—Julia often found herself fighting waves of panic. She was drowning in responsibilities.
    But now, at the end of this day, Julia didn’t feel quite as sad as she had a little earlier. Her spirits had lightened. She reached up to smooth out the furrows of a frown forming between her eyes. She didn’t want to mar her complexion with needless worry lines.