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wrap it in whatever spare quilting material Verna had saved for this very occasion. After swaddling the animal, Judah would carry it to the strawflower field beside our house. There he would dig a hole with a little spade before placing the animal in its six-inch grave.
    Now, watching Rachel’s wide-eyed stare around that gloomy kitchen, I wonder if Judah wants to marry her because he loves her, or if he wants to marry her because she is another one of God’s hapless creatures he hopes he can save.
    Stepping toward the sink, Rachel takes a dish from Irene, dries, and returns it to the cupboard without making a sound.
    Ruth dispels the uncomfortable silence by asking her, “How’s Leah?”
    “The doctors say if she keeps improving, she’ll be home by the end of the week.”
    Irene and Ruth exchange glances, and Irene—the more domineering of the two—says, “Where you going to stay in the meantime?”
    Being careful to keep her eyes fixed on the plate she is drying, Rachel replies, “I haven’t given it much thought.”
    “Well. You should.” I wince at Irene’s tone of voice, which is as formidable as the set of her jaw. “It’s not proper for you and Tobias to stay here alone.”
    Rachel wipes and wipes the dish, although there is no moisture on it. “We’d hardly be alone,” she says, pointing over to the living room, where Sarah and Matthew are on the floor playing with a marble chaser. “Not with all the children around.”
    Ruth says, “Things are different now that Tobias is bishop. With that position comes a certain responsibility. An . . . an image to maintain.”
    Returning the dish to the cupboard, Rachel bangs the door closed and clenches the countertop. “Is it Tobias’s image or your own that you’re both so concerned about?”
    My daughters look at each other and raise their eyebrows. Ruth opens her mouth to speak, but Irene shakes her head.
    Raising her gaze from the countertop, Rachel looks them each in the eye. It would be impossible not to see the fire banked in hers even if the kitchen were as black as pitch. “That’s what I thought,” she says, then marches up the steps and closes her bedroom door.

    The gentle knock two hours later awakens Rachel with a gasp. Sitting up, she looks out the window to the sun that has started sliding behind the mountains, leaving a butterystreak across the pines. Swinging her legs off the bed, Rachel smooths the quilt to hide that she’s been sleeping on it and pulls open the door.
    My wife, Verna, is standing on the other side. The skin around her eyes is smudged with gray; sorrow has carved lines in between her eyebrows and along the sides of her mouth. Her plump frame seems to droop with the yoke of grief hanging from her shoulders. But despite this obvious exhaustion, Verna smiles at Rachel and passes her the sleeping child.
    “Has he been good?” Rachel whispers.
    My wife nods and smiles again. “He’s a precious little bobbel . Barely wokeup all day except to nurse.”
    As Eli nestles against his mother’s familiar bosom, Rachel says, “Tell Mary thank you for me.”
    “I will.” My wife bites the inside of her lip and looks down, a sign that she has something to say but does not know how to say it. When Rachel has started to fluster from the uncomfortable silence, Verna asks, “Wouldyou like to stay withus until your schweschder is out of the hospital?”
    Rachel does not reply, so my wife continues, “Miriam can care for Tobias and Leah’s little ones, and my dechder can check in on them from time to time. Make sure they have plenty to eat and such.”
    Rachel cannot seem to muster the same snap and fire she displayed with Irene and Ruth. Perhaps it is due to my wife’s sweet demeanor, or perhaps Rachel’s just tiredof fighting a battle she knows she will lose. “All right,” she says. “Just let me pack a few things.”
    “If you forget something, Miriam can bring it up.”
    “You mean, you don’t want me to come