The Shunning by Beverly Lewis Page A

from her garden.”
    Katie threw back her head, a ripple of laughter startling a bird on a branch overhanging the creek. “People don’t remember things like that so long ago. How could you ?”
    “Maybe it’s because Mamma talked about it so much. It was a big day—your coming into the world, Katie. Your Mam was happy beyond words, finally getting her first daughter.” He paused, then took up again. “Might be I just think I remember that day—hearing about it so many times and all.” He tossed a stick into the creek, and they watched it float downstream and disappear under the bridge.
    Dan slipped his arm around her waist, and the two of them sat quietly, lost in their own world. “Just tiny . . . brand-new, you were,” he whispered. “So pretty—even back then.”
    She turned to look at him, resplendent in the glow of the sun’s reflection, slanting off the creek.
    “Your Mam had just come home from the hospital, and there you were—all pink and pretty.” A chuckle broke through. “Guess I just couldn’t help myself.”
    “The hospital?” Katie was puzzled. “Did you say the hospital?”
    “Jah.”
    “But I thought everyone around here had the midwife—Mamma’s first cousin, Mattie.”
    Dan shrugged. “Sometimes when there’s a problem, even the Amish use the English doctors.”
    “Oh.” Katie pondered the thought. She’d never heard that explanation. She would be speaking to her mother about it later. But for now, it seemed Dan had other things on his mind, starting with the song he wanted to write. He pulled a sheet of staff paper out of his pocket.
    “What’s that?”
    He pointed out the lines and spaces, and within twenty minutes or so, they’d written their love song. It seemed that even the birds joined in on the chorus, and the gurgling brook carried the melody all the way to the bridge . . . and beyond.
    Katie couldn’t recall now how many times they had sung the song that afternoon. But each time, Dan would gaze deep into her eyes and pledge his love—it was that kind of song.
    She now remembered one thing, though, although the notion hadn’t once crossed her mind that enchanted afternoon five years ago. She remembered his words. His strangely prophetic words. No matter what happens . . .
    He’d said it at least twice that joyous day, the day he’d declared his love. What did it mean?
    There’d been no apprehension in his face, no hint that he sensed what was coming. Yet, thinking back, Katie wondered. Had he known somehow that he would die . . . exactly one week later?
    Some folks seemed to be able to predict such things with a kind of inner knowing. Ella Mae had told her so. She was chock-full of wisdom, that woman. Everyone knew it. Hickory Hollow was populated with Plain folk who’d gone to confide in Ella Mae Zook at one time or another.
    After Dan’s death, Katie, too, had gone to her great-aunt—not to share secrets, but out of desperation. At the time, she’d been surprised to hear such a thing. Yet looking back, it was comforting to know that just possibly her darling Daniel had not been completely startled by his own untimely death.
    Her fingers having grown numb from the strumming and the cold, Katie placed the guitar back in its case. Slowly, she closed the lid. She’d never play again.
    She would marry John Beiler come next Thursday. Hard as it would be, she must.

Seven

    S upper at John Beiler’s house was served promptly at five-thirty. Katie knew that to be so. The bishop kept to a strict schedule, and his household hummed with the precision of a well-oiled machine.
    The table was set for eleven people. Nancy and her younger sister, Susie, age six, carried the serving bowls to the table and set them in front of their father’s plate.
    When Katie offered to help, Jacob hopped off the bench and stopped her. “This is our doin’s tonight,” he said. And by that, she knew that the children—without the usual assistance from two helpful aunts—had