PROLOGUE
Rosanna sighed and leaned against the white pillar holding up the sagging roof of her wraparound porch. She felt as weary as the house and porch looked—both of which were in desperate need of fresh paint. The fence also needed to be painted and fixed—the horse kept wandering into the mules’ paddock. Given that it was already autumn, she knew Timothy wouldn’t get to any of the repairs this year. She was as resigned to this as she was to the fact that she lived in a loveless marriage.
Staring at the two-story red barn across the driveway, Rosanna watched as the sun rose behind it, the sky slowly transforming from dark blues to hues of red and orange. She heard the dogs bark from their kennel. A stray cat ran around the back corner of the barn, the likely cause of the interest from the dogs. It disappeared down the driveway in the direction of the road.
Unlike most Amish farms, their property was long and rectangular, the driveway cutting the land almost in half. The fields were closer to the road, while the house and outbuildings were tucked far in the back. The horse and buggy had to travel down the long driveway, which cut through the middle of two crop fields, in order to get to the house and barn. Bordering the back of the property were the paddocks for the horse, mules, and cows, facing south, and the family’s garden behind the house. On the western side, another road ran behind the fields and barn.
It was a strange layout for a farm, and Rosanna wasn’t particularly fond of the garden’s location. She felt it was too close to the main entrance of the house. As a result, every time she hung laundry or helped with morning chores, she was constantly passing it and reminded of how much work she had to do: tilling, planting, weeding, harvesting. At least now with the growing season behind her, she only needed to spread manure to prepare the dirt for next spring.
The barn, however, gave her some comfort. The gray river stones used for the foundation dated back to the mid-1700s, according to her husband. It was a pretty building, and with the red paint and white trim, it stood out as a landmark for anyone traveling past it on the back road. Unlike the rest of the property, the barn was in perfect shape; there was not one warped board of siding nor one shingle in need of replacement.
That’s Timothy, she thought emotionlessly.
Because the large red barn could be seen from the road, her husband kept it in immaculate repair. The windows were washed on a weekly basis, and no excuses for even one cobweb were accepted, harsh winters or illness included. Timothy was fastidious when it came to appearances. No one was going to talk about his family or his farm—at least not the people who mattered. In Timothy’s mind, the people who mattered meant everyone in the g’may . . . everyone except her.
Rosanna knew better than to complain to anyone about the truth. Her mother had always told her not to hang dirty laundry where other people could see it. The metaphor wasn’t lost on Rosanna. She knew that if she talked to one of the preachers, Timothy’s reaction would be worse than anything she’d already faced. She knew that he’d never change, so what was the point in confiding in anyone? Amish women didn’t get divorced. They just worked alongside their husbands and learned to keep a stiff upper lip even when sorrow dominated their lives.
“Rosanna!”
Hearing his voice call her name was jarring. While she shouldn’t have been surprised that he was up, she had to dig deep to find the strength to face him. She dreaded returning to the kitchen and navigating the chaos of life, a life that felt increasingly out of control and overly demanding to Rosanna. The calm before the storm, she thought, was over. Every morning she rose early to find some time to reflect and pray—and be alone without Timothy’s presence hovering nearby.
It was still early morning, and that meant only one thing: the day was ahead of her, and like all of her days, it was going to be a long one. If she were lucky, Timothy would need to leave the farm to work with the Englische.
“Rosanna!” He flung open the door, the upper hinge squeaking.
Just one more thing to fix, she thought.
“Are you deaf?”
His voice shot through her, his harsh words cutting and mean. He was in a mood; she could tell that without even turning around to greet him. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to remain calm. It was a method of coping that she had taught herself years ago. Deep breath in, hold it, exhale slowly. For some reason, it helped.
“Was just enjoying the sunrise,” she answered, careful to avoid speaking with an edge to her voice.
One look at her husband, and she knew that the morning wasn’t going to start well, despite the fact that he was dressed and ready to begin his day. As always, his clean white shirt was wrinkle free, and his trousers bore not a single spot to indicate they were his work pants. No, his clothing indicated nothing was amiss in the Zook household. After all, appearances mattered to him. It was only on the inside that the secret of his shame was apparent. Freshly laundered clothing couldn’t hide the real problem: it was written all over his face, even if she was the only one who recognized it.