to her daughter. If she ever had a daughter, which became less likely with each birthday that slipped by. How could she be twenty-eight already and still unmarried? If she’d joined the Amish church instead of moving to Indianapolis after her rumspringe, would she have a husband and children by now? Most likely. But would she be any happier than she was now? There was no way to know for sure, but she doubted it anyway.
She loved her family and missed them more than she knew how to express. Yet when she remembered living under the strict rules of their sect—rules that were supposed to give her the assurance of righteousness—her stomach churned. She’d been a good girl. Always a good girl. But not until her rumspringe, when she met a group of college kids doing a mission project in the city, did she learn about grace. Accepting the grace made possible by Jesus’s death at Calvary had swallowed the feelings she’d always had about not being good enough for the almighty God. She wasn’t good enough. Not nearly good enough. But thanks to grace, her position as God’s child was secure. As much as she loved her family, she could never go back to the system of hoping to earn her right to heaven.
Lori flicked her fingers at Kenzie. “Scoot. Go. Sandwiches first. Chicken salad, if you have any left. It was delish yesterday.” Still chuckling, she peeled back the black plastic and removed a blue plaid shirt. “Then…secret-recipe brownies.”
Standing, Kenzie kicked off her tennis shoes and left them beside the front door. Then, stocking footed, she padded to her compact kitchen. In her first apartment in Indianapolis, she’d nearly climbed the walls of her little kitchen, it was so tight compared to Mamm’s spacious kitchen in their farmhouse. But a decade of functioning in a small space had eliminated the cramped feeling. Now, since she only cooked for herself, she appreciated having what she needed close at hand. If she got married and had a family, though, she’d want a kitchen more like Mamm’s.
Funny how her “when” thoughts about marriage had changed to “if” thoughts. And how silly to think about it at all, considering there wasn’t a single prospect for matrimony on her horizon. Technically, she was now an Englischer, but somehow the men her age still saw her as set apart. Lori often teased that one could take the girl from the Amish but not take the Amish from the girl. Maybe Lori was right. Being alone wasn’t so bad, though. If she were married and had children underfoot, she wouldn’t be able to weave. Maybe God wanted her to be a weaver instead of a wife and mother. She could be content with His desire for her. He’d done so much for her. Should she complain about serving Him?
She spread the last of the chicken salad on slices of bread, cut the sandwiches in half, and arranged them on plates. The sandwiches looked sad all alone on her secondhand denim-blue stoneware, so she added a handful of chips and a dill pickle spear. Simple fare, especially for an evening meal, but Lori had confided she never cooked—unheard of from Kenzie’s point of view—so she cheerfully consumed anything homemade.
Kenzie put the plates on the table and peeked around the corner. The sofa already held several stacks of neatly coordinated items. Lori was definitely earning her sandwich. Even though Kenzie knew Lori wanted the brownies to take to church, Kenzie vowed to bake a batch that was all for Lori tonight. She’d bake another pan for the church get-together on Saturday so they’d be fresh.
“Lori? Supper’s ready.”
Lori jumped up so fast, her springy curls bounced. She screeched the chair legs on the linoleum floor and sat, then folded her hands. Kenzie sat, too, and imitated Lori’s gesture. They both bowed their heads. Kenzie silently recited the Lord’s Prayer. When she lifted her head, Lori was looking at her. And frowning.
Kenzie glanced at the food. “Is something wrong? Oh—I forgot drinks.” She stood and headed for the refrigerator. “Milk or water?”
“Water, please. Thanks.”
Kenzie pulled out two water bottles from the fridge and returned to the table. She set one in front of Lori and slid onto her chair’s vinyl seat.
Lori tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “Can I ask you something?”
Kenzie shrugged. “Sure.”
“How come you don’t pray out loud?”
Kenzie picked up one of the sandwich halves and bit off the corner. “I was taught prayer