There's a point in every long winter when it seems spring will never come. For Miriam Hochstedler, that moment came on the first Sunday in March-yet another cold, winter-brown day. It was visiting Sunday, which meant her older sister, Emma, and her brother-in-law, Sam, had come to have lunch at the family farm. Their company and the hot beef-vegetable soup and fresh sourdough rolls Miriam and her sister-in-law Naomi had prepared should have brightened the dreary afternoon right up. Somehow those familiar comforts hadn't done the trick. Not today. Setting her empty teacup in the sink, Miriam tugged aside the kitchen curtain. She gazed over the bedraggled farmyard, listening absently to the happy voices behind her. Her brother Joseph and Sam were nowhere in sight. The two men had gone outside half an hour ago, most likely to Joseph's woodshop. They'd not be doing any work, of course, not today, and the shop-a converted dairy barn-would be uncomfortably chilly, but Miriam didn't blame them for slipping away. She wished she could slip away herself. As soon as the dishes were washed, Emma and Naomi had settled at the freshly scrubbed table to chat. Since both women were well along in their first pregnancies, it was natural the conversation turned in that direction. They'd been talking babies nonstop for almost an hour, laughing and planning over a pot of peppermint tea. Miriam was happy for them, she truly was, but every word they spoke pricked her heart like a forgotten pin. The year and a half since her parents' deaths had been hard for them all, but now everyone in the family was looking forward to better days. Everyone except her. "Miriam," Emma called from the table. "I meant to tell you. I picked up the material from Yoder's for the baby's quilt. I forgot it today, but I'll bring it next time." "That's all right," Miriam reassured her. "Plenty of time yet, and crib quilts don't take long. Have you decided what pattern you'd like?" "I want you to decide," Emma said. "This baby will be nearly as much yours as mine, after all." "That's a wonderful idea," Naomi agreed quickly. "Miriam, you pick the pattern for mine, too. Whatever you make will be beautiful, and like Emma says, you're going to be a favorite aent to these little ones. It'll be special for them to have a quilt you planned out all on your own." Miriam forced a smile. "All right. I'll do my very best. Naomi's first, and then yours, Emma. They'll be ready before the babies arrive." The two women smiled at her, then bent their heads back together. She loved these two sweet women with all her heart. They were going out of their way to include her, and of course, she was delighted at the prospect of having two new little ones to love. Still, all this mother-to-be and "favorite aent" talk prickled. She knew why Emma and Naomi kept telling her how much their children would love her. They figured Miriam would probably never be a mamm herself. Since that terrible day when she'd witnessed an Englischer shoot Mamm and Daed at their general store, her anxiety had kept her a prisoner here in the house where she'd grown up. There wasn't much chance of meeting a nice fellow and starting a family when you were too terrified to leave your brother's farm. Miriam washed her hands and picked up a dish towel. She'd best snap out of this mood. She shouldn't let envy spoil the afternoon, not when she'd been so looking forward to this visit. She'd missed Emma since her sister's marriage to Sam Christner some months back. Since his buggy accident, Sam didn't see so well, and her sister liked to stay close by her new husband, helping in their general store and around the house. Nowadays Emma couldn't come by her old home more than a few times a month. That, of course, was as it should be. And if things were different-if Miriam were different-she could have hitched up and driven into town to visit Emma whenever she liked. Johns Mill was only a half-hour buggy ride from the Hochstedler farm. As things stood, though, it might as well have been on the other side of the world. "Naomi," Emma was saying now, "I don't want to be a bother about the cradle. Joseph's woodworking business is doing so well that I'm sure he's got orders backed up. The pieces he sends to the store sell like hotcakes. So I thought I'd speak to you first. I want you to tell me plain if he doesn't have the time." "Don't be silly! He's busy, ja, but he'll find time to make a cradle for you," Naomi assured her. "Family comes first for Joseph, always. Just you tell him what you'd like, and he'll see to it." "I really like the one he made when you two were courting," Emma said. "One like that will do fine. I'm glad-hopefully it'll be in use a good long time as the children come along, and I know Joseph will make it sturdy and beautiful both." The jealous splinter in Miriam's heart twisted. Ja, there would likely be plenty more babies for Emma. For Naomi, too, if Gott blessed her. And that, she told herself, was wonderful, a thing to be thankful for, to have many little nephews and nieces around to dote on. It would be almost as sweet as having a husband and kinder of her very own. Almost. Her hands crumpled the towel into a wrinkled ball. She should get away from this kitchen before the other women picked up on her gloomy mood. Maybe she'd go outside and see Breeze. She'd not had the time to visit with the horse earlier because there'd been the lunch to get ready. Miriam quietly opened a cupboard door and took a few sugar cubes from their box. "I'm going out to the barn for a minute." "Oh, but Miriam-" Emma and Naomi exchanged glances. "I so wanted to spend time with you today. Come sit down with us, and let's talk about the quilts." "Don't worry. I'll be right back." Miriam tried a half-hearted chuckle. "You know I won't be going very far." She hadn't been off the farm in over a year. "But-" Before Emma or Naomi could protest further, Miriam snagged her bonnet and shawl off their pegs and slipped out the door. She felt a shamed sense of relief at her escape. She didn't know what was wrong with her today. It wasn't the usual panic. Nowadays, as long as she stayed at home and away from Englischers, she was able to stave that off. Mostly. This was different. She felt . . . fidgety. Restless. She'd been feeling this way a lot lately, as if she were waiting for something important to happen-but it never did. It was the weather, likely. Winter had overstayed its welcome. Once spring arrived, she'd feel better. In the meantime, count your blessings, she lectured herself as she headed across the damp, chilly yard. Not so long ago, you couldn't set foot outside the house without having one of your attacks, but now you can go to the barn and the chicken house most days without a scrap of trouble. And you've a family who loves you in spite of the fact you're more a burden to them than anything. That's something to be thankful for, too. That was true, but knowing it wasn't helping much, at least not today. Maybe a visit with Breeze would distract her. She was about to push open the barn door when she heard her brother's voice. "He's your horse, Sam, but if you want my opinion, it's not looking too gut." Miriam froze. So that's why Sam and Joseph had slipped away-to talk about Breeze. No wonder Naomi and Emma hadn't wanted her to go outside. She'd known this was coming. Breeze was as wild and unpredictable as he'd been when the vet unloaded him a few weeks after Sam's buggy accident. Joseph was getting frustrated. He felt it was time for Sam to decide what to do with the animal, and he'd said so a couple mornings ago at breakfast. But she'd not expected that decision to be made today. She heard a series of horrible thumps as Breeze reared and kicked in his stall-making the door shudder under her hand. He did that whenever Joseph came in the barn, even though her brother had never raised a hand to him. He wasn't much calmer when Miriam was alone with him, though she'd been slipping out for weeks to drop a sugar cube or an apple slice into his feed bucket. The horse trusted nobody, no matter how kind they were. He always backed away to the farthest corner of the stall, positioning himself to kick anybody who approached. Miriam never tried, and after a time, he'd settled down some with her. At least he didn't beat himself bloody against the walls of the stall anymore. Unless she moved too fast. Or spoke too loud. "Nee," Sam answered slowly. "He's not improved much." "He's not improved at all that I can see." It was wrong to eavesdrop. She should make her presence known. Instead she pressed her head against the door, her heart beating hard. The sound of Sam's sigh came through the wooden planks. Like everything about her burly brother-in-law, the sigh was big-sized. "It's a shame. Breeze was always stubborn, but before the accident, he was on his way to becoming a gut driving horse. Now . . ." Sam's deep voice faded out, and Miriam bit her lip. "He can't be managed," Joseph finished grimly. "Nothing calms him enough so I can work with him. Of course, I don't have your skill with horses, Sam. I never did. Maybe if you could train him yourself, it would be different." "I doubt it. I can't see his eyes so good, but I can hear how he moves. Fear's got the best of him. That'll make any horse a challenge, but a horse with Breeze's temperament? He'd likely be beyond my help, even if I could see." Miriam's heart sank. Any animal beyond Sam's help was hopeless for certain sure. Before his accident, he'd been the best hand with horses in all of Johns Mill. "If that's true, there's nothing to be done." Her brother spoke her thoughts aloud. "Nee, that's not so. There's folks better than me. I know one fellow in particular, but he costs a lot, and he doesn't like . . ." Sam stopped short as if measuring his words. "He might not be willing to come here. He's no fan of the Amish." "Which leads us back to where we started. It's time to make a decision, Sam." For a second or two the only sounds were the wintery caws of some distant crows and the thudding of her pulse in her ears. Please don't say it, Miriam pleaded silently. "Ja," Sam responded. "I can't ask you to keep him on any longer." Actually, Sam hadn't asked in the first place. The local vet who'd taken on Breeze's care after the accident had asked Joseph what to do with the animal. Her brother had gladly agreed to board Breeze until Sam recovered. But Sam's five-year-old niece Janie had been badly injured in the accident, and of course, there'd been the worrisome damage to Sam's eyes. The horse hadn't been at the top of anybody's list during those troubling days. It wasn't Breeze's fault he'd been left to stew in his fears, and it seemed unfair to give up on him now. Where would Miriam be if folks had given up on her? Sam cleared his throat. "You've been kind, keeping him when he's such a trouble. If you've done your best, there's not much left to talk about." "I can't think of anything else I can do. It's been months, and he still won't let me near him. With a little one coming soon, it worries me to have such a skittish horse on the property. While Enos Miller was here picking up a table he'd ordered, his boy Jerry ducked into the pasture where Breeze was and went right up to him-or tried to. I almost didn't get to him in time." Miriam frowned. That had been a scary day. They'd all been thankful the boy hadn't been hurt. Although she privately thought Jerry would do better to mind what he was told and not go bothering other people's horses. "It's a pity," Joseph was saying. "I don't think he's mean-spirited at heart, but in the state he's in now, he's a danger." "True. I'd not feel comfortable selling him to anybody else as he is. With the scars he got in the accident, he's not pretty enough for most horsemen to take an interest, not with the amount of work he'd be. That only leaves Adam." Miram pressed one hand to her mouth and backed away from the barn door. Adam Stoltzfus was the knacker man, the one who collected animals for slaughter. She'd figured Breeze would be sold, and she'd been sad enough about that. Something about the horse, ornery as he was, spoke to her heart. Maybe because they both had their struggles with fear. She'd never expected this. Excerpted from Courage in the Storm by Laurel Blount All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. 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