Out in the backyard, Jennie set a tray laden with condiments on the wooden picnic table. Shep had built the table last summer, she recalled, which, incredibly, meant an entire year had passed since they had moved here. This was the first time she had invited the entire Fisher family over to their house, and they would be bringing Abraham’s brother and his relatives as well. Jennie estimated the number of guests to be around twenty-three. The Amish went to church only every other Sunday, and this was one of the days when they wouldn’t be attending worship, so they could take time off to visit. Shep was in charge of barbecuing hamburgers and hot dogs, and she had prepared three enormous bowls of potato salad and another three of fruit salad. Going back into the kitchen, she went over a mental list of everything else she would be serving. She tried not to worry about how the Fishers might judge her house—if it was too small, too messy, too something not right—and reprimanded herself for worrying, knowing how loath the Amish were to judge other people.
