He stood as still as a statue, staring at his daughter’s body. There was a sheet draped over her chest and midsection, but the snake tattoo on her leg was exposed. Claire automatically reached to pull the sheet down to cover it. “Don’t,” he said. Mary started making a soft keening sound in the back of her throat. Zillah, as an only child, had been given more than most Swartzentruber children. Claire had never been able to decide if Zillah had become the person she was because they had spoiled her or if she was simply born with an ugliness inside her. Either way, it did not matter now. Nothing mattered now except the babies, and she was not sure the bishop would accept them. Mary got control of herself, and the keening stopped. “Please, Claire,” she said. “I want a basin of water and a cloth. Do they have something like that here?” “Mary.” The bishop’s voice held a warning. “I do not think you should . . .” Claire saw something she thought impossible. Mary whirled on him, her face a mask of despair and grief.
