The Heirloom    1 Ella Mae carried her round yellow teapot with its padded tea cozy to the trestle table in her sunny kitchen and placed it in the center. She’d just finished steeping her favorite peppermint tea this lovely Wednesday, the eighth day of June, expecting a visit from her eldest daughter. Last Sunday, Mattie had made a point of telling her she planned to drop by today. Mattie’s husband, David, was the older brother of their newly ordained young bishop, John Beiler, but Ella Mae doubted this visit had anything to do with church. No, she was quite sure of Mattie’s reason for coming. There’s a bee in her bonnet. Eyeing her placemats, where two small yellow-and-white plates matched the teacups and saucers, Ella Mae was ready to hear Mattie out and then politely set her straight. And the freshly baked maple-syrup-and-sour cream muffins might just help her cause. She’d risen early to redd up the house, mopping all the floors on the main level as well as sweeping the long and deep back porch adorned by hanging baskets of Boston ferns. But now she was glad for a rest. Since her husband’s passing five months earlier, she…

Who loves a garden still his Eden keeps; Perennial pleasures plants, and wholesome harvest reaps. —Amos Bronson Alcott, “The Garden,” Tablets, 1868   Prologue April 16, 1970 In the early morning light, I looked out one of my third-floor dormer windows and treasured the springtime rebirth taking place as far as my eyes could see. The orchard was a sea of frilly pink peach blossoms, fifty rolling acres of fruit trees. I wondered how the garden of Eden could have been any more lovely, and I thanked God for the beauty below. Eager to breathe in the familiar fragrance of the orchard, I raised the window as birdsong beckoned to me. But I also wanted to feel the cool morning dew on my bare feet before doing chores. So, already dressed, I gave my waist-length, light brown hair a good brushing, then twisted and pinned it into a thick bun—not bothering to put on a bandanna. I slipped down the two flights of stairs in my family’s home, then walked out the side door and across the yard and beyond. Unhurried, I wandered past the blooming peach trees, along the grassy strips that separated their rows. Time seemed to slow…