The Hope of Refuge
             Cindy Woodsmall

      The kitchen door swung open, and Cara waltzed into the room, her
Amish dress spattered with paint and much of her short hair coming loose
from its stubby ponytail and sticking out around her prayer kapp. The
young woman carried the confidence of being happy and loved, making
Deborah wonder is she'd ever feel that way again. Deborah's brother
Ephriam was thirty-two when he found love for the first time in his life.
And even though he broke up with Deborah's closet friend in order to
pursue the englischer girl, Deborah had grown to love Cara too.
    Cara glanced through the screen door, and Deborah knew she was
checking on her daughter.



   The living room couch fell over, and mom came running in to the room,
her face full of worry and her long hair flying loose from her bun and
covering her face. The woman acted like she never heard noise in her life,
making me wonder if I would ever understand how she felt. Her sister was
twenty-six when she gave birth to her first child. And even though the baby
wasn't an angel, my mom had grown to love children too.
  Mom glanced back through the door, and I knew she was warning us on
our behavior.