Harmony Creek Hollow, New York
“Don’t you dare eat those socks!”
Annie Wagler leaped off the back porch as the sock carousel soared on a gust and headed toward the pen where her twin sister’s goats were watching her bring in the laundry. The plastic circle, which was over twelve inches in diameter, had been clipped to the clothesline. As she’d reached for it, the wind swept it away.
Snow crunched beneath her boots, and she ducked under the clothes that hung, frozen hard, on the line. She despised bringing in laundry during the winter and having to hang the clothing over an air-dryer rack inside until it thawed. She hated everything to do with laundry: washing it, hanging it, bringing it in and folding it, ironing it and mending it. Every part of the process was more difficult in the cold.
Pulling her black wool shawl closer, she ran toward the fenced-in area where Leanna’s goats roamed. She wasn’t sure why they’d want to be outside on such a frigid day, but they were clumped together near where Leanna would feed them later. Annie sometimes wondered if the goats were one part hair, hooves and eyes, and three parts stomach. They never seemed to be full.
And they would consider the cotton and wool socks a treat.
Annie yanked open the gate, making sure it was latched behind her before she ran to collect the sock carousel. She had to push curious goats aside in order to reach it. One goat was already bending to sample the airborne windfall.
“Socks are for feet, not for filling your bottomless stomachs,” Annie scolded as she scooped up the socks that would have to be washed again.
The goats, in various patterns of white, black and brown, gave her both disgusted and hopeful glances. She wasn’t sure why her identical twin, Leanna, liked the creatures, especially the stinky male.
Leanna had established a business selling milk and had begun experimenting with recipes for soap. Her twin hoped to sell bars at the Salem farmers market, about three miles southwest of their farm, when it reopened in the spring. As shy as her twin was, Annie wasn’t sure how Leanna would handle interacting with customers.
They were mirror twins. Annie was right-handed, and Leanna left-handed. The cowlick that kept Annie’s black hair from lying on her right temple was identical to Leanna’s on the other side. They had matching birthmarks on their elbows, but on opposite arms. Their personalities were distinct, too. While Leanna seldom spoke up, Annie found it impossible to keep her opinions to herself.
How many times had she wished she was circumspect like her twin? For certain, too many times to count. Instead, she’d inherited her grossmammi’s plainspoken ways.
Annie edged toward the gate, leaning forward so the socks were on the other side of the fence. She needed to finish bringing in the laundry so she could help her grossmammi and Leanna with supper. Her younger siblings were always hungry after school and work. She’d hoped their older brother, who lived past the barn, would bring his wife and kinder tonight, but his six-year-old son, Junior, was sick.
Keeping the sock carousel out of the goats’ reach, she stretched to open the gate. One of the kids, a brown-and-white one her twin called Puddle, butted her, trying to get her attention.
Annie looked at the little goat. “If you weren’t so cute, you’d be annoying, ain’t so?”
“Do they talk to you when you talk to them?” asked a voice far deeper than her own.
In amazement, she looked up...and up...and up. Caleb Hartz was almost a foot taller than she was. Beneath his black broad-brimmed hat, his blond hair fell into eyes the color of early-summer grass. He had a ready smile and an easy, contagious enthusiasm.
And he was the man Leanna had her eye on.
Her sister hadn’t said anything about being