Annie straightened her shoulders. "Yes, that is what it means."

"You could be baptized in our church at home, you know. You don't have to join the Amish to be baptized."

"I know. But to join the Amish church it is required."

"But this is what you want?"

Annie nodded slowly.

The door opened, and Brad stuck his head into the kitchen. "Franey has just invited us all for supper. I said yes."

Thirty-Nine.

April 1778 The rhythm of a team pulling a wagon gathered in the distance, eventually disturbing Christian Byler's prayer thread and causing him to open his eyes as he sat in his favorite outdoor chair. Amish clatter, Patriot clatter, British clatter-it all sounded the same at this stage. Over the years his wife's suggestion that he cut down the tree at the end of their lane became more insistent, but so far Christian resisted. Whatever came down the road would come whether they could see it or not, and their response would be the same. So why sacrifice a tree whose wood they did not need?

The ruckus slowed enough that Christian knew the wagon would turn into his lane. A moment later, he recognized Jacob in the raised seat. The woman beside him was not Katie, though. Christian had not seen Jacob's wife in years, but a woman did not change her frame and coloring.

Christian stood and waited for the wagon. Jacob pulled the team to a stop, set the wagon's brake, and jumped down. Christian's eyes never left the woman, who was slower to descend. Jacob said nothing but simply stepped aside.

Christian had seen those black curls on only one woman's head. "Maria," he murmured.

She smiled awkwardly.

The dress she wore was not Amish, but he had long ago given up that hope. Was she alive? That had been the specter question, and now he had his answer.

"You certainly took the long way back from the creek," Christian said, a smile forming at one end of his mouth.

"In the end, though, I came home." Maria moved slowly toward him.

All the moments Maria missed crashed through Christian. His entire marriage to Lizzie. The death of Lizzie. His wedding to Babsi. The births of all his children. The baptisms of his older children, all of whom honored him when they chose the Amish way for themselves. The close community of families who understood their old ways. The young men who might have courted her.

Christian swallowed hard. She was here now. Maria was here.

"You must come inside," he said. "Babsi-my wife-will want to meet you."

Within an hour the house was full. A couple of the children went running to find the others in gardens and fields and barns. Christian's married children rolled into the farm in wagons of their own, with their offspring raising the noise level in the yard. To them, Christian knew, Maria was more folklore than family. She was the mysterious sister who disappeared and was never found. She was the one about whom everyone wondered but few spoke.

Christian watched Maria's every move-the sweep of a hand familiar from childhood, a laugh matured but as easily provoked as in years gone by, the hair that refused taming, the violet-blue eyes of their mother.

Magdalena was on foot, as usual. She preferred the simplicity of walking where she wanted to go. Walking alone for miles every day pressed her anxieties out through her extremities. And if she took a little longer than usual for an errand, no one remarked. If occasionally a loaf of bread or a jar of preserves or a jug of cider did not make it to its intended recipient, so be it. It went to good use.

With the British army garrisoned in Philadelphia, demand for food and basic supplies multiplied. At first, Magdalena diverted the occasional bag of flour or corn. At the harvesttime last fall, this was easy enough to do. Over the winter, she watched Nathanael's empty cabin. His family still tried to farm some of his acreage, but no one paid attention to the structure. When Magdalena offered to dust the place from time to time in case Nathanael should decide to move into it, no one objected.

No one believed Nathanael would move into the cabin. Not after three and a half years. If he did not marry, he would not move from his parents' home.

So Magdalena gathered foodstuffs there. Brazenly, she carried hot coals from her own family's hearth and built a fire in Nathan's cabin, where she cooked three dozen loaves of bread and four cakes before passing them to a farmer whose name she Did not know. He took a wagon of goods to the outskirts of Philadelphia, where British troops were eager to have them.

To Magdalena, the ease of it all was flabbergasting. Did her Amish dress and prayer kapp truly provide such unsuspecting protection? Or was her safety confirmation she was doing God's will?

The injured British soldier from last fall had disappeared long ago. He was not ungrateful for the care the Bylers offered, but he wanted only to be safe well away from the war. Magdalena always supposed he had gone farther west. He seemed not to care that he might never see his country or family again.

Her steps took Magdalena into the family's lane now. The wagons were familiar-her own siblings and aunts were here. But why? Why all at once? She had been gone only a few hours. Surely this gathering was unplanned.

Daed. Panic propelled her into a run.

She burst through the front door into a swarm of cousins and nieces and nephews. Laughter. Food. Children's games. These were not signs of sorrow or concern. Magdalena let out a long breath.

"Magdalena!" her father's voice boomed. "Come and meet your aunti Maria."

Aunti Maria? The lost aunt? Magdalena swallowed air and followed her smiling father into the kitchen, where the chatter and clatter of women at work oozed familiarity. Several pots hung in the hearth.

"Maria," Christian said, "Magdalena is here."

Magdalena watched the woman at the hearth turn, a large wooden spoon in one hand. She smiled.

"She looks just like you, Maria," Christian said. "Don't you think so?"

"I have not seen myself in a proper glass in many years," Maria said, "but you flatter me to think I was ever as beautiful as this young creature."

Magdalena flushed. The Amish did not talk this way. She never saw her own reflection in anything but a clear pond, and it would have been prideful to think herself beautiful.

She met the glowing eyes of her aunt with hesitancy behind her own smile.

Jacob settled into a chair on the porch. Christian had done well for himself in Lancaster County. Several real estate transactions yielded good profit for him. The spacious home sheltered his large family with ease, and the land around it prospered in provision year after year. Most of the farms that bordered his land were also Amish, which seemed to deepen Christian's contentment.

Christian silently occupied the chair next to Jacob. Most of the visitors had left. Maria was still in the kitchen showing Babsi and Magdalena how she cooked in her years on the frontier. The two brothers looked out on the remains of the setting sun.

"I suppose I will head home at first light," Jacob said.

"Thank you for bringing Maria to visit."

The finality in Christian's tone made Jacob squirm. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and his hands dangling. "Visit?"

"I love my sister," Christian said. "Seeing her again has filled an empty spot in my heart. But she cannot stay here."

"So you've made up your mind after one long afternoon together?"

"She honored me with honesty. If she had come straight from the frontier with no political opinions, it would be different."

Jacob exhaled. "She's your sister, Christian. Your full-blood sister."

"And she's a Patriot zealot."

"You might say the same of me."

"You do not seek shelter in my house," Christian said.

"I'm here tonight. I've been here before."

"You go home to your gunpowder every time. When you drive past the farms, no one wonders what is under the canvas in your wagon. But Maria. A zealot is not something she does. It is something she is."

"And that compromises you?"

"We live apart, Jacob. We are neutral. I will not put my family at risk for Maria's cause."

Magdalena tired of watching Babsi and Maria cook after everyone had left. What was so unusual about roasting squirrel? Magdalena abandoned the household's best spoon in a basin of gray water and went out the back door to the stables. She wanted to check on the old gelding. They asked little work of the beast anymore. Magdalena wondered how much longer her father would tolerate sustaining an animal that did not earn its keep.

She stroked the gelding's neck. She would have to stay away from The kitchen for a long time to avoid making small talk with a stranger late into the night.

The door creaked open, and her father and aunt entered the stables. The tone arising from their mingled approaching voices sent Magdalena ducking into the hay. Revealing herself now would prove awkward. Instead, she squatted out of sight.

"Christian, try to understand," Maria's soft voice pleaded.

Magdalena heard the supple slap of leather against the wall, the familiar sound of her father rearranging bridles hanging on hooks inside the door. He always did that when he had to say something that he did not wish to say.

"It would only be trouble for all of us," her father said, "including you."

"It's been so long," Maria said. "I did not expect you to send me away as soon as I got here."

"Maria, I cannot put my family at risk."

"What about God's will?" Maria challenged.

"What about it?"

"If it is Gottes wille to keep your family safe, I doubt I have the power to endanger them."

Magdalena choked on the thought of the danger she might have brought to her family.

Christian exhaled heavily. "You haven't changed in all these years. You always were a vexing child."

"Don't make light, Christian," Maria said. "I'm alone. I want my family."

"You have Jacob. He shares your sympathies."

"I had hoped you and I had a bond that transcended wartime sympathies."

Magdalena listened to feet shuffling in the hay.

"You can't stay, Maria. That is my final word. You have admitted your history with the Patriots."

"And if I were supporting the British?"

"It would make no difference."

Magdalena pressed a fist against her lips. Her aunt was the enemy. There was no more gentle way to put it.

Her father, of course, had no enemies. The war had nothing to do with him.

But it had plenty to do with Magdalena.

And it had plenty to do with Maria.

Magdalena wished her aunt no harm. But she could never be on the side of people who had stolen her future with Nathanael. She was glad to hear her daed be so firm that Maria must leave.

Magdalena had lived her whole life without knowing her aunti Maria. She saw no reason to change course now.

Forty.

Franey rode with the Friesens in their car, leaving Lydia, Sophie, and Jacob to take the buggy home. Annie sat in the backseat beside Franey. Every effort her mother made at polite conversation stabbed. Franey reached over and squeezed Annie's hand. Annie appreciated the gesture but withdrew her hand quickly, lest her mother turn her head and see.

Brad turned off the highway into the Beilers' long driveway and parked the car close to the house. As the foursome went up the steps to the front porch, Franey chattered about what she planned for supper and how pleased she was the Friesens were joining them. Franey pushed open the front door. Annie saw the split-second halt before Franey continued into the house and held the door open for the others.

"It looks like we'll have a roomful of guests," Franey said, motioning to the young men in the living room. "I would like you to meet the sons of our dear friends, the Stutzmans. This is Mark and Luke, with my son Joel."

Annie swallowed hard. Joel. Sitting between Mark and Luke on the sofa, the brims of their three identical black felt hats forming a stiff line. Joel held a bundle in his hands, and Mark and Luke looked far from pleased to be sitting in the Beilers' living room.

"Ike and Edna are on their way over," Joel said. He glanced at Annie, who transferred the glance to her parents.

"Is something wrong, Joel?" Franey asked.

Annie nudged her mother's elbow. "Why don't you sit over here?" She gestured to two comfortable chairs positioned apart from the main seating area and breathed relief when her parents complied. Annie watched Franey's face, her heart racing in anticipation of Joel's revelation.

"Mark and Luke have something they need to say." Joel measured his words. "Let's wait for Ike and Edna."

"We have guests," Franey said. "Annalise's parents. I wonder if Ike and Edna might come another time."

"It can't wait," Joel answered.

Annie perched on the arm of the chair her mother occupied and wondered if the tremble of her veins would pulse through the furniture.

She wanted Rufus to be there. If the boys were going to confess, she wanted him to hear for himself. And she wanted his strength in the room when the explosion came-when truth collided with expectations.