"Even Carter understands he got mixed up in something he shouldn't have," Tom added.

"Write down their names, and the names of their parents. This will be a matter for the sheriff 's office. I intend to pursue the case to the fullest extent of the law."

"Of course that is your prerogative," Tom said. "We have not hidden this from the sheriff. Rufus and I spoke to him Saturday night and again this morning."

"Then why hasn't he arrested the whole lot?" Karl demanded.

"The boys say they never meant to hurt anyone. That part was accidental, and frightened them into silence. The real point is that the sheriff has very little physical evidence."

"He has their confessions!"

"He is making a point to talk to all the boys today to take their statements," Tom said. "But he told us this morning that his officers did not get any useful footprints or tire tracks from the scene. Of course there are no fingerprints."

"Get to the point, Tom," Karl barked.

Tom raised a shoulder and squeezed it against his neck. "He's not sure he could make a case."

"That's up to the district attorney's office."

"Of course it is. But the court will appoint a separate attorney for each boy," Tom said. "The lawyers will jump on the lack of physical evidence and the contradictory statements from the boys about who was doing what. the confessions likely will be thrown out as coerced."

"Since when did you take up the practice of law?"

"I'm just telling you what the sheriff said."

"The sheriff is not the district attorney." Karl glowered across the room. "Why are you really here?"

Rufus glanced at Tom. "For just what we said-forgiveness."

Annie's run took her to the edge of a field where a tent of plastic sheeting sheltered assorted contractor supplies. From the cover of trees, Annie watched a pickup truck back up to the shelter. The driver got out, released the tailgate, and began unloading.

Annie crept closer while he had his back turned, ducking behind a set of boulders. The man wore a hard hat, and Annie recognized his bulk. He was the same man she encountered the day she discovered this stash. She had gotten past him that day, and she would get past him again.

Better yet, she would not even try to get past him. No doubt he was a wealth of valuable information if she could pry it out of him. Annie retraced her steps into the trees, mussed her hair a bit more, and set off at a controlled jog. She cut right across the field and came to a stop at the back of the truck. Her breathing sounded heavier than it really was.

"Hello!" she called to the man. Close up, she could see he was transferring one-hundred-pound bags of sand as easily as if they were paper plates stacked and ready for the trash.

He paused and examined her. "I told you before to stay away from here."

"I know. But when I run past here I can't help being curious about what it is. Kind of a strange place to stockpile supplies, if you ask me."

"Who asked you?"

"Well, no one. Good point. I guess I just have natural curiosity."

"Curiosity killed the cat." He resumed moving sandbags.

Annie determined to smile. "I hear all this stuff belongs to Kramer Construction."

"Not exactly." The man's rhythm of moving sandbags remained steady.

Aha! It was stolen! "That's just what people say," she said.

"People should mind their own business."

"Still, it's a curious thing."

"Lady, do you have a direct question you're festering to ask?"

"Would you answer a direct question?"

"Don't think that counts as direct."

Annie pressed her lips together. She would only have one chance to ask the right question.

Her phone sang a song, making her jump. She had promised her mother she would leave it on for a few days so her parents could reach her. This was a local number, though. She turned her back to Hard Hat Guy to answer.

"Hello?"

"Annie, it's Tom Reynolds. I just wanted to apologize one more time for what Carter did. He should never have kept your phone."

"I know. And I think he knows. Apology accepted." She glanced over her shoulder at Hard Hat Guy. The truck bed was empty, and he slammed the tailgate closed.

"I'll make sure he makes restitution."

"Thanks, Tom. I believe Carter got in over his head. I'm sure I can work through it with him." Hard Hat Guy disappeared within the plastic sheeting, taking one sandbag with him.

"Still, he needs to learn that his bad judgment has consequences. Karl is not about to let him off the hook."

"Are you out at Karl's now?"

"In my truck. Rufus is still inside. I think he hoped to make one last plea for mercy."

"I'd like to talk more later, Tom, if that's all right."

"Sure. We'll be talking a lot, I suppose."

Annie clicked the phone closed and turned around. Hard Hat Guy was nowhere in sight. She stepped toward the opening where he must have gone in. With her hand pushing back the plastic sheeting, she glanced back over her shoulder. Whatever she did, she would have to explain her choice to Rufus. She was pretty sure she knew what he would say. And it would not be good.

"They are young boys," Rufus said.

"Young men," Karl countered. "Among your people, practically grown, as I understand it."

"Among our people we seek forgiveness whenever we can. And our way is not to withhold it. Our Ordnung commands us to forgive."

"Don't try to convert me, Rufus."

"Of course not. But your forgiveness would free the boys to make honest restitution, rather than merely be punished."

When Karl did not retort immediately, Rufus held his breath.

"What do you have in mind?" Karl finally asked.

"They will apologize to you, of course. In person. Then they can work extra hours on the project. We can teach them something of what it means to be a man by owning up to their responsibilities."

Karl grunted. Rufus waited.

"So you still want to move forward?" Karl asked. "Together?"

"Of course. Are you willing?"

Forty-Three.

June 1778 David burst into the barn. "It's over!"

Maria jumped from the stool where she was milking a cow. In the hayloft above her, Jacob pitched down a load then stilled his movement.

"When did you get back?" Jacob asked his brother.

"Just now." David drew his arm across his forehead, wiping a stripe through the grime that darkened his complexion.

"How close did you get to the city limits?"

"I was practically across. But I had delivered the last of my load. It would have looked odd to go in with an empty wagon. The merchants in the city have nothing to sell me."

"Could you really have gone in?" Maria asked.

"The Brits don't seem to care. General Howe resigned his command. Clinton's in charge and has his eye on New York. No one cares about Philadelphia."

Maria knocked over the stool in her hurry to get out of the stall. The cow mooed.

"You can't leave the cow half-milked," Jacob said. "Finish what you're doing, Maria."

"I have to go to Philadelphia." Maria righted the stool but did not sit down.

"Are you sure it's not a ruse?" Jacob jammed his pitchfork into the hay and threw down another load. "They could be trying to catch the Patriots off guard and trap them in Philadelphia."

David shook his head. "The British are packing up. Moving by sea to New York."

Jacob leaned on the pitchfork. "If Washington follows, we'll be right back where we were two years ago."

"We'll see Sarah again," David said. "We can put Mamm's mind at ease."

"Ethan was there." Maria squatted and yanked on a teat. The cow's mooing intensified. "He had to be."

"Don't take your frustration out on the poor cow," Jacob told Maria. "We'll go to Philadelphia soon enough."

"It's already too late to be soon enough." Maria's hands found their rhythm again.

"The British are settled in well. They can't clear out in an afternoon. A couple of days won't make a difference at this point."

"What if it were Katie?" Maria said. "Would you still want to wait a couple of days? Ethan could be anywhere."

"Exactly. And it will be easier to look for him when the glut of troops thins out." Jacob stood the pitchfork upright in the hay. "I'll help you finish the milking."

Jacob waited three more days. He made sure the horses he and Maria would ride had fresh shoes for the rugged terrain. Maria and Katie packed saddlebags so full it took both of them to tighten the straps. David rode to surrounding farms asking about fresh news from Philadelphia. Jacob resisted Franklin's pleas that he be allowed to ride to the city, pointing out instead how much work there was for the boy to do in his father's absence.

On the fourth day, Jacob and Maria rode to Philadelphia, unencumbered by a wagon. At the outskirts of the city, they pulled the reins to take cover in a grove of black oak while they assessed the scene before them for themselves.

The armed patrol of soldiers in red coats was gone. Instead, British troops moved about as if under orders, briskly and efficiently, but paying little attention to Americans wandering in and out of their paths. Weapons hung slack at their sides while they nailed crates shut and loaded wagons headed for British ships sprawling around the harbor across the city.

"We can go in," Maria urged. "Nothing is stopping us."

Jacob nodded. "I'll show you the way to Sarah's house."

They threaded through the streets, one behind the other. Soldiers carried goods out of private homes where officers had taken up residence, with or without the consent of owners. Some shops were boarded up, while others were open with few wares to offer.

"Looks to me like the British helped themselves to everything Philadelphia had to offer," Maria muttered.

"Now they'll go and do the same injustice in New York."

"I have half a mind to divert a wagon or two of food to people who deserve it."

"Let's find Sarah and Ethan first." Jacob nudged his horse to the right, making a turn onto a wide avenue.

Sarah's house looked untended even from down the street. Spring bushes grew wild and unshaped. Flower beds sprouted knee-high weeds. A window on the front of the house was broken and boarded over.

"We'll go around to the back," Jacob said.

There they found the door to the carriage house wide open, and the only animals within were snarling raccoons.

"She's gone, Jacobli," Maria said.

"Wait here." Jacob dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to Maria. He took his rifle with him as he walked through the covered outdoor summer kitchen and pushed open the back door of Sarah's house. Downstairs, soiled dishes dotted the tables. Upstairs, the beds looked used but in disarray. The walls were cleared of art. Even the knickknacks looked displaced.

What had they done with Sarah?

When Magdalena heard that the British were evacuating Philadelphia, her first thought was whether Patrick, the British sympathizer, might come back.

Her second thought was what might happen if he did.