Together, they transferred custody of the cart to someone who would drag it along the roughed-out trail.

A new confidence had settled between them in the last few weeks. The interlude Annie witnessed-but did not hear- between her parents and Rufus had wrought transformation. Annie no longer looked at every young Amish woman she met as someone more suited for Rufus than she was. Rather than fear she and Rufus could never have a future together, she began to feel that they would.

She had to complete the baptism classes first. And she had to have one more candid conversation with him to say something he might not want to hear. She did not want to say it, but she had to be completely honest.

But today was not that day.

At the Amish worship gathering the next morning, exhaustion was evident, but so was enthusiasm. In a few more weeks, the recreation area would open officially, and neither the Amish nor the English would feel they were intruding in each other's space. They would have brought the dream to reality together.

Annie hummed to a hymn that had become familiar to her over the last year, though she still struggled with the High German words. She held the Ausbund, seeking the meaning in the words, even if she could not pronounce them smoothly. Rufus had translated this one for her once.

Love will never come to nothing. Everything has an end but love.

Love alone shall stand.

Love clothes us for the wedding feast because God is love and love is God.

Oh love! Oh love! Lead us with your hand and bind us together.

Annie leaned her head to one side, catching Rufus's eye as he sat among the unmarried men across from the women. Though she held her lips captive in their solemn pose, she let her eyes smile.

At the bishop's subtle signal, three teenagers stood to follow him out for the rest of the worship time. Annie stood as well, her stomach fluttering. They stepped quietly together to a rear room in the home of the family hosting worship that Sunday.

Two and a half hours later, Annie emerged from the house into the sunlight. As she expected, men and boys busied themselves with setting up tables, both inside and outside. the smells of baked ham and potato casseroles and apple pies mingled in the fragrance of June asters and columbine.

Rufus was waiting for her at the end of the driveway. She approached him and let out a nervous breath.

"You did it," he said.

"I did."

"How do you feel?"

"Overwhelmed. I've learned so much about the Amish in the last year, but baptism classes are deep!"

"It's a serious commitment in our church. Everyone wants you to be sure."

"I can tell." Annie put her fingers to her temples. "It's so much to take in."

When Rufus did not speak right away, she raised her gray eyes to the violet blue of his.

"Of course you can change your mind right up until the baptism day," he said, "but most people are sure when they start the classes."

"Don't you think I can be sure about this?"

He let another moment of time beat. "My parents think of you as a daughter, you know."

She nodded.

Another beat. "They've been through a lot."

"I'm not Ruth."

"I know."

"I wouldn't put my own parents through what they must be feeling if I weren't serious."

"Serious is not the same as sure."

"I'm sure."

He nodded and produced a smile. "Then I'm glad. Very glad."

"You'd better get used to seeing me in Amish dresses, because I'm finished with jeans and sweatshirts."

"The wardrobe change might be troublesome for your investigations."

Annie waved her hands in front of her. "I'm finished with all that, too. I don't have to have the answer to every question that crosses my brain. And I can ask for help. You'll see."

She stifled a giggle as he quickly bent and kissed her lips.

A wave passed through her, a quiver of unfinished business. Maybe he had already guessed what she needed to voice. Would that make it any easier to speak it aloud?

Rufus took her hand and led her behind a pine tree. His lips sought hers again, and she gave herself to the kiss.

Forty-Five.

October 1778 I hope you are not trifling with Jonas's affection." Christian sat in the comfortable chair by the fire. Outside the window, he watched the last sliver of light slide down behind his west pasture. "He's a worthy man."

Across the room, Magdalena turned a page of her book. Christian was fairly certain she had been going through the motions of reading all evening. The lamp burned low now, but she made no effort to raise the wick.

"Magdalena." Christian spoke in a tone he normally reserved for his younger children.

She looked up. "I heard what you said, Daed."

"Don't play with him. He's tender enough."

"I'm not playing with Jonas." Magdalena closed her book firmly and tucked it into the rocker beside her. "I recognize that he has many fine qualities."

"You could do worse."

"I know, Daed."

"He came and spoke to me today. His intentions seem clear."

"He spoke to you?"

Did she really not know the man's feelings? "There is yet time in this wedding season."

Magdalena was silent. Christian supposed she was calculating the weeks. Couples sometimes married even in early December. Was she also thinking of Nathanael? She had not spoken of him in a long time.

Christian liked Nathanael well enough. He seemed to make Magdalena happy-four years ago-and Christian would have been glad to take him into the family. Magdalena's devotion was admirable. For years, she believed Nathan would come to himself, and they would resume planning their life together. But she was twenty-one now.

"Magdalena?" he said softly.

"Yes, Daed. I know. It's been four months since Jonas first asked me to ride home after a singing."

Christian nodded. "Well, then, we will see what he says when he sees you next."

He read nothing in his daughter's face as she fingered the ties to her prayer kapp.

"I'm ready to turn in," she said. "Good night, Daed."

When she kissed his cheek, he felt habit more than affection.

Jacob looked up and smiled at his wife. She did not often venture into the tannery or the powder mill behind it. With his long polished stick, he stirred the mixture in the kettle hanging over the fire, wondering if he dared add more saltpeter. Bigger explosions in rifles would shoot bullets faster, and this might be a great help in the war effort.

"I hope you're being careful." Katie stretched her neck to inspect the contents of the pot without coming close to it.

Jacob lifted an eyebrow.

"I know," she said, "you're always careful."

He fixed his eyes on hers. "You don't like the tannery any more than my mother does. You must have come down here for something. What's on your mind?"

Katie nodded. "Maria is so discouraged. Maybe you should talk to her."

"I can't think what else to say." Jacob slowed his stirring. "I can't imagine what she is going through waiting to hear news of Ethan."

"I don't want to imagine what it would be like if you were missing. But I'm worried about her."

"I'll try talking to her again."

"I am afraid she is going to do something rash. You might control your explosions, but I am not as sure about Maria."

Ignoring the chaos of the kitchen on the weekly baking day, Magdalena left her stepmother and her half sisters to the task. The younger ones would grumble about why Magdalena did not have to help, but Babsi would shush them and help them learn the balance of ingredients that kept the family in bread.

Her father's admonition was clear. Because Jonas had spoken to him, Magdalena had to prepare. The next time she saw Jonas could be the conversation that changed her life.

She passed the stables and the old gelding, passed the idle cart she easily could have taken, passed the fence that framed the west pasture. She would walk ten miles today if it took that long to clear her mind. At the end of the lane, Magdalena looked in both directions, considering her options. Then she turned toward Nathan's land. She wanted to see the cabin one last time.

The miles disappeared under her feet. The cabin was in view, and then she was at the door, and then inside gazing at abandonment. Nathanael's mother had retrieved his bedding years ago, and the bare mattress was rolled to one end of the grid of rope that once supported it. Pots still hung from hooks over the dry, cold hearth, but thick dust turned their color from black to gray. One chipped plate sat in the corner of the trestle table with its rough-hewn planks. Magdalena had once imagined a happy life in this room. Then it had housed her rebellion, her outcry at the war that stole her future.

Suddenly seeing the cabin was not enough. She had to see Nathanael.

She found him in the wheat field on his own land, which he had continued to farm with his father's help. The harvest was in, but Nathanael carried a rake to tidy whatever disturbed him as he paced the rows.

Magdalena waited for him at the end of one row. Halfway down the row he lifted his eyes and saw her, but he did not speed his steps as he once would have.

"Hello, Nathan." When she reached him, Magdalena spoke softly, searching his eyes. "I hear you had a bountiful harvest."

"A very good harvest, yes, considering the war." Nathanael stood the rake upright and leaned on it slightly. "God has shown mercy."

Magdalena twirled the loose string of her kapp and swallowed with decision. "We haven't had a talk in a long time."

He met her gaze. "I suppose we have moved past those days."

"Have we?" Magdalena held her breath.

"I want you to be happy, Maggie." Nathanael busied himself with the rake, breaking up clots of earth.

Did he? Then why had he abandoned her all those years ago?

"I know about Jonas," Nathan said.

Magdalena waited. She had not tried to hide Jonas from anyone.

"He will be a fine husband to you."

"You could still be a fine husband to me." Magdalena barely heard her own words.

"You would be a fool to want me."

His words stung.

Nathanael slammed the rake into a tangle of dirt, weeds, and dry remains of wheat. The ground split, shooting chunks in several directions. Magdalena instinctively stepped back.

"Nathan," she said. But he did not look up.

And he probably never would.

Jacob judged it was time to clean up and go in for dinner. The mixture in the kettle was distilled to crystals. The brimstone, tied in a linen rag and soaking in weak lye for the last hour, was ready as well. Over the next two days, he would pound the ingredients into a fine powder. Out of curiosity, he wanted to test the mixture and see for himself how much the greater measure of saltpeter increased the power of a shot. For the time being, he would carefully store the components separately.

Maria stormed into his view. "I have to leave," she said bluntly.

Jacob pressed his lips together and turned his eyes to his sister.

"I cannot sit around the farm any longer." Maria paced toward the tannery then pivoted and returned to the kettle hanging in the makeshift powder mill.

"Be careful," Jacob said. "Don't touch anything until I get the mess cleaned up."