"Or," Katie said in a tone that made Jacob catch her eyes, "we could move to North Carolina."

"North Carolina?"

"We've talked about it since before we were married. David wants to do it. Then your father died and we did not want to leave your mother. Then the war started...."

"And now the war is over and Mamm is gone," Jacob said.

At fifty-two years of age, Christian Byler was content to leave the work of converting church benches into tables for a meal to younger men. In another month, he and Babsi would host worship and the meal that followed. Today, he stayed out of the way, huddling with a group of older men at one end of the Stutzmans' wide porch. When their conversation drifted to news of the war's end, though, Christian scowled.

"It makes no difference to us," he said. "You know this. We live apart and do not concern ourselves with matters of the English."

Christian saw no purpose in speculating on what changes a new American government might bring, but the faces of his friends told him they were not finished with the topic.

"They might well enact new laws and impose them on us," Joseph Stehnli said.

"There are bound to be taxes," Levi Lapp said. "The new government already owes huge sums to private investors who funded the war."

"So we'll pay our taxes but have nothing to do with it." Christian threw up his hands and left the group.

He crossed the porch and descended the stairs. On The ground, he balanced himself on the railing and closed his eyes briefly. He should not have let his hunger cause him to speak cross words. Turning, he looked up the stairs and into the house. The young men were nearly finished. Women were already putting food on some of the tables.

Christian cocked his head at the sight of Nathanael Buerki laying a board to form the last of the tables.

Nathanael was laughing. He had never stopped coming to church, but Christian had not seen Nathan smile or laugh in years.

Christian collected his plate of food and sat on the men's side of the room. He expected other family heads would gather around him, as they often did, but Nathanael was the first to take his seat across from Christian. He spoke little, which did not surprise Christian, but Christian did catch Nathanael smiling at some of the banter around him.

But more than anything, Christian saw where Nathan's eyes drifted.

To the women's side of the room.

To Magdalena.

He seemed to follow her every movement, causing Christian to do the same. She had become a lovely woman, even if she had refused to marry.

Nathanael's bass voice startled Christian. "Brother Byler, I wonder if Magdalena is going to the singing tonight."

Christian broke a piece of bread before answering. "She seldom goes. She is mindful of her age, I think." Since she had decided not to marry, she saw little purpose in the singings.

The light in Nathanael's eyes flickered. Before it sputtered out, Christian said, "Perhaps if she had an invitation..."

Nathanael nodded and turned his eyes again to Magdalena.

Jacob stood at The top of the hill on the fine Sunday afternoon. He was born on this land. All his children were born on this land-so far. As soon as Katie said the words aloud, they both knew they wanted to go. The new babe could be born in North Carolina.

The land was rich with much to offer. Irish Creek ran right through it. Over the years more than a hundred acres were cleared for farming, and dozens more awaited the ambitious effort of taming forest. His tannery was well-positioned, and the vats were large. Houses, barns, stables, gardens, outbuildings. Yes, the land would find appeal to many prospective buyers. But this land had been the dream his father carried from Europe close to half a century ago. Jacob's dream was North Carolina.

If the land sold quickly, they might yet move to North Carolina before the year was out. As long as they could begin the journey before a blinding snow, they could creep south away from the threat of severe weather that might bind them for the winter.

He would find land on the coast and they could drink in the ocean's beauty whenever they wished, with its spray misting across their faces. Or he would find land with saltpeter hidden under its undulating beauty and have a sure supply of the key ingredient for his powder.

First, Jacob had to wait and see if any of his brothers would straggle home from the still dismantling war. David might still want to move to North Carolina with them. But Jacob could not abandon the families of Joseph and John before their return. Joseph had made captain not long ago, so he might yet have responsibilities to discharge. Their wives had received no official notifications. If the brothers were at the final battle at Yorktown, though, painful news might still come.

With a deep breath, Jacob braced himself for the choices all the Byler brothers might make in the coming weeks.

Magdalena felt his eyes on her. Seven years ago he followed her movements in the same way, making her stomach quiver with giddiness. When he first spoke to her, at a singing, she thought she would melt into a puddle.

She was a young woman then, believing in a future. Now she was a spinster. No one had actually used the word yet, but it was not far off. Jonas Glick had been her last chance.

But now Nathan was watching her. When she drifted to one end of the porch with a group of women-all young mothers except her-he drifted to the other end of the porch with a group of men. When she went inside to help clean up after the meal, suddenly he was there to move benches out to the waiting wagon that would take them to their next destination. When she took her little sisters for a walk up the lane to look at the horses in the pasture, Nathanael drifted along behind them.

Finally Magdalena let the little ones run ahead of her. She adjusted her pace to keep them in view but also to let Nathanael close the gap. She paused and leaned against a fence. Though not boasting the blazing heat of the summer, the October sun spilled its brilliance across the pasture. Hues of green flickered under the hooves of dozens of horses. Magdalena liked to think the beasts offered their own form of worship of their Creator while their owners were in the house singing the solemn songs of the Ausbund.

She kept her eyes forward, squinting into brightness. He moved into her peripheral vision, and her breath caught. He stood for a long moment, and Magdalena thought she was going to have to expel her breath in an undignified way.

Finally he spoke. "Hello, Maggie."

The weight lifted off her chest as she turned to face him. "Hello, Nathan."

They had not spoken since before she disgraced herself by breaking her engagement to Jonas Glick after the banns had been read, just days before the scheduled wedding.

"I wonder if I might pick you up for the singing tonight."

Magdalena laughed nervously and put both hands on the fence in front of her. "Will the others think we are too old?"

"Does it matter?"

He looked so earnest. He had aged since the last time she had looked at him so carefully. But surely so had she.

"I suppose not," she said.

"Gut." He laid a hand on hers at the fence and lifted his eyes to the horizon. "We don't have to stay long. Perhaps after a song or two we'll leave the younger crowd to themselves and take the long way home."

Magdalena wriggled one hand so that she could hook a finger through his. "I would like that. Very much."

They stood there, side by side, silent. Magdalena labored for even breath. She had prayed so long, for so many years. He had been lost to her, a shell housing what had once been her Nathan. No matter how many times she waited patiently for him to explain what he felt, why he could not love her still, he said nothing. And then she had given up.

And now he might be coming back.

It was only one singing, but he would not have bothered if that were all that was on his heart.

And she might never know why. She did not care why. She cared only that Nathan was coming back to her.

Jacob sorted the stack of envelopes. They did not collect their mail often, but today the Kauffmans dropped it off. He let one envelope after the other fall to the kitchen table, looking for news of family members.

Sarah's handwriting jumped out at last.

"News?" Katie came into the room with one little girl on her hip and another gripping her skirt.

Nodding, Jacob tore open the letter. He scanned it then made himself slow down and read carefully.

"Maria has set out on her own," he said. "With the war ending, she would not wait another day for word of Ethan."

"He could be lost," Katie said quietly. "If he was not mustered into a unit, there might be no record of what happened."

With their two youngest children present, Katie would not speak of death directly. But every contact Maria had, every contact Sarah and Emerson had-the inquiries had led to nothing. The more months that elapsed, the more Jacob thought Ethan must have met his end. The outskirts of a battle. A British unit collecting prisoners. The slip of a horse's foot at the side of a ravine.

Jacob expelled a breath. "I would have liked to meet the man who persuaded Maria to leave us all those years ago."

"You might yet." Katie's eyes grew brighter with tears brimming in them.

"Perhaps. No doubt Maria will persist where others have given up."

"At least she waited until the fighting ended. It's safer now. She might come back to us again."

Jacob wanted to believe Katie's hope.

Forty-Nine.

The weekend passed. Annie did not see Rufus alone. She had supper Sunday night with the Beilers, and Rufus took her home-with Jacob on the seat between them, prattling about a speckled egg he had found that morning.

On Monday, Rufus stopped in the shop to say he would be busy for a few days preparing to take some furniture to the Amish store in Colorado Springs.

On Tuesday, Annie did not hear from Rufus at all.

On Wednesday morning, she put on her purple dress and pedaled to the Beilers', determined to track him down. If he had decided they could not have a future, she just wanted him to tell her straight to her face. When she reached the farm, though, Sophie greeted her on the front porch with the news that Rufus and Tom had loaded three hope chests and two rockers in the back of Tom's truck to take to the furniture store in Colorado Springs. They left twenty minutes before Annie arrived.

"Come inside anyway," Sophie said. "I am just polishing tables and trying to straighten up. I would love your company."

Annie forced a smile. "Put me to work." She would rather be busy, and Mrs. Weichert was not expecting her in the shop.

"Jacob pulled a drawer out," Sophie said, waving a rag in the direction of a small desk in the corner of the dining room. "Everything fell out. The papers are a jumbled mess. Maybe you can sort them out."

"I'll certainly try." Annie sat at one end of the table with the drawer in front of her. Sophie polished at the other end.

"Looks like letters from Pennsylvania." Annie quickly stacked seven letter-sized envelopes written with the same even hand.

Sophie nodded. "Daniel writes at least once a month. Matthew sometimes sticks a note in too."

Annie had sat at the Beiler table on countless nights while Franey read news from Pennsylvania with smiles leaking out of the creases of her face. Annie found two more letters and added them to the stack. She put the envelopes in chronological order according to the postmark date and fished out a rubber band to wrap around them. She had fantasized about someday meeting Daniel and Matthew and their wives. Perhaps they would travel to Colorado for Rufus's wedding.

Annie inhaled and let her breath out through her nose. The Beiler brothers might indeed come to see Rufus get married, but she would not be the bride. Rufus's distance over the last four days made that perfectly plain. Still, she would like to hear him say it. He owed her that much.

Demut. Humility. Annie reminded herself that if she were going to be Amish, she could not proudly demand that anyone owed her anything.

The rest of the drawer's contents were assorted pads of writing paper, envelopes, stamps, black pens, and cards. Annie picked up a card made of stiff white paper, a half sheet folded once. The handwriting, in Pennsylvania Dutch, looked feminine.

Rufus's name leaped off the paper.

Rufus pushed the button that lowered the window on the passenger side of Tom's truck and let his right arm dangle outside.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Rufus said.

Tom turned toward him and raised an eyebrow.

"I hardly ever rode in a car when I was little, but I remember one time when we had to go to Philadelphia. I stuck my head out the window, straight out into the wind. My hat blew off and my mother was...well, annoyed. But I remember loving that sensation of the air rushing into my face."

Tom laughed softly. "I suppose a buggy doesn't kick up much of a wind."

"No, sir."

"Go ahead," Tom said, "stick your face out."

Rufus shook his head and pulled his arm inside. "Child's play." He put the window up.

"You never let your guard down, do you?" With one hand, Tom pulled the steering wheel left to navigate a turn.

"I'm not sure what you mean. It's ridiculous for a grown man to stick his face out the window."

"Ridiculous," Tom echoed. "As ridiculous as falling for an English woman?"

Rufus did not speak. He felt the flush rise in his neck.

"Annie wants you," Tom said. "Tell me you know that."

"Yes, I know that."

"She's changing her life for you."

"No, she's changing for herself."

"Hmm." Tom put both hands on the wheel and straightened himself in the seat. "For a while there, you two seemed to be an item. What happened to change that?"

Rufus turned his gaze to the colorful whir of brush and small trees outside the window.

"You and I have known each other for almost six years," Tom said. "You don't have to tell me for me to know when your mood is changing. You have something on your mind that you're not talking about."

Annalise had told him the truth. She had not been out of his thoughts for the last four days. She was a woman of strength and determination. Telling him the truth had only confirmed that in his mind.

Tom tapped the steering wheel. "I'll stop pestering you with personal questions."