Penny shifted on the bed, meeting Annie's eyes.

"I was wired into everything before I met the Beilers," Annie continued.

"Technology, having it all. Lots of money. But was I happy?"

"I guess I've been gone too long," Penny said. "I didn't know you were unhappy."

"I didn't know myself." Annie picked up a throw pillow left from her adolescent purple phase and sat on the bed. "It hasn't been easy to unplug, but most of the time I think it's worth it."

"Most of the time?"

Annie licked her lips. "I have moments. But simplicity has more moments."

"Can't you just live a simpler life without giving everything up? No law requires you to own a big-screen TV. What's so evil about electricity?"

"No one says it's evil. But electricity-or texting constantly or owning a car-means you can escape to another place at a whim. The thing that makes the Amish strong is the community that brings them together, because they can't leave at a whim."

"Dad doesn't seem too rattled, but I don't know how you'll ever persuade Mom."

"I know." Annie fiddled with mementos from college that still lay on the dresser. "If I do become Amish, I don't want it to be just on the outside. I have to find out if I can really see the world as the Amish do."

"And if you can? Then you can be with Rufus?"

Eight.

July 1775 No matter how old she got, Magdalena never got used to the feel of a kapp on her head at the height of summer. Once she got clear of the house, she stopped to set the basket of quilt remnants on the ground and remove her kapp. If corn had eyes instead of ears, perhaps the hearty crop would tattle on her. As it was, Magdalena could brush undetected through rows of her father's corn almost as tall as she was. After she crossed the creek onto the land that belonged to Nathanael's family, she would put the kapp back in place.

The quilt fabrics were a ruse. Magdalena did not even enjoy quilting. It was a fact of life. Somebody had to piece together a family's bedding, and no Amish woman would think to marry without at least rudimentary skill. Magdalena had learned early and well from her mother before she passed. Only last year Magdalena was hard at work on the quilt she hoped would cover the bed she and Nathanael would share as man and wife. She finished it, stored it carefully in a cedar chest, and waited for his proposal.

Yet, after the attack, the wedding season passed with no further mention of marriage from Nathan's lips. In another couple of months, this year's couples would begin having their banns read at the close of worship. No doubt every other Sunday would herald some new pair. Everyone acted as if they did not know who would become engaged, but of course the banns were seldom a true surprise.

Magdalena stopped in the middle of the cornfield and rubbed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. Hard. She had hoped for last year-or this year at the latest. Nathan had his own land and was a wise farmer who learned well from the experience of his father and uncles. His farm was not large by standards of the Conestoga Valley, but it was a solid start. Everyone said he had a gift for the land, just as Magdalena's father did. Their families cared for each other. No one would stand in the way of their marriage.

Except the Patriots.

Nathan never talked about what happened that day. At first, Magdalena told herself he needed more time. When he was ready, he would tell her what happened, what they had done to him, how awful it had been, how he had refused to retaliate, how he stood strong as a peaceful man of God. She would comfort him and be proud of him.

No. Not proud. Ordnung did not allow pride in any form.

She could care for him and tell him he did the right thing.

But Nathanael never talked about the experience, not to Magdalena and not to anyone. Rather than looking forward to marriage and living in his own house, Nathanael seemed increasingly content with the room he had shared with his brothers growing up. As the youngest, he was the only one left living under their parents' roof, and he showed no restlessness with the arrangement.

Magdalena bunched up her kapp in her hand and threw it against the ground. With the ties splayed in two directions, it looked pitifully innocent, and Magdalena instantly filled with regret. Repenting, she snatched it out of the dirt and put it back on her head.

She did not know how to pray anymore.

She straightened her dress, took several deep breaths, and adjusted the basket of cloth on her hip. Nathanael's mother would appreciate the gift of the scraps. Magdalena made up her mind right then that even if she did not get to see Nathanael, she would not regret bringing the gift. It was not too late to make it a sincere offering.

"How is he?" Magdalena asked when Nathan's mother welcomed her into the summer kitchen half an hour later.

The older woman shrugged. "He's been out to the fields this morning, but he's back now. I heard him talking to his father about the extra help they will need to get the harvest in."

"Surely they still have a few weeks to sort that out."

"Between the two farms, it's a great deal of work," Mrs. Buerki said.

What she did not say was that her youngest son did not always carry his share of the load anymore, but Magdalena understood. In the summer kitchen, they were far enough from the main house to speak freely, but after ten months, little remained to be said about Nathanael.

Despite the heat of the hearth, the summer kitchen's limestone walls kept the structure reasonably cool-for which Magdalena was grateful after her walk in the sun. A door propped open at each end allowed the air to move.

She set the basket of fabrics on the worktable. "I thought you might want to go through these and see if you can use anything."

Mrs. Buerki's eyes brightened. "Did I tell you I'm to be grootmoeder again?"

Magdalena's eyes widened as her heart sank. Another of Nathanael's brothers was having kinner before she and Nathanael were even married. It was probably Obadiah and Esther, but she could not bring herself to ask. "Then you'll need to start a new quilt," she managed to say. "There's plenty here for a babe."

The gray-haired woman smiled briefly. "Go on in the house, Maggie. He'll be pleased to see you today, I think."

Magdalena nodded and stepped out into bright sunlight again. She crossed the yard and tapped lightly on the open door at the back of the main house. "Is anyone home?"

"In here." Nathan's voice sounded bright, but she knew that his tone was not always a promise of his mood.

She loved him. She could not imagine not loving him. Though Nathanael usually seemed glad to see her, he had not asked her to ride with him to a singing since before the attack. Whatever hope for the future they held between them last year had weakened like coals spread too thin. Nathanael was jumpy and wild eyed at times, sparking the nickname Nutty Nathan l. No one ever called him that to his face, of course, but Magdalena fumed nevertheless.

Nathan sat at the table beside a cold hearth, and Magdalena took a seat opposite him.

She could not stay long. She wished she could sit all day with him even if he did not speak to her again, but her chores would not allow such indulgence. Her older brother and sister were married now and in their own homes, leaving Magdalena to help with the younger children. Babsi was with child again, though so ill that the midwife feared the child would come far too early to survive.

For now, she decided to give herself half an hour to sit with the man she loved.

"Are you hungry?" Magdalena asked. "I am sure your mamm would not mind if I fixed you something to eat."

He shook his head then turned to gaze out the window.

"You must be tired from being in the fields in the sun." Magdalena searched his face for any encouragement.

Nathan crossed his arms and cradled his own elbows. "You are kind to come."

"Of course I came."

"I know I disappoint you, Maggie."

"No, you don't. You couldn't." She reached across the table, but he did not grasp her hand.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Jacob met Sarah's gaze and answered evenly, "Yes."

"It could be dangerous," she said. "Your movements may come under scrutiny."

"I am aware."

"My husband will help you however he can."

"Emerson is a fine man, Sarah."

"I've always thought so. But there's Mamm to think of."

"I'll be careful. Mamm will be in no danger."

"You may be overstating your case." Sarah tugged at the canvas covering the load in Jacob's wagon. "I hate to think what might happen if you get stopped."

"Who would stop me? The British have their hands full trying to keep their grip on Boston. That only makes our work more imperative. We must move while we have opportunity."

" 'Our work'? Is that what it is now?"

Jacob leaned forward and kissed Sarah's cheek. "We're in this together, you and I."

"Christian will be horrified."

Jacob's jaw hardened. "Last year he came here with Magdalena and asked me to do something."

"I hardly think this was what he had in mind."

"The question must be resolved so we can get on with our lives. Boston is only the beginning. If we let the British have Boston, we're done for." Jacob swung himself up into the wagon's seat and picked up the reins. As he pulled away from Sarah's stately Philadelphia home, he resolved to return to his own land the long way-by way of the Conestoga Valley. It was better to stay off the main thoroughfare between Philadelphia and Berks County anyway, and honesty was the best route with his brother as well.

Christian flipped back the canvas and flicked his eyes toward Jacob. "That is a great deal of saltpeter."

Jacob nodded.

"You can only have one end in mind for such a load."

Again, Jacob nodded.

"Jacobli, this saltpeter will produce far more gunpowder than your household requires. Remember that I once hunted the hills of Berks County alongside you."

"If you want me to state my intentions, I will." Jacob cleared his throat. "Though we differ in our acts of conscience, I don't intend to deceive you."

"You're making gunpowder for the Patriots." Christian slapped the canvas back in place then caught himself. He would not allow Jacobli's choices to provoke his temper.

"The colonists are going to fight the Crown," Jacob said. "But they can't hope to be successful if they must continue to depend on the French for gunpowder. We must have our own supply."

Christian's belly heated. He prayed regularly and fervently for Jacobli and all his siblings to find the way of peace. Would God never answer?

"The land behind the tannery is more than suitable for a powder mill," Jacob said. "It's a good distance away from any other families, and it will be easy to hide the operation if need be. Having the creek so near is an advantage as well."

Christian could hardly bear the thought. Beautiful Irish Creek, once a thriving Amish settlement, was reduced to this.

"Daed swore an oath to the Crown you now defy," Christian said. "I was there that day. I heard it for myself."

"Daed could not have foreseen the events of the last thirty- five years." Jacob was unbending. "I thought you were not taking sides."

"I'm not." Christian swallowed his frustration. Jacob had always had a way of using Christian's own words to provoke him. "Of course I shall remain neutral."

"Christian, this is the best way to put an end to the kind of danger your Maggie's young man faced."

"By arming the perpetrators? I fail to see the logic."

"We will put an end to this war before it can spread beyond Boston. The Patriots will have what they want. Establishing a new nation will leave them little time to harass peaceful Amish farmers about their lack of loyalty."

"Peaceful Amish farmers are very loyal, Jacob. It's only that we seek to serve a higher power."

"My gunpowder will ensure that you can continue to do so." Jacob stared at Christian, unmoved.

"You'd better go, Jacob. I don't want Magdalena to see what you have in your wagon."

Nine.

Annie wore the red dress to church.

She scrounged up a pair of shoes with lower heels and tamed her hair demurely with a silver clip at the base of her neck, but she wore the dress.

The Friesens sat together in a pew about halfway back in the sanctuary. When Annie was young, the family attended church a couple of times a month. During high school, her training program and track competitions almost always interfered with church events aimed at teenagers. She had a few friends who had gone to the same church, and they had stayed in touch in a general way. But since she had given up Facebook and Twitter, she no longer tracked the path of their lives. And explaining her new life to anyone? Complicated.

The lively contemporary music, with a six-piece band and a concert-quality sound system, made Annie feel out of practice. She tried to sing the unfamiliar songs, but she could not bring herself to clap as others around her did. Her months of worshipping with the Amish had left their mark. The time to sit for the sermon came as some relief. And at least the sermon would be in English. She would not have to strain to follow High German.

This was a church week for the Amish in the hills around Westcliffe. Annie wished she had missed an off weekend instead. The congregation would sing hymns. Long hymns. Slow hymns. Time-to-think hymns. And then two of the men would give sermons.

Brushing aside the image of Rufus sitting among the men, Annie reached for a Bible in the rack in front of her and found the passage listed in the bulletin. Wedged between her mother and her sister, she felt both of them looking at her out of the side of their eyes. Annie did not give them the satisfaction of turning her head. She had a lot to learn about the Bible, and she might as well take advantage of an English service. Rufus often referred to a Bible verse and Annie hardly ever knew what he was talking about. She could change that if she tried.

They stood for one last song, and that was when Annie saw him. Randy Sawyer. What was he doing here? Across the aisle, he turned his head toward her and smiled. Annie jerked her head back to the large screen displaying the words of the song. When the music ended, and the pastor gave a final blessing, Annie stretched out the process of returning the borrowed Bible to its place. If she had been alone, she would have exited the pew at the far end, but with no escape from the path her family was taking toward the center aisle, she was face-to-face with her college boyfriend ninety seconds later.