Last, Annie had promised Mrs. Weichert she would return before closing time with a three-cheese grilled sandwich from the coffee shop to serve as Mrs. Weichert’s dinner before she spent the evening doing inventory, for which she had refused Annie’s offer of help.
In Annie’s experience, the coffee shop catered to the morning crowd with a burst at lunchtime before an afternoon lull. To her surprise, the coffee shop was bustling at ten minutes to five. She placed an order and paid for it—adding a sandwich for herself—and sank into a brown leather love seat as she waited. At least four orders were ahead of hers, and while friendly enough, the staff did not specialize in speed. The waiting time would allow her to explore the genealogy book and determine if it would yield information about her ancestors.
Annie had done enough reading in coffee shops to block out the voices clattering around her. She turned the library book in her hands, drawing in its age on her breath. Carefully she opened the front cover. After scanning the table of contents, Annie flipped to a chapter in the middle of the book and traced her finger down the center of several pages. Finally she came to a list of names, descendants of Christian Byler. Magdalena. What a pretty name, Annie thought, refreshing after generations of Barbaras and Elizabeths and all the variations of those names. She did not know where her own name had come from—she would have to ask her mother—but Annalise made her feel connected to the Annas that seemed to turn up in every generation of Bylers.
Annie glanced up at the counter, just to be sure the sandwiches were not ready, as the conversation behind her compelled her attention.
“Carter, your dad has been looking for you all afternoon.”
The voice belonged to Colton, the man who worked for Tom Reynolds at the hardware store.
“Um, I had something to do after school.”
Carter Reynolds.
Annie did not move her head, but she stopped seeing words on the page as she listened to the exchange.
“He’s pretty annoyed that you didn’t call,” Colton said.
“I guess I should skip the latte and go home.” Resignation rang through Carter’s tone. Nervous resignation.
Annie touched the look-alike phone in her back pocket that Carter had returned to the shop.
“If I were you, I’d call him now,” Colton said.
“Um, I guess.”
“Don’t you have your phone?”
“Actually, no.”
“He’s not going to like it if you lost your phone again.”
“I know where it is. I just don’t have it with me.”
“The only reason he lets you have a phone is so he can stay in touch with you.”
“I know. I just had to use it for something today and…left it there.”
Annie nearly turned her head to look at Carter. Why the vagary?
“Maybe you should go get it,” Colton said.
“Um, I can’t really. Besides…it might not still be there.”
“Why not?”
“Um…a friend needed it. For a science experiment.”
Annie raised her head out of the book.
“You’re not talking sense.” Colton sighed. “Here. Use mine.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, just a minute. Let me turn off the alarm. It’s about to go off.”
A cell phone alarm. Missing fertilizer. Boys playing with science. This was not good.
Annie smacked the library book shut and maneuvered out of the love seat as quickly as she could. How fast could she pedal out to the rock where Elijah Capp and Ruth Beiler used to meet?
Breathless when she arrived, she was not the first one there. When Annie saw Karl Kramer’s car, she pedaled faster, supposing she could get closer on the bike than he could get with his car. She could not make herself believe the boys had a target in mind. Karl was climbing the path that was meant to be a trail soon, a path that would take him straight to the rock with its broad flat surface perfect for stargazing.
When she was within twenty yards of him, she let the bike fall away from under her and threw off her helmet.
“Stop!”
Karl stopped, but only for a moment. “I’m looking for something.” He took three more long strides.
“I know. But you have to stop.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Why did you come here, Karl?”
“I’m working with Rufus to make this into a park. You know that.” His face contorted in aggravation.
Annie moved cautiously forward, her eyes scanning for small clues, her heart thudding. She hoped she was wrong.
“Yes, I know,” she said, “but why now? Why did you come now?”
“If you must know, I got an anonymous tip about my missing fertilizer.”
“It’s only a few bags, Karl.”
“I’m inclined to slap the next person who says that. The principle of the thing is at stake—someone took what belonged to me. I won’t stand for that.”
“It was probably just some kids seeing what they could get away with.” She took a few steps forward and to one side, where she could get a better view of the boulder.
“I can see that. This place is loaded with fresh footprints.” He gestured to the ground.
The boys. How many of them? Had Joel been here?
Still Annie searched, wondering if a group of teenage boys would have the math and science skills required for what she suspected. She doubted Carter and Duncan could have done this on their own, but she had heard the Amish claim that their eighth-grade education was comparable to a conventional high school diploma. Did they teach chemistry? Circuitry? Physics? Perhaps. Elijah Capp astounded her with what he understood about circuitry and ignition, and he had never used electricity in his life.
Mark and Luke Stutzman had once blasted rock in a Pennsylvania meadow.
And Joel. How had he dared to ask her to trust him if he knew this was going on?
She guessed that Duncan Spangler would do anything on a dare.
Carter Reynolds was naive enough to be talked out of his cell phone. In the intrigue of the moment, he would not think about how he would explain its absence to his parents later.
“Karl,” Annie pleaded. “Please. You have to stop.”
“I am not going to be the butt of somebody’s practical joke.” Karl kept moving.
Annie saw it then. The fertilizer. the wire. The cell phone with a network of wires taped in place.
“Karl!”
Annie was too far away to see the first vibration of the cell phone. The flash made her cover her eyes.
Twenty-Nine
October 1777
Is he gone?”
Jacob turned to see his mother standing at the entrance to the tannery. Elizabeth seldom came to see where he worked, though he had labored side by side at the lime-filled vats with his father since he was a child. No one was with her. She must have walked all the way down from the big house unaccompanied.
Jacob sighed heavily and put down the blade he was using to trim excess leather off a bridle. “Yes, Joseph left.”
Though he was sure his mother knew the truth before she asked, Jacob’s heart pinched when her face fell.
“He tried to say good-bye,” she said, “but I wouldn’t let him.”
“Joseph will come back, Mamm,” Jacob said.
“Do not make promises that are not yours to keep, Jacobli.” He had no response.
“Losing Philadelphia was the last straw, I suppose.” Elizabeth rubbed her palms against her skirt.
“He thought he could be more help at General Washington’s side than here. David will finish Joseph’s harvest. John will take his animals for the winter.”
She stiffened. “I see, then. You boys have it all worked out.”
“He was going to join the militia in any event, Mamm. We’re just trying to make sure his family does not suffer.”
“Of course. Perhaps I’ll invite Hannah and the children to come stay at the big house, at least for the
winter.”
“I think they’d like that.”
“I would be glad to have the kinner around. I can help with the little ones.” Her hands moved up and down her thighs. “What will Washington do next?”
“I don’t imagine he will walk away from Philadelphia without a fight.”
“So there will be another battle. Soon.”
Jacob stepped tentatively toward his mother. “I don’t see how he can avoid it.”
“Where?”
“Perhaps Germantown.”
“And this is what Joseph wanted to do.”
He saw the shudder in her shoulders. “Yes, Mamm. This is what Joseph chose. We’ve lived with danger all our lives. He is not afraid.”
“That is what worries me. Because he is not afraid, he will take greater risks.”
Jacob wrapped his arms around his mother. “Mamm, he has to do this.”
“I suppose if you were not making gunpowder, you would follow.”
Jacob was silent, feeling for the first time how thin his mother had become in the last year. Why did he not embrace her more often? He would have noticed sooner. “There is no point in imagining if,” he said. “I am here. David and I are working together on something that matters to the Revolution.”
“Then perhaps it is John I should worry about.” Elizabeth pulled away from him. “And Sarah! She’s as bad as you boys. Now she’s trapped in Philadelphia, and it’s too dangerous for any of us to go see her.”
“It’s an important cause, Mamm.”
She covered her nose with one hand. “I have never liked the way this place smelled.”
Elizabeth pivoted. Jacob let her walk away, but he followed for a few steps into the sunlight outside the dark tannery. He almost called out to her to go visit Katie for some lunch, but Elizabeth had already chosen the path that would take her back up to the big house.
Magdalena let the old gelding pull the cart at his own speed. She needed time to think. The farms were clear of soldiers now. Both Patriots and British sympathizers had abandoned their local rivalries in favor of the armies amassed around Philadelphia. General Washington’s attempt to take back Germantown, five miles north of the city, tightened the British grip on the capital. The untrained American soldiers lost themselves in the fog around the quiet hamlet. They stumbled into defeat rather than marching to victory.
Now it was the middle of October, and many speculated that the warfront would be quiet through the winter. Unpredictable weather made a march of any distance unlikely. Magdalena had been to the cabin twice since the Battle of Germantown and found nothing there but the dusty jars of preserves. She would never know if any of the letters she delivered had any bearing on the skirmishes around Berks County, much less Germantown or Philadelphia. No doubt by now Patrick and the others were serving in a British regiment with proper uniforms and exulting in the vice strangling the colonies’ capital. The Patriots would be forced to give up and the whole matter would be done with.
The gelding slowed a little too much, so Magdalena clicked for him to pick up his pace. She did have legitimate errands at three other farms this afternoon. The Bylers were well known for their apple cider, and Babsi was sending a jug to every family that had helped feed this year’s apples into the press. As always, Magdalena would stop in at the Buerkis’ before heading home. She wavered between hope and relief every day. She always hoped Nathan would be at the house and she could once again search his face for signs that he loved her. When he was not there, though, at least for one more day she savored the reprieve of not seeing the answer she refused to accept.
She knew that the girls she had gone to school with whispered behind her back. They were married and producing children. Magdalena could have been married, too, they thought, if she would accept the truth that Nathanael was never coming back to her. The war around them had no bearing on the availability of Amish men. A half a dozen would have been interested in Magdalena with even slight encouragement from her.
But none of the men was Nathanael, and they knew not to invite Magdalena to ride with them to a singing or apple schnitzing.
If Magdalena ever married one of them, it would not be for love.
“Come on, Old Amos,” Magdalena said to the horse who was slowing down yet again. “We can’t sit here in the middle of the fields all day.” She nudged the horse, but he took only a half dozen steps before stopping.
Old Amos deserved his name. Daed paid little for the animal four years ago because the horse was already ancient. Hardly worth what it cost to feed him, he was no use for anything more than drawing the lightest cart on the simplest errands. Magdalena tried again to get him to move forward, but Old Amos neighed and stayed put. Magdalena would have to get out and lead him. Perhaps with her weight out of the cart he would be willing to pull the jugs of apple cider. Grabbing the halter on both sides of the animal’s face, Magdalena leaned away from him.
And then she saw what had made him stop.
The red coat was ripped in at least three places, and the white breeches were ground brown with mud. She supposed his hat was lost in battle, and he carried no weapon. He lay on the ground, unmoving.
A true British soldier. He must have come from the battle at Germantown, but that had been days ago and miles away.
Magdalena let go of the horse’s halter and took three steps toward the side of the road, where the ground sloped and pebbles skittered under her feet. When she saw the unkempt dark hair, she thought for a moment it was Patrick finally in the uniform he dreamed of. But it was not him.
The soldier’s eyes were closed, but his chest seemed to lift slightly. Or at least she thought it did. She would have to get closer to be sure. She scratched her way down the hill about twenty feet then stopped once more to watch his chest.
Yes, he was breathing.
And bleeding.
When his eyes popped open, Magdalena gasped. They stared at each other for a frozen moment.
“Can you speak?” Magdalena finally asked. She knelt at his side and gingerly began to inspect him.
“Yes,” he said.
In that one word, she could tell he had come from England and not one of the other colonies.
“Where is the wound?”
“My belly. Are you a Patriot?”
She met his eyes then shook her head.
“A sympathizer, then,” he said. “I suppose that is good, though I don’t care anymore.”
He did not recognize the meaning of her Amish prayer kapp and she did not correct him. She had never called herself a sympathizer, but perhaps she was one.
Magdalena undid the last remaining button on his coat and gently separated the shredded red wool from his bloodied shirt. Pushing up the once-white shirt, she exposed the wound—and nearly had to turn away as the contents of her stomach rose to her throat. The hole in his side had been bandaged hastily with cotton strips that nearly fell apart at the touch of her fingers. Fresh blood oozed. Magdalena pulled her shawl off her shoulders and grimaced as she pressed it against the wound.
“I have a horse and cart up on the road. Do you think you can stand?”
“I’ve come all the way from Germantown, haven’t I?”
“I’m astounded you’ve managed to come so far.” She helped him sit up and tried to determine the best way to support his weight. It seemed unfeasible that he had been roaming the Pennsylvania countryside in this condition, yet here he was. Gray skinned and prone, but alive.
“I’m not going back,” the man croaked.
“No one here will ask you to. Let’s try to stand.”
“War is a hideous thing. I am not going back.”
“Don’t worry about that now.” Magdalena glanced up the hill at Old Amos and the cart. She put one of the soldier’s arms around her shoulder, gripped his dangling wrist, and sucked in a deep breath. She stood, pulling him upright alongside her.
Magdalena had never heard such a scream as the one that roared from his lungs now. By the time she ma
naged to get him up the hill and draped him across the cart, he was unconscious.
Magdalena turned the horse and cart in the narrow road and headed toward home. The apple cider deliveries would have to wait for another day. By the time she pulled the cart up as close to the front porch of her family’s home as she could get, assorted family members had gathered. She caught her father’s eyes as they carried the soldier inside the house and laid him on the table. Babsi went to work cleaning the ragged wound. Magdalena’s younger sisters scurried from the water barrel with clean rags, while her brother Hansli stoked the fire that warmed the room.
“Magdalena?”
She turned toward her father’s voice.
“Do you know this man?”
“No, Daed. I only found him and wanted to help.”
He nodded slowly. “You did the right thing to bring him.”
“I was not sure you would welcome a soldier in the house,” Magdalena said.
“He is not a soldier now, only a man who has lost a great deal of blood.”
Magdalena exhaled abruptly and heavily. She had not realized she was rationing her own breath.
“I thought you wanted to be neutral,” she said.
“I am neutral. Today I will help this British soldier, and if tomorrow a Patriot turns up on our porch in need, I will help him also. Neutrality does not mean we turn our backs on humanity.”
“Thank you, Daed.”
“You are pale,” he said. “His blood is all over you. Go clean up.”
“I should help take care of him,” she said.
“You have done your part.”
Magdalena nodded but could not tear her eyes off the soldier. She wanted to believe that had he been a bleeding Patriot foot soldier, she would have done the same thing.
But she was not sure.
Thirty
Rufus was in the small cart. He almost had not come.
The message that summoned him was vague, cryptic, unsigned. It sounded like some sort of mistake. A note had turned up in his toolbox that afternoon. It could have been for anyone. But something about it made him think he would regret disregarding it. He twisted his torso to look at the open toolbox behind him. The note fluttered loose and escaped the buggy on the breeze. Rufus reached for it and missed. Dolly continued to trot forward. It was probably nothing, but he cared about the rock and wanted to be sure he would see nothing unusual there.
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