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chickens were pecking in the dirt nearby.
    â€œLook there,” Curzon whispered.
    A white-haired man, his back bent with age, walked slowly out of the barn. The scrawny lad by his side had his right arm in a dirty sling. He was a child of Africa, but lighter than the old man. He turned and called to someone in the barn to hurry. The dog raised his head to watch them pass, then laid it back on the ground as the two disappeared into the summer kitchen. A plump woman, near as old as the man, appeared at the kitchen’s doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. “Come now!” she hollered. “Now or you don’t eat till midday!” The words were harsh, but her tone was kindly.
    A tall girl, almost a woman, emerged from the barn, a crate perched on her hip. Her hair was covered by a rose-colored kerchief that had bits of straw upon it; her face was tilted down, peering into the box. She carried it to the dog, knelt beside him, and set it on the ground. The creature thumped his tail in the dirt as hard as a maid beating a rug.
    I squinted, certain we’d crossed paths with that lass before. Had she been hired out to another farm nearby? No, we’d seen her in a town. Baltimore? New Bern? I rubbed my tired eyes and looked again. I could not place her, but if she remembered us from an earlier encounter, it might make it easier to get the information we sought.
    After scratching the old hound behind the ears, the girl lifted a tiny gray kitten out of the box and held it to the dog’s nose. The dog licked the kitten and the girl giggled.
    My heart stuttered. I grabbed at the branches for balance.
    The kitten pawed at the dog’s snout and was rewarded with another lick. The girl broke into laughter that sounded loud as thunder in my ears.
    The shell that I’d carefully built around my heart cracked open.
    I clambered down the tree and jumped to the ground, ignoring Curzon’s strangled cries for me to stop. I was totty-headed wrong to do it, but I could not help myself. I walked toward the sunlight, then I ran, and then I flew, fast as a bird who has finally caught sight of home after a dreadful-long flight.

CHAPTER V

Tuesday, June 26, 1781
    I SHOULD NOT DARE TO TARRY HERE IN MY PRESENT SITUATION, NOR YET KNOW WHERE TO FLEE FOR SAFETY; THE RECITAL OF THE INHUMANE AND BRUTAL TREATMENT OF THOSE POOR CREATURES WHO HAVE FALLEN INTO THEIR HANDS FREEZES ME WITH HORROR.
    â€“L ETTER FROM A BIGAIL A DAMS TO HER HUSBAND , J OHN
    T HE GIRL LIFTED HER HEAD and shaded her eyes as I approached. She stood, the kitten clutched to her chest. She looked right at me but made no sign that she knew who I was. To the contrary, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
    I stopped, the dog between us. The buzzing in my head grew louder.
    She was Ruth and she was not-Ruth at the same time.
    This lass was taller than me, though I could not think of how that was possible. The last time I saw my Ruth, she was so small, I could carry her a good mile before my arms got tired. The features of the girl before me muddled, as if water or a thick fog swirled over her face. Her broad, strong chin and wide cheekbones recollected our father; the beautiful skin and long neck was all Momma. Her eyes were only hers, my baby sister’s eyes: warm and brown and filled with questions. There could be no doubt.
    â€œRuth,” I whispered.
    â€œWhat do you want?” she asked. The manner of her speech was Carolina-tinged, though the tone of it was near enough to mine to be an echo. The question repeated itself over and over in my mind, as if it had been shouted into a dark cave.
    I swayed a bit, unsteady on my feet. Of all the times I’d dreamed of this moment, here was the one possibility I’d never considered: that she would forget me.
    â€œI’m Isabel, poppet.” I tried to smile. “Your sister.”
    Ruth scowled and shook her head.
    How could this be? She’d been full seven years old when that Lockton