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further confirmation that her father was addled by her vacation, that would have been enough. Seth Miller
never
chewed gum.
    Phoebe had developed her own nervous tics. She had reached down to touch her recently purchased suitcase not less than a dozen times. It was navy blue with a long handle and rolled on wheels. She loved it. Her mother had found it at the Goodwill Store in Wooster for ten dollars and it looked brand new. Maybe someone’s trip had been canceled and they decided not to reschedule. Hannah had sewn two dresses last week for her to take along. She smoothed the creases in her long black apron over the new cornflower blue one. Dad had grunted and muttered about these too—
“The vain extravagance of new clothes”
—but at least the girls waiting for the bus were wearing Amish attire. As soon as their fathers were out of earshot, Rebekah told Phoebe about a
rumschpringe
trip in which the girls wore jeans, T-shirts, and flip-flops.
    Dad had kissed her forehead, issued several last-minute warnings, and said goodbye, but Phoebe knew very well he hadn’t left. He parked their buggy behind the German Village shopping center to watch unseen from afar. He wouldn’t take his eyes off his little girl until the bus rolled out of Berlin, headed toward the Empire State. Her
daed
—how she loved him—was driving her crazy. Phoebe Miller was a grown woman, eager to see the world. His overprotectiveness was unnecessary and annoying.
    “It’s coming!” Rebekah’s shout drew stares from passing tourists on both sides of the street.
    Phoebe’s stomach took another tumble. She hastily grabbed a packet of peanut butter crackers Mom had insisted upon and ate two as the bus came to a stop. If she threw up on the bus in front of kids she didn’t know, she would simply die—no slip over the falls would be needed for her premature demise. Shoving the remaining crackers into her purse, she wheeled her suitcase to the curb. The driver stowed their luggage in a large compartment underneath the bus. Phoebe panicked. What if she needed something from her bag? It would be inaccessible to her.
    Quickly she ticked off in her mind the things she might want: water bottle, chewing gum, hard candy, tissues, money for lunch—all were inside her purse. Just when the bus driver was about to lift her bag, Phoebe stepped forward. “One moment, please.” With nimble fingers she unzipped the outer compartment and extracted a drawing tablet and pack of pencils. It wasn’t her usual oversized pad she wandered around the meadow with. It was a smaller version suitable for travel. As soon as she had rezipped the case, the driver slung it into the cargo compartment along with the others. Phoebe blew out her breath with relief apparently evident on her face.
    “Close call?” asked someone over her shoulder. The boys had moved up to stow their bags now that the girls were climbing into the bus.
    Phoebe turned to see a tall boy with sandy-blond hair and expressive dark-brown eyes—expressive because he gazed up from under thick eyelashes and bangs much too long. Where was this boy’s
mamm
? He needed to toss the hair to one side to see anything at all.
    “
Jah
,” she answered. One word, with no further explanation.
    The blond young man stepped forward and put his suitcase—a battered duffel bag patched in several places with electrical tape—by the curb. Then he returned to her side. “Did you remember to put your name and address on the outside of your bag for easy identification? We’ll stop to pick up Geauga County kids along the way, so the bus will be full by the time we arrive in New York.” He peered at her from under his screen of hair.
    “
Jah
.” Again one word. A parrot could be trained to say more.
    “And because most suitcases look alike and because these other folks will also be Amish, there’s a good chance of duplicate names: Joshua Raber or Andrew Miller, for instance.” He smiled rather patiently. When she