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sonorous sounds of a snore.
    Falling asleep hadn’t used to be a problem in the early days of the rebellion. Back then, Meetings had gone on for hours. There had been no end to the words from God. But our Meeting had been silent for months now. Not even God himself had anything to say about the occupation. About the fences that had been torn down for firewood or the andirons that had been stolen from citizens’ hearths. God seemed not to care about the families who had been turned out of their homes by the British, nor for the city’s maidens that sacrificed their morality nightly for the gift of a soldier’s shillings.
    Everywhere I looked, everything I learned only added to the sense that there were grave injustices being heaped upon our land. And that Friends, too easily persuaded to silence, allowed them to continue. What if we were not only called to maintain peace but also to defend it?
    What if we’d all been wrong? What if men were called to fight for what they believed in? “If—”
    Beside me old Anne started and woke. On the other side of me, Betsy’s eyes had flown open. And now they were both staring at me.
    Had I . . . had I spoken aloud? I clapped a hand to my mouth.
    “Friend Sunderland?” The presiding clerk was looking at me with much interest.
    I shook my head.
    He frowned. Raised a brow. “ If  . . . ?”
    When I stood, it was only because I did not wish to embarrass myself any further. “I only wish that God would send a word. If God would only say a word . . .” I sat down just as fast as I could. That’s what came from daydreaming: a testimony that was no testimony, a word without meaning. A wish.
    From behind me there was a shifting among the pews. From the men’s side came a cough and then the telltale shuffle of feet against the floor. Miracle of miracles, someone was standing to speak!
    Old Andrew Chandler looked round at all of us. “God speaks to His children in diverse ways all the time. If we do not hear, it is because we do not listen.”
    The words struck me like a slap to the face.
    I was listening. I was doing nothing but listening! I was trying to ignore all those outrageous thoughts that swirled inside my head and instead listen to the voice of God.
    The rest of the Meeting passed in silence. I woke old Anne when it was over. Then I took Betsy’s arm as we walked out the door, thinking that if she saw me leave Meeting with my friend, Mother would not worry if I took a bit longer to return home. In that case I could use the extra minutes to pass by the jail. And a few minutes more to stop and call on one of our invalid Friends. That way if Mother asked, I would not be lying if I told her I had been making calls. In the plural.
    I stopped to warn her, pulling up my cloak to shelter my face from the rain. “I should like to call on Elizabeth Dynham before dinner.”
    “Then perhaps thee can pass on this letter from our dear Friends in Virginia. I know she’ll want news of them.”
    I took the letter from her and put it into my pocket.
    “When she’s done with it, then thee can return it to the Hopkinses on thy way past.”
    Nodding, I tied my cloak beneath my chin.
    “Maybe thee should take Sally with thee.”
    My ten-year-old sister looked up at me, sending silent pleas my way through gray eyes that looked so much like my beloved brother’s. Normally I would have welcomed the company, but if I took my sister into my care, then I couldn’t stop by the jail. “In this cold? She’s so meager! She’ll catch her death.”
    As Sally’s eyes began to tear and her chin to tremble, I regretted my choice of words. I wanted nothing more than to assure her of my affection, but I could not do it. If she came, it would ruin everything. Mother nodded slowly. “I suppose thee have reason. Only do not linger.”

     
    Do not linger.
    I could do nothing but linger after I left Betsy at her house and continued on to press the letter into Elizabeth Dynham’s hands. She