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occasional appearances behind her home.
    The trio stepped in silence to the riverbank.
    “We have had good rain,” Joseph offered. “The creek is flowing and the water should be cold.” He dipped one hand beneath the surface and took a slurp.
    Peter imitated him, drinking from cupped hands. When he had finished, he wiped his mouth on a bandana he produced from the neck of his shirt. “Much obliged.”
    Rebekah watched the forced politeness with troubled eyes.
    What is it about this Englishman that makes me so uneasy? Immediately sorry for being suspicious, she said a mental prayer.
    “You two brother and sister?” Peter perched on a large, flat rock. There he sat, facing her. With his demeanor less severe, Rebekah relaxed a bit.
    Unwilling to speak first, she diverted her glance to Joseph, who was eyeing the contents of Peter’s glossy black holsters.
    “Well? Joseph?” Peter’s voice turned mocking. “Are ya?
    “ Nay , we are no relation.”
    Rebekah’s heart went from a steady beat, beat, beat to a too-quick thud, thud, thud, thud that she hoped nobody could hear. The muscles in her neck and back tightened as the uncomfortable air from earlier settled back over them, shattering her fragile moment of relaxation.
    “Sweethearts then?”
    Heat flashed within her, burning in her cheeks and no doubt coloring the rest of her face.
    “What about your family?” Joseph countered. “What’s in Philadelphia?” His voice was patient and flat, but Rebekah had known him long enough to be able to pick out the little inflections in tone that could change his whole meaning. She didn’t like the turn this watery visit had taken.
    “I got some kin back in Philadelphia, so I heard tale. Ain’t never met ‘em. Intend to, though.”
    “What are you doing in Indiana Territory if your family is in the east?” Joseph’s voice was smooth and serene, as though merely coaxing an unwilling sibling up the steps of the schoolhouse.
    Rebekah watched first Joseph, then Peter, with intrigue.
    An insulted glint flashed in Peter’s emerald eyes. “Why, workin’ of course.”
    “Of course,” Joseph echoed. “What kind of work?”
    Peter snorted. “Not farmin’ like you folks!” He turned, looked off toward the distant north, and sighed. A long, uncomfortable moment passed before Peter spoke again. “I was a lehr boy in a glass factory for a while.”
    Rebekah was powerless to keep her curiosity at bay. “A glass factory?”
    The hard planes of Peter’s face softened as his green eyes met hers. “Yup. I was just ten when they hired me on. Carryin’ all that hot glass’s how I got this.”
    Though the words were almost foreign to her and held no meaning, Rebekah’s uneasy feeling was instantly replaced by genuine interest.
    She looked on as Peter rolled up his right sleeve, revealing a swirled, raised scar. “A new mold boy was blowing glass beside me. Blew it too full and that hot glass flew all over me. Rest of it got my clothes.”
    Rebekah gasped.
    Smiling, Peter ducked to catch her eye. “My arm wasn’t so lucky.”
    Joseph coughed. “What’d you do after?”
    “They don’t want boys at a glass factory once their hands get too big to pack the glass right,” Peter explained as he rolled down his sleeve. “So after I broke a few pieces, they ran me off.” He fumbled with the cuff button.
    Joseph shifted his weight and rubbed his chin much the way Samuel had rubbed his beard in the barn earlier. “Ready?” he mouthed to Rebekah.
    She nodded infinitesimally. “Perhaps we should get back and check on your wheel.”
    Rising, Peter stretched and offered her a roguish smile. “I know y’all wasn’t related, by the way.” Squinting, he looked her up and down in the obvious manner of the English. “You’re fair. All the rest of these folks is darker.”
    Rebekah stared back, curiosity replacing the discomfort. There was something about this Peter O’Leary…
    After he adjusted his gun belt, Peter turned to