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to them. He caught only a glimpse of her stony face looking back at him.
    Where was her obedience, her respect? He jabbed the elevator button several times. “Come on, come on.” When no elevator appeared, he glanced around for the stairs and found the exit. Plunging down the flights, he planned how he would punish her for this. She would be sorry she crossed him. He threw open the first-floor door into a lobby looking out over the parking lot. On the other side of the glass, Hannah was getting into a vehicle— his truck.
    “Stop!” He ran through the lobby and out the door. He had his hand on the truck’s door handle when the vehicle peeled away, tires screeching. His wife turned to look out the window at him. It seemed impossible she ’d done this to him. How dare she openly defy him? When had she gotten a key made? Had she been planning this in the past weeks when she ’d coaxed him into teaching her to drive? She ’d said she would sometimes need to take the baby to the doctor. She ’d tricked him.
    Swearing, he dug his cell phone out of his pocket and called his partner on the police force. She had no place to go but home.
    His partner met him in fifteen minutes. They drove at top speed to the apartment and parked on Market Street. Reece bounded up the steps but found only an empty apartment. She ’d already been here and left with her suitcase, probably the one packed for the hospital. She ’d escaped him, and somehow he knew finding her wouldn’t be easy.
    An unfamiliar sensation washed over him, and he touched his eyes. They were wet. He and Hannah belonged together. He knew with certainty they’d be together again.

six
    “The Lonestar Quilt is a reminder that we aren’t created to be loners.
The Amish prize family and community above all else.”
    HANNAH SCHWARTZ,
    IN The Amish Faith Through Their Quilts
    H annah’s gaze wandered the living room of her home, a modern ranch that rambled over a postcard-sized Milwaukee yard. Quilts hung from every wall and also lay draped on quilt racks in every corner. She knew the history of every one, who had made it, the year, the purpose for its creation. They were her children, the only ones she ’d ever have. The thought depressed her.
    Asia Wang, Hannah’s publicist and assistant, ticked off the items on her list. “You’ve got an interview with McCall’s Quilting magazine at nine. A camera crew from Channel 6 is coming in forty-five minutes. Tomorrow is even busier with packing to fly to New York to film FOX & Friends .” Near Hannah’s age of thirty-two, Asia looked slim and elegant in her gray pantsuit and coordinating shoes. But then, she was always put together.
    Hannah nodded. The whirlwind success of her book had stunned and humbled her. And sometimes the demands on her time exhausted her. “But what about the book? And the quilt for the cover? You’ve got to slow down the publicity stuff, Asia, just for a few weeks until I can catch my breath.”
    “This opportunity won’t come around again. We have to make hay while the sun shines. You’ll get it done.” Asia dismissed Hannah’s fears with an airy wave of her hand.
    “Yes, I know. We have so much to be thankful for, but I’ve got work to do at the office too. I need to figure out how to work it all in without going insane.” She forced a smile in spite of her fatigue.
    Asia consulted her notebook. “Interview first. The auction isn’t until eleven. We’ll go in long enough for that. I think the staff is throwing a farewell party for you as well.”
    A pang pressed against Hannah’s ribs. The museum had been her family, and she ’d miss them all. She ’d never guessed that the success of her book, Amish Quilts: a Factual History, would catapult her to such fame. It had been on every major best-seller list for six months, and her publisher was clamoring for the new book’s publication to be moved up. It was like being hit by lightning.
    “You’d better get changed.” Asia