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had not gone far when I happened to meet a friend of Mother’s, Mistress Lorenz, a harmless gossip. It would have been rude not to pause and greet her.
    â€œGood morning, madam,” I said.
    â€œAnd to you too, Miss Calderwood. Any news of your brother?”
    Not aware what, if anything, Mother had told her, I said only, “Nothing.”
    â€œI’ve heard say,” she confided, “that General Washington is retreating across Jersey. Perhaps William is with him. Let’s pray he’s not a prisoner.” She leaned closer. “They say conditions are shocking.” Perhaps I paled, for she showed smug satisfaction at having educated me. Pressing my arm and mumbling, “My compliments to your mother, Miss Calderwood,” she went off.
    I rushed on, not wishing to study her words. As it turned out, Mr. Gaine was in his shop, working his press, concentrating so that he did not notice me when I stood at the door. I watched him with interest, wondering what duties he would give me.
    â€œMr. Gaine,” I finally said, “good day.”
    â€œAh, Miss Calderwood. I’m positively delighted to see you.”
    â€œMy father’s compliments, sir. He’s done these for you.” I handed him the revised advertisements.
    Mr. Gaine wiped his ink-stained hands upon his leather apron, took the papers, and leafed through them. “Excellent.” Then he considered me with a look of expectation. “And you, Miss Calderwood,” he said. “Did you discuss my offer of employment with your da?”
    â€œI should be pleased to enter your service, Mr. Gaine. Father said you should call upon him soon.”
    â€œGood news indeed! I’ll go today.” Mr. Gaine turned to a box, opened the lid, and took out some shilling pieces, which he handed to me. “Forgive me for presenting you with your father’s payment, Miss Calderwood. But I know ready money is in demand.”
    â€œIt’s appreciated, Mr. Gaine,” I said, hoping he would not always be so stiff and formal.
    We made our farewells. Then, with the coins held tightly in hand, I headed north toward the King’s College and, hopefully, William.

20
    DESPITE THE SNOW , it did not take me long to reach the college building. A large number of armed soldiers surrounded it, like a living, insurmountable wall. Knowing that it had become a prison, I could no longer think of it as a place of learning. Quite the opposite. Moreover, as I gazed upon the building’s rows of windows, I fancied I could see many people inside. Too many. Even from a distance, I observed inmates crowding and pressing against the windows, as if seeking air. From one window, a hand reached out, like that of someone drowning in the sea.
    In the off chance I’d be able to catch a glimpse of William at a window, I drew nearer. Even as I watched, a troop of soldiers, led by officers, emerged from the central door. With disgust, I saw the same portly, red-nosed officer who had marched Nathan Hale to his death leading the way. His lumbering stride was heavy and gross.
    I knew his rank and name now—Provost Cunningham—and had learned his history. He had been abused by the Sons of Liberty—was William one of them?—andwas now revenging the favor multitimes. Thus does cruelty beget cruelty.
    Afraid he would recognize me, I shrank back, but he passed without so much as a glance in my direction. Nonetheless, just to see him gave me a chill harsher than the cold air did.
    Seeing the provost reminded me of my brother’s possible fate, and my fears redoubled. Indeed, John André’s words “By the laws of all countries, rebels taken in arms forfeit their lives. They should all be hung” were more than menacing. What if the lieutenant refused to intercede?
    With my anxiety telling me that I must act in haste, I clutched my coins tightly and stepped forward. As I went, I tried to decide which of the soldiers