"Gottfried." She blew her nose.

"Gottfried Groenenbach?"

Annabet stared at him, confused. "No, not the mayor's enforcer." She scrubbed her face. "My betrothed, Gottfried Mueller. He's dead. Now I'll never get married!"

"Dead? How?"

Annabet twisted her handkerchief. "How do soldiers usually die? In a battle. Somewhere." She ignored the tears rolling down her face. "Almost six months gone."

"Why so long to get the news?"

"Gottfried could barely read and didn't see the point in writing. He only did it because I made him." Annabet started sobbing again. "Karl didn't know how to put the news in a letter to Bertha, so he waited until he came back."

Johann put his arms around Annabet. He rested his forehead on her hair. "Is Bertha the one who used to pinch my cheeks?"

Annabet nodded and bawled. "She said she wanted a child just like you. I don't know why."

After a while, she pulled back and wiped her face with the sodden cloth. Johan dug out his handkerchief, and the light fell across his face.

Annabet grabbed his chin. "Why do you have a black eye?"

"I ran into someone," he said. "It doesn't matter. What did Mama and Papa say about the news?"

A few days later, the door to Johann's shop was locked.

"Are you certain he's here?" Bertha asked. She kept one eye on the half-shuttered windows in the nearby shops, and wrinkled her nose at a pile of garbage scenting the air with more than a hint of rot.

"Yes," Annabet replied. "He spends all of his time here or at the tavern talking about the Committees of Correspondence." She pounded on the door. "Johann! Open up!"

"I don't think he's here," Bertha said. "I don't think we should be here, either. This isn't a very good part of town."

Annabet huffed and knocked on the door again. "Johann!"

The door jerked open and stopped partway. Johann blocked the opening. "What?"