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Mr. Durr jumped and harrumphed, looking around until he found Grace. “You, child. Keep quiet. I lost count.”

“Oh!” Grace brought a hand to her mouth as though embarrassed. Her neck stayed completely blotch-free. “My apologies.”

He started counting again.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I just thought that since I helped to fill, oh… what, 20 of those barrels… and I put at least90… no, 115 ears of corn in each, that you’d want to know. I mean, 20 barrels of 115 ears. What’s that… like a thousand?”

Mr. Durr stopped trying to count halfway through Grace’s spiel, eying her with great disdain.

Frank and Milo Tucker, however, who were standing guard over everyone’s crops while the tax collector was there, caught on, and smiled mischievously.

“I filled 30 barrels, but I fit nearly 200 in each. By my count, I did far better than you did, Milo. The taxes ought to come out of your share.” Never mind that the corn was the Klossners’.

Milo—calm and collected Milo—snorted. “Everyone here knows I’m twice the harvester you are.”

Grace smiled. “I do think I’ve heard it said Milo could harvest three ears for every one you harvest, Frank.”

“Enough. All of you,” Mr. Durr bellowed. “It doesn’t matter who harvested what. I will count it the correct way, and what you do with the money left after taxes doesn’t matter a whit.”

“Well,” Frank said. “You clearly don’t have any brothers.”

“That we can agree on,” Milo added.

Grace chuckled. The Tucker brothers had this well in hand. She had another idea.

She exited the storage barn and looked over at the tax coach.

What was it her parents had done to a tax coach in the time of the original Rogue?

The driver was still in his seat, bored but attentive.

Grace scanned the area around her and noticed Willa a ways off, carrying an armful of wheat. Grace smiled and waited for her friend to reach her.

“Why are you just standing around, Robbins? Don’t expect me to cover for you for another day.”

“Come with me,” Grace said, placing her hands on Willa’s shoulder and turning her so she could see the coach.

“Whoa, Robbins. What’s going on?”

“You see that coach?”

Willa sighed. “The tax coach?” She sounded unimpressed.

“Yes. Do you think you could distract that driver?”

Willa turned her head to look at Grace. “Of course,” she said slowly. “Why?”

Grace grinned. “I think there’s something wrong with the carriage wheel. I thought I’d take look and, you know, loosen a pin or two to make sure they are working.”

Now Willa was grinning. “Now you’re talking, Robbins.” Willa turned so that walking forward, she’d be facing the coach but unable to see it over the wheat stalks in her arms. “Point me toward the driver.”

Grace adjusted her angle a bit.

Willa stumbled forward.

Grace retreated back by the door of the barn so the driver wouldn’t see her gawking, and watched carefully.

The driver looked at Willa, glanced at the storage barn, and then looked away, unconcerned. Either he didn’t know what was happening or he didn’t care enough to warn the girl that she was headed the wrong direction. That would serve Grace and Willa just fine.