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“Let’s hope not.”

At the door to the ward, Sara took a clean smock from the shelf. Two things worked in her favor. The first was her rank. She was a doctor, and although she didn’t like to do it, she could throw her weight around if she had to. A certain peremptory tone; veiled or not-so-veiled references to unnamed persons of substantial influence; the mantle of the higher calling, busy day, lives to save: Sara had learned the tricks. Second, she hadn’t done anything illegal. Failing to file the proper paperwork was not a crime—more like an error. She was safe, more or less, but this wouldn’t help Carlos or his family. Once the fraud was discovered, Grace would be taken away.

She stepped into the ward. Jenny was standing with a man who possessed the unmistakable look of a bureaucrat: soft, balding, and flat-footed, with pasty skin that rarely saw sunshine. Jenny’s glance met hers with a look of barely concealed panic: Help!

“Sara,” she began, “this is—”

She didn’t let the girl finish. “Jenny, could you please check the laundry for blankets? I think we’re running low.”

“We are?”

“Now, please.”

She scurried away.

“I’m Dr. Wilson,” Sara said to the man. “What is this about?”

The man cleared his throat. He seemed a little nervous. Good. “There was a woman who delivered a girl here four nights ago.” He fumbled through the papers he was holding. “Sally Jiménez? I believe you were the doctor on duty.”

“And you are?”

“Joe English. I’m from the census office.”

“I have a lot of patients, Mr. English.” She pretended to think. “Oh, yes, I remember. A healthy girl. Is there an issue?”

“No birthright certificate was filed with the census form. The woman has two sons.”

“I’m sure I took care of it. You’ll have to check again.”

“I spent all yesterday looking for it. It definitely wasn’t sent to my office.”

“Your office never makes mistakes? Loses paperwork?”

“We’re very thorough, Dr. Wilson. According to the nurse at the desk, Mrs. Jiménez was released three days ago. We always talk to the family first, but they don’t seem to be home. Her husband hasn’t been to work since the birth.”

Dumb move, Carlos, Sara thought. “I can’t be responsible for people once they leave here.”

“But you are responsible for filing the proper documentation. Without a valid birthright, I’m going to have to move her case up the line.”

“Well, I’m sure there was one. You’re mistaken. Is that all? I’m very busy here.”

He regarded her for an uncomfortably long moment. “For now, Dr. Wilson.”

—

Wherever the Jiménez family had gone, Sara knew it wouldn’t take long for the census office to track them down. There were only so many places to hide.

She tried to put them out of her mind. She’d done her best to help, and the situation was out of her hands. Sister Peg was right; she had a job to do. It was important, and she was good at it. That was what mattered most.

In the middle of the night, she awoke with the feeling that a powerful dream had ejected her from sleep. She rose and checked on Kate. She felt certain that her daughter had been in this dream, if peripherally; she had not been the focus—rather, a witness, almost a judge. Sara sat on the edge of her daughter’s cot and watched the night pass through her. The girl was deeply asleep, her lips slightly parted, her chest expanding and contracting with long, even breaths, filling the air with her unmistakable scent. At the Homeland, in the time before Sara had found her again, it was Kate’s smell that had given her the strength to go on. She’d kept a baby curl in an envelope, hidden away in her bunk, and each night she had taken it out and pressed it to her face. This act was, Sara knew, a form of prayer—not that Kate was still alive, because she’d believed absolutely that her daughter was dead, but that wherever she was, wherever her spirit had gone, it felt like home.

“Is everything okay?”

Hollis was standing behind her. Kate stirred, rolled over, and then was quiet again.

“Come back to bed,” he whispered.

“I can sleep in. I’m on second shift.”

Hollis said nothing.

“All right,” she said.

When dawn came, Sara was wide awake. Hollis told her to stay in bed, but she got up anyway; she wouldn’t return from the hospital until after dinner and wanted to take Kate to school. She was half-drunk with exhaustion, although this fact did not seem like a compromising influence on her judgment but a source of clarity. At the door of the school, she hugged her daughter tightly. It did not seem so long ago that Sara had needed to kneel to do this; now the crown of Kate’s head reached Sara’s chest.