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“You look so different!” Fiona said, keeping hold of Mairin’s hands but stepping back. “Just look at you! What happened to

your hair? Oh, I’ve missed you so much. I couldn’t believe your mom sent you to the Good Shepherd.”

“Because of Colm, my stepfather. Flynn told you, right?”

“He did. It sounds awful.”

“It was. I would have sent you letters about it, but I didn’t have your address in Pennsylvania, and besides, everything is

censored. They hide what really goes on there.”

“I’m glad you got away,” Fiona said. “And this place! Look at this place!”

“It’s really nice here, mostly,” Mairin said.

“What do you mean, mostly?” Fiona’s eyes narrowed.

“Running a farm is a lot of work. And not everybody’s into work around here.” She was determined to stay optimistic. “I’m

learning so much, Fiona. As soon as I turn eighteen, I’ll get a regular job.”

“You’re not going back to school? Senior year is pretty darn fun,” Fiona said.

“School’s going to have to wait,” said Mairin. “I can’t risk it until I’m eighteen—they could send me back to the Good Shepherd. Maybe next year I could attend trade school or ag school. Now, tell me about you. How are you doing?”

“I’m going to graduate next June, that’s how. My ma doesn’t want me to go to college, but I scored really high on the Regents

exam, and I’m going to do it.”

“Good for you,” Mairin said. “You were always the smartest one in the class.” She paused and brought Fiona over to the porch.

The house had once been grand, with a wraparound veranda and lovely pillars, but now the paint was peeling and the floorboards

were sagging. “Tell me about... you know.”

Fiona did know. She sat on the porch steps and traced her foot in the dry earth. A song by Led Zeppelin drifted from an open

window, like a wail of emotion. “Oh, Mairin. It was so hard.”

“I’m sorry. I thought about you constantly when I was at the Good Shepherd. A few of the girls there were pregnant. I always

hoped you were in a kinder place than that.”

“Aunt Cookie’s wasn’t bad. The bad part was that I had to go through it at all—hiding myself away, and then pretending it

never happened. Why does it have to be such a secret? And why don’t we hold the boy responsible?”

“I have no idea. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“For me, the worst part was when they took my baby.”

“Oh, Fiona.” Mairin could not imagine it. She gave her friend’s hand a squeeze. “Tell me.”

“She was beautiful,” Fiona said with a faraway look in her eyes. “So tiny and sweet. They let me hold her for a few hours,

and I never wanted to let her go. I called her Ruby, although I’m sure the people who adopted her gave her another name. I

wanted to keep her. I wanted that so bad.”

“Of course you did,” Mairin said. “I’m really sorry. I know that doesn’t help, but I’m sorry.”

“I never even had a choice. No one asked me what I wanted. And I think about my baby all the time, even now. I just wonder, you know, where she is, what she’s doing.

.. She’s always right here.” She pressed a fist to her chest. “Here in my heart. It’s a feeling that’ll never go away.

I suppose I’ll have kids one day after I get married.

But that baby—my beautiful little Ruby—will always haunt me. I’ll always wonder about her.”

“Can’t you find out who adopted her? Maybe you could meet her.”

“Impossible. It’s called a sealed adoption. My mom signed away all my parental rights after she was born.”

“Fiona, that must be so sad. You’ve got me crying, and I never even met her.” Mairin could offer no words of comfort, so she

just held her friend and cried with her.

“How did everything go so wrong for both of us?” Fiona asked. “Me being stupid enough to get pregnant—”

“You weren’t stupid. You just did what everybody does when they first start feeling, you know, that way.”

“And you,” Fiona said. “You were punished for no reason at all. No good reason, anyway.”

Mairin nodded her head and pulled away. “You know, this all started for me when Kevin Doyle’s mom and my mom found out we

went on a date. Our moms were sure I was going to get pregnant.” She felt a spike of anger. “I still can’t believe my mother

sent me to the nuns.”

Fiona shook her head. “Kevin joined the army, did you know?”

“Really? No, I didn’t know.” Mairin tried to picture him in uniform, his shaggy hair reduced to a buzz cut. For a brief moment,

he had been her whole world. Now he was just someone she used to know. “Do you ever see Casey Costello?”

Fiona gave a half shrug. “At the CYO dances sometimes. He acts like he doesn’t even know me, like he never got me pregnant.”

Then she brightened. “I’m going to find somebody better at college. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just grow up to be a weird

old lady like my aunt Cookie.”

“After the year we’ve had, being a weird old lady doesn’t sound so awful,” said Mairin.

Flynn showed up now and then, picking up produce or returning crates to the farm.

At first, Mairin thought he came to see Haley, but she realized he was also checking on her.

She wondered if Flynn realized Haley was cheating on him with the wispy guy, but she concluded that it was none of her business.

Still, her heart always lifted when Flynn visited. His dark hair was always slightly tousled, as if he didn’t have time to

fuss over appearances. But he had a twinkle in his eyes that softened his serious demeanor. There was something compelling

about his determination to build his business. Even though he usually spent most of his time with Haley, he somehow managed

to make Mairin feel seen, listening closely when she told him about her garden plan and produce yield. That was definitely

the mark of a good listener, because not many people cared about farm management. She couldn’t help but feel drawn to Flynn—his

kindness and steadiness; his work ethic; and yes, his strong, manly looks.

Mairin weathered the cold winter with a changing array of people who slept in tepees pitched on a hillside, or in VW vans

or in the school bus. After the police raid, she was able to relax her vigilance, because she realized people tended to see

what they expected to see. She stopped glancing over her shoulder. No one was looking for her. And if she was found, she wouldn’t

go back to the nuns the way she had the first time, like a lamb to the slaughter. Knowing what awaited her, she would fight

for her life.

She survived on homemade bread, vegetables from the root cellar, and a generous stack of books on farming and land management

and cultivation. In the spring thaw, when the sap was running, she learned to tap the maples and deliver the sap in big cans

to a local producer named Mr. Barrett. Jax, who had inherited from his grandparents, was so pleased that he let her keep some

of the money.

But as the seasons changed, commune life lost its glow. People lay around and had random sex and got high and made music and

danced. It was miles better than the nuns, but Mairin sometimes felt restless with the urge to do something. To make something.

To be something.

A small core of dedicated residents—Mairin included—did most of the work. She found herself wanting more—not just for herself,

but for the farm.

It was a truly wonderful place, nestled in the valley of three hills, with a pond fed by a rushing creek and crowned by a forest of maple and larch.

But it was falling into disrepair. Jax, laconic and too fond of weed, tended to sleep all day and leave the chores to others.

She overheard him telling people he was behind on his property taxes.

Hearing him complain irritated her. He was letting the place waste away instead of seizing the opportunity. She could picture

the farm, exactly, in every detail. At night, she would lie awake, envisioning how she would restore the old farmhouse and

barn. She knew how to take care of the orchards and the fields, rotating them to get the best yield. If it were up to her,

she wouldn’t waste the chance to turn the place into something.

On the Fourth of July, 1970, she took the bus to Niagara Falls. The cascade had been restored to its thunderous glory, and

the crowd was as big as the one the year before, when the nuns had brought them here. Mairin watched and watched, stiffening

with eagerness when she saw someone who looked like one of her friends—a girl with an Afro who wasn’t Odessa. A tall, slender

young woman who wasn’t Angela. Someone with chin-length shiny black hair who wasn’t Helen. A girl with hacked-off brown hair

and a big laugh who wasn’t Denise. No sign of Janice or Kay. Music and speeches, protests and demonstrations against the war

flowed past. Mairin kept the statue of Nikola Tesla in view, just in case.

Just in case one of the others remembered the pact they’d made.

She waited until dusk, but no one came. In her mind, Mairin relived the days at the Good Shepherd, and some of the memories

made her feel physically ill. Other memories, though, filled her with tenderness for the girls who had survived the ordeal

by her side. At least, she hoped they’d survived. She had led them away from that place, but then they’d all lost each other.

Riding the last bus home, Mairin struggled to keep her spirits up. Expecting someone—anyone—from their group to show up had

always been a long shot. They all had their lives to live, and maybe that didn’t include a yearly visit to the Falls.

Later that summer, Mairin approached Jax and told him she was going to move on. She had grown and healed here, gaining in

confidence, and it was time.

He roused his lanky form, and his face fell into a sorrowful expression. “What’ll we do without you, Sunshine? You’re the

one who keeps this place going.”

She smiled briefly. “I need to get a job.”

“Tell you what. You go make a bunch of money working for the man, and I’ll sell you the whole place,” said Jax. “Can’t afford

the upkeep and taxes anyway.”