But am I lost? And am I Mercy Carter? she had promised Uncle Nathaniel. I will remember my family, my God and my home. I have not broken my promise. I remember my family with love. I honor my God in every way...and in every language. And my home-- Is it here? It seemed to Mercy that she needed more time--weeks, months, even years--to know the answer to that question. She had been thinking about it since May of 1704, and yet she did not know. Annisquam had set it down. Mercy carried it all, the burden strap of memory still cutting her forehead. The French priest asked the deacon if he would like to enter the French church and see where the children of Deerfield worshiped, but Deacon Sheldon shook his head in horror and walked back to the boat. Mercy Carter closed her eyes. Latin slipped into her prayer, and Mohawk, and French, and she felt herself swept away by so many languages. So many fears and hopes were the same, so many answers as hard to find, in every language. When she finished speaking to the Lord, Deacon Sheldon was gone. And so was Mercy Carter.