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For Elowen, the “New World” had a sharp, metallic taste. It was the taste of the soot in the Chicago kitchens where she had scrubbed floors, and the bitter copper of the coins she saved to buy her passage to the Wisconsin woods.

The Sunday sky over Philadelphia in October 1774 was a flat, discouraging gray. Inside the taverns, the air was thick with tobacco and the heavy talk of treason. The First Continental Congress was deadlocked, and for men like John Adams, the pressure of a looming revolution was a physical weight.

The first sound was not a voice, but a vibration. A bronze bell, pitted by salt air, struck a single, clear note that rippled across the coastline of present-day Georgia. For a moment, the ancient choir of frogs and cicadas fell silent, as if the wilderness itself were holding its breath.