The frown line between Martha's eyes slowly disappeared. "I can only sew half days, until the corn is in. Two dollars for a day's work is all I'll take."

"But I inquired in Albany," Elizabeth pointed out. "Experienced seamstresses ask for two and a half, and that seems fair."

Martha jostled the boy on her lap, and produced her first smile of the day. "Paradise ain't Albany, and you'll get plainer work from me," she said. "But we can make the difference up in trade, if you'd be so kind. I'd still like my girl to come to your school."

The door opened and Jemima appeared, dragging her younger brother behind her. Elizabeth stifled a deep sigh of resignation, and extended her hand toward Martha Southern.

* * *

At dinner, Nathaniel almost laughed out loud to hear it told: Jemima Southern back in Elizabeth's classroom, for good this time. It was only her sharpest look that stopped him; that, and perhaps the fact that his head still pained him. At the moment she could not sympathize one bit.

They were eating on their own this evening. Elizabeth had managed stew, with Hannah's assistance, and corn bread, which she now crumbled into her bowl with some irritation.

"I know I should be glad of the challenge," she said. "But she is such a trying child."

Hannah hummed her agreement. "If we could at least have Liam, too," she said. "Jemima never acts up so much when Liam's got an eye on her."

"I guess Jemima'll settle down to schoolwork soon enough," Nathaniel offered; his attempt at an apology. He added: "At any rate, Boots, it's a good thing that Jed and Nancy ain't set on pulling their boys out of the classroom. Jed is a forgiving man, I have to say.

Elizabeth threw Nathaniel a pleading look over Hannah's head, and he nodded. For the moment Hannah knew nothing of Jed's unplanned and undeserved stay in Anna's pantry, or the role Elizabeth had had in Hawkeye's own return home; nor did Elizabeth want her to know for as long as possible. The whole episode seemed unreal, still. She expected Hawkeye to come through the door any moment, and she thought that Nathaniel did, too.

"Ian looks mighty strange in those spectacles," Hannah noted.

"If you insist on reading by starlight you'll need spectacles yourself and quite quickly," Elizabeth pointed out, ladling more stew into Hannah's bowl. She moved too quickly and gravy splashed on the table. With a small cry of dismay, Elizabeth began to mop at it with her apron.

Nathaniel appeared at her side, pulling her gently away. "Boots!" he said softly, his mouth turned down in worry. "It's just a spill. What is the matter with you? You're so jumpy."

"Maybe it's grandfather," Hannah said.

"No." Elizabeth pulled away from him. "Yes. Of course it's Chingachgook, in part—but, well." She drew in a big breath, and let it out. "I thought it would be better to wait, with all that has happened in the last few days. It's so silly of me. Here." She drew aunt Merriweather's letter from her pocket, and held it out toward Nathaniel.

He raised a brow, and slowly reached out to take it. Then he turned it over in his hands. "We just forgot about this, didn't we? In the hurry to get back here. From your aunt."

"She's on her way here for a visit," Elizabeth said in a rush.

"Well, that's not so bad," Hannah said with a bigger smile. "Is it space you're worried about? She can sleep with me in the loft."

The thought of aunt Merriweather climbing the ladder to the sleeping loft might have been amusing, in other circumstances. But Elizabeth could barely listen to the child's plans for the visitors; she watched Nathaniel scan the letter line by line. He looked up in surprise. "Your cousin and her husband, too?"

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "And servants."

"Well, never mind, Boots," he said, pulling her close to wipe a smear of gravy from her cheek. "I expect we can deal with them well enough. You and me have dealt with worse in our time, have we not?"

She let out a short hiccup of a laugh, which Nathaniel took as agreement.

* * *

In bed that night, Nathaniel surprised her.

"Where did you want to run away to, when you stole your cousin's clothes?" he asked sleepily.

"You heard that?"

"I was drunk, Boots. It don't render a man deaf."

She moved her head to a more comfortable position on his shoulder. "I thought I could sign on as a sailor, and get far away somewhere where women were allowed to ride horses astride, and learn to shoot."

"And read what they pleased?"

"That was before I found out about books," Elizabeth said. "When I did find out about them, it seemed for a long time that they would be enough to make up for the rest of it."

He turned on his side, shifting her down so that he could look into her face.

"What is it about William Spencer that you want to tell me?"

"There is nothing to tell you about William Spencer," she said without a moment's hesitation. "Not a single thing."

But Elizabeth lay awake for a long time, contemplating the irony of a truth as unsettling as any lie.

Chapter 54

With the approaching harvest, Elizabeth's students began to disappear from her classroom. Boys and girls alike would be gone one day or two in an awkwardly revolving pattern, to reappear with an apologetic nod of the head and agricultural details Elizabeth had actually begun to grasp. By the end of the first week after Chingachgook's funeral, with her own work at home increasing and the visit at hand pressing on her mind, she recognized the necessity of a natural recess in the rhythm of the school year. She proposed a small celebration to end a successful summer session, with recitations.