Harry, a year younger, was almost as big and it was generally believed in the village that he would outstrip Jem by the end of the year. Henry, Harry's twin, was the smallest of the three, a boy as stout as a plug with hands and feet like great battered shovels.

Without Jem to lead them, Elizabeth knew, the twins would be mostly harmless. Studying them now, she wondered what kind of men they would grow into. Harry, called slow by his indulgent mother and witless by his impatient father, was picking his nose with great concentration while Henry studied the freckles on his hand.

“Teacher?” Jem said.

“In due time. When the recitation is over.” She made herself turn back to the youngest students, who were watching her with that combination of awe and fear that she worked so hard to dispel. Frightened children could not attend to their work, she had always believed. Looking at the Ratz boys, she wondered if she had perhaps gone too far with this particular policy.

At the end of the next schoolday, Elizabeth called Callie Wilde and Martha Kuick to her and asked them to help her carry some baskets: she would walk them home, today, as she had business at the doctor's place.

From the corner of her eye she saw Jem Ratz freeze at this news, his brow coming down low and hard in displeasure. Once again the teacher was interfering with his plans, and he did not like it.

She smiled at him pleasantly. “Is something wrong, Jem? Harry? Henry?” And got in response only mumbled goodbyes and dark glances.

Later Martha said, “You can't walk us home every day, Miz Elizabeth.”

Callie pressed a little closer to Elizabeth's other side so that their snowshoes touched. “But it would be nice if you could.”

This was new. Until now the girls had denied any trouble; all the reports about the games the Ratz boys had been playing with these two came from the other children or from Curiosity. Elizabeth saw Callie and Martha exchanging glances and she held her tongue. It was the right thing to do, for after a few minutes that were filled only with the sound of their snowshoes and breathing, Callie hiccupped.

She said, “Is it true that witches are born with a mark on their bodies?”

Oh, for a whip when I next see those boys, Elizabeth thought, and: Nathaniel was right, I cannot manage this on my own.

She took a deep breath and forced her voice to its normal tone. “I have never read or heard of or seen any evidence that leads me to believe that there is any such thing as a witch. I think ‘witch' is a label people use when they are frightened, and nothing more than that.”

“But if there were witches?” Callie went on. “How would you know? Would there be a marking?”

At that Elizabeth stopped and looked first Callie and then Martha directly in the face. “Let me say this clearly. There are no witches in Paradise, or anywhere else, as far as I know. As there are no witches, talk of marks upon the body is without merit or sense.”

There was a moment's silence, and then Martha said, “But I have one. I have a mark on my shoulder. A red moon, on my shoulder.”

“Do you?” Elizabeth said, flushed with sudden anger. “A red moon on your shoulder? Well then, if we are to talk of marks on the body, what about this?”

And just like that she began to pull at her cloak, her fingers working fast at buttons and ties until she had bared a bit of her chest just below her throat. “You have a moon and I have a star. Does that make us witches together, or perhaps astronomers?”

It was madness, of course, in this weather, but the look on the girls' faces made it worthwhile. First wide-eyed with horror, then melting quickly toward surprise, and finally wobbling, fast and faster, into laughter.

Martha started it, a low, reluctant giggle that blossomed into something larger. Then Callie joined her, her mittens clamped to her mouth so that all that came out was a muffled squeaking. Then they were all laughing, great raucous laughter that echoed through the snowy woods and sent small animals scuttling. They laughed and laughed while Elizabeth righted her clothes, and then they went down to the village together, giggling softly to themselves all the way.

Of course, Elizabeth thought to herself when she was calm again, the Ratz boys could easily undo all the good work of that laughter, and they would, at their first chance. She was thinking about this and what could be done when they came over the bridge into the village and she saw Nathaniel standing outside the trading post, deep in conversation with Jed McGarrity and Martin Ratz. There was a heap of bloody carcasses on the ground before them. A sheep, Elizabeth saw as they came closer, and a wolf too. The deep snow had driven the pack from the mountain down to the village, where pickings were easier. They were hungry enough to take the risk, but this one had run out of luck.

Then Elizabeth caught a glimpse of the Ratz boys slinking around the far corner of the porch, and wondered what new devilment they had in mind.

“Boots,” Nathaniel called to her when they were in earshot. “We were going to come look for you.”

“That is a coincidence,” Elizabeth said. She greeted the men and took a minute to send the girls into the trading post, where they could get warm by the hearth and be safely out of earshot.

“Mr. Ratz,” she said finally. “I'm glad to see you here as well. Would you be so kind as to call your youngest three to come here? I think they are listening from just over there.”

Martin Ratz was a tough little man, curt of manner but fair, for the most part; Hannah had done his family good service when the scarlet fever had come to Paradise, and saved all but one of his children. He would listen to her, at least, before disregarding what she had to say. Especially with Jed McGarrity and Nathaniel standing by.