With a very pointed look, Curiosity stopped Elizabeth before she could say more. She said, “Don't matter that they never got read before,” she said. “These books sure will look fine in the new schoolhouse.”

“If you insist on changing the subject,” Elizabeth said, “please change it in another direction.”

“You are reluctant to talk about the new schoolhouse, Aunt.” Ethan put another small pile of books in her lap. “But I saw you yesterday, inspecting the lumber.”

It was true that she had selected a spot for the new school, and it was also true that she had paid Peter Dubonnet to cut and haul the lumber that must wait until spring before building could begin. But still she chafed at the whole business, and could not even tell why except in terms that she did not like to admit. The whole venture seemed to her somehow a challenge to fate, and fate was too nebulous and irrational a concept for her comfort.

It had to do with the war, of course. With the fact that her children were away, and that she couldn't see to their welfare; it had to do with getting older. It had to do most of all with the fact that she had hoped that Ethan would take over the school, and that now he could not. Because Richard had willed it so.

Curiosity said, “Now look, here's old Mr. Shakespeare who went missing some weeks ago right while we was in the middle of reading about that foolish child Juliet and her Romeo, just as bad. I'll ask Jennet to read some more to us tonight, though I expect it'll take a bad end, the whole sorry business. Don't know what the girl's folks was thinking, letting things get out of hand the way they did.”

Elizabeth and Ethan exchanged smiles.

“Don't you be laughing, you two. You know I'm right.”

“Curiosity,” Ethan said. “You know that these stories are pure invention but you always talk as if the characters might show up at your door for advice.”

The older woman put both hands on her head kerchief to right it. “If only they would,” she said. “I'd send that Romeo into the bush with Joshua. Let him chop a few trees, raise a few blisters. You tire a boy out good, he won't get such foolish ideas in his head. Climbing up walls in the middle of the night.” She sniffed.

“No doubt you're right,” Elizabeth said. “Though I doubt Shakespeare would have come up with such a novel solution.”

“He don't like happy endings, ain't no secret in that,” Curiosity agreed. “But the words sound pretty, the way he wrote them down. If you got the right person reading, that is.”

“I imagine that Jennet must read these characters very well,” Elizabeth said. “She has just the right dramatic flair.”

At that the door flew open so abruptly that it cracked against the wall. Callie and Martha burst into the room, pursued by Jennet. All three of them were flushed with high color and almost breathless with laughter and running.

Callie had one arm extended up over her head, and in her fist, a sheet of paper. Jennet lunged, and Callie hopped backward just out of her reach. Together the two younger girls backed around a wing chair while Jennet advanced.

“Now!” Curiosity said. “What is all this thundering and shouting?”

They spared her not a glance.

“You said we might!” Martha squeaked. “You said we could!”

“I'll pluck ye bald, ye wee de'ils,” Jennet crooned in a sweet voice. “And use your hair tae stuff ma pillow.” Her fingers wiggled before her.

“You did say so!” Callie echoed, as Jennet snatched and the girls jumped.

“Och, I said nae sic thing.” Jennet circled to the other side and the girls pivoted with her. “I said I'd share the tale wi' ye, but no the letter! That's for ma brither.”

Curiosity marched forward and inserted herself between Jennet and her prey. She held out her hand, palm up. “You two girls know better than to go reading somebody else's private mail. What are you thinking?”

Callie looked at Martha and Martha at Callie. With a bob of the head, the stolen letter was put into Curiosity's hand.

“But it's a new story she's writing down for Alasdair, and she said she'd share it!” Callie's bright eyes blazed defiance, first at Jennet and then, subdued, at Curiosity.

“What I said was that I would tell ye the tale. When I was finished with it. Which I am not.” Jennet drew herself up to her full height, which was not so very tall, and raised her chin. What she could not do, Elizabeth saw, was hide her smile.

“But it's taking so long,” Martha said, wheedling now. “We can't wait.”

“Och, but ye will wait. When I'm finished working it out you'll hear it. Or perhaps not.” She sniffed. “It will take some wooing to get me back in the mood to tell tales.”

“Tea?” said Callie, brightly.

Jennet pursed her mouth. “And some of the little cakes Sally baked this morning too, I think.”

At that the girls laughed out loud and ran out of the parlor, followed closely by Jennet. She stopped and turned, and saw that Curiosity was holding out the stolen letter at arm's length, her eyes narrowed to read the small hand.

Jennet snatched it away. “Et tu, Brute?” Then she laughed and, tucking the rumpled paper away, she left for the kitchen.

“My Lord, what I wouldn't give for a half of that girl's energy,” Curiosity said.

“I'd settle for a quarter of it,” Elizabeth said. “In any case, it is certainly doing those girls some good.”