“Yes,” said Lily. “Then I can get right back.”

Lily spent the walk from the meetinghouse to the doctor's place working out just the right thing to say when she came face to face with her mother or Simon. It was delicate business. She must find the words that would make them understand that she had neither forgotten nor forgiven, nor was she resigned to the situation as they had worked it out between them. Just the right words would make all that clear, and would make them understand even more: that she was not a child, and would not be treated like one.

But neither her mother nor Simon was in the kitchen, as she had thought they must be. Instead there was Sally, spinning directly from a fleece that lay on the floor beside her, while Lucy was busy with dinner. She was moving back and forth between setting the table and stirring the pot that hung from the trivet over the hearth.

“You looking for your ma?” Sally asked. “She supposed to be here for dinner, any minute now.”

“I'm not here to see my mother,” Lily said. All her good intentions went up in flame, just like that, and in their place she felt herself flush with irritation. “Why would you think I'm looking for my mother?” And she marched back out again, leaving the door open behind her.

“I suppose it was Simon she was hoping to run into,” said Lucy, and then she caught her sister's eye and they both giggled.

Callie said, “You shouldn't tease her so,” trying to look concerned and understanding and serious. And then all four of them broke down into laughter that drifted out the open door and followed Lily a good ways down the path to the laboratory.

Dr. Todd's laboratory, closed up for long weeks, was damp and dusty and it stank of sulfur and cloves, vinegar and herbs and chemicals. It took a quarter hour of looking to find what Lily needed and another quarter hour before she had found an empty jar, a cork that fit it, and a rag to wipe it out. She worked at the big table, in a spot she made for herself among the pots and bottles.

By the time she had found a funnel, the racing of her heart had slowed and she had a hold of her temper. Or enough of a hold to be honest with herself about a few things. First, that she must learn not to react to teasing. Second, more happily, that Simon had not been there to see her fluster. Third, she was hungry, and that everyone would be sitting down now in Curiosity's kitchen to a dinner of stew and new bread and dried peach compote. Fourth, that her own cold packed dinner was back in the meetinghouse, and finally: that they expected her to stay away, out of obstinacy, and hurt pride.

Lily did not like being predictable, but even worse was the idea that people found her amusing, a little girl to be chucked under the chin. Lily confounded by love. Lily out of sorts, because she couldn't control a man.

The logical thing to do, then, was to show them they were wrong. She would sit across the table from her mother and Simon Ballentyne and pay neither of them any particular attention; she would be polite but disinterested. All her attention would be paid to Black Abe, who must have a year's worth of news to share. Black Abe was why she had come, after all, and it made no sense to deprive herself of the pleasure of his storytelling.

Lily had just worked this out to her own satisfaction when a shadow fell across the door. A man-sized shadow.

Simon Ballentyne said, “They've sent me to fetch you to dinner.”

Lily took a very deep breath and counted to three. Then she gave him her most polite, most distant smile. “That's kind of you,” she said. “I'll be along shortly, as soon as I've finished here.”

She couldn't make out his expression in the shadows but he shifted a little where he stood: a man who had gone into the bush loaded for bear and found a fawn instead. She had hoped to put him off balance and understood now that she had disappointed him: he got pleasure out of putting her in a temper.

Lily smiled again, and perhaps that was the mistake.

“I'll wait,” Simon said easily. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms.

“You must do as you please.” And then, her voice shaking with the effort: “If you will wait, come in. You're in my light.” Then she looked up at him and saw the hesitation on his face.

“Unless my mother forbids it,” Lily added, and cursed herself for it.

Simon was working hard at keeping his temper too; she could feel him struggling with it. He cleared his throat. “You spilled some . . . what is that?”

She put down the crock. “It's benzoate of soda,” said Lily. “And if I've spilled some it's because you're in my light. As I've already pointed out.”

“Aye. Or perhaps it's just that you're nervous to be alone with me and your hands are trembling.”

She had picked up the bottle closest to hand and thrown it before the last word was even out of his mouth. It was heavy and rounded and it flew like a fat bird to hit Simon Ballentyne with a thump, right between the eyes. Then it broke neatly in half. The room filled immediately with the scent of rose oil, thick and sweet.

“Uffff,” he said, and took a step backward, his heel catching on the door swell. His arms pinwheeled once and then he sat, heavily, his feet inside and the rest of him in the mud.

“Oh,” said Lily, a hand pressed to her mouth. The sun was at his back but she could see a trickle of blood on his brow, and oil dripping down his face. His eyes were squinted shut, and his eyelashes were sticky.

Lily laughed. It was a mistake, she knew it, but she could not help herself.