She caught Luke's eye, and in that moment all the trouble between them was simply gone. His thoughts were as plain to her as the color of his eyes: Luke would speak up now, because for all his silent ways, he could not keep the truth to himself when so much was at stake. She blinked her encouragement at him, and one corner of his mouth jerked up, as much acknowledgment as he could bring himself to give her.

“Littlejohn!”

The rider wiped his mouth with his sleeve and turned his great head toward Luke.

“Tell me this, how many of those navy ships in New-York Harbor are seaworthy?”

The crowd's happy murmuring died away as they took in this question; some of the young men—Daniel among them—looked irritated, but most turned back to Littlejohn with real concern.

“I don't recognize you, sir. Are you passing through?”

“I'm here visiting my family. Luke Bonner.”

“You remember,” called out Missy Parker. “The one that lives in Montreal.”

“Aye, I remember, mother!” Littlejohn grunted in surprise and sought out Nathaniel with his eyes. “Your eldest boy? The Canadian?”

“Living in Canada don't make my brother a Canadian!” Daniel pushed forward.

Elizabeth was standing just in front of Jennet with her hands on Gabriel's shoulders; her fingers tensed so that Gabriel squirmed and sent her an injured look.

“My father doesn't speak for me.” Luke barely raised his voice and he had the crowd's attention. “Nor does my brother, although he means well. Living in Canada doesn't make me a Canadian, but being born there does, I reckon.”

Daniel's gaze—confusion and exasperation in equal measure—fixed on his brother, but he didn't interrupt.

“But it doesn't make me a British sympathizer either,” Luke finished. “I'll take no sides in this war.”

“I know what that means,” shouted Littlejohn, shifting in the saddle. “You'll make your fortune off the backs of honest men who do the fighting for you.”

“Jonas Littlejohn!” Nathaniel Bonner barely raised his voice but it stopped Daniel, who had begun to move toward the post rider.

Nathaniel stood beside his wife and youngest son with a fist curled casually around the upright barrel of his rifle. He looked like a man with no concerns in the world, Jennet thought, except for the fact that the muscle in his jaw had tensed into knots as big as a man's knuckles. He was a son of Carryck, after all, and his anger showed itself in a bristling silence that must make any man break into a sweat, just as the post rider had done.

Jonas Littlejohn opened his mouth and shut it again, wiped his face with a filthy sleeve, and never took his eyes off Nathaniel Bonner, as a rabbit never looks away from the wolf.

In an easy tone Nathaniel said, “If you're man enough to get down from that horse and repeat yourself, come on ahead. Otherwise I guess you'll want to be headed on out of here before I lose my temper and beat the stupid out of you.”

After a long moment Littlejohn cleared his throat roughly.

“The post,” he said, tossing a bundle tied with twine to a tall man at the back of the crowd. “See you in a fortnight.”

“Littlejohn!” Nathaniel called, and the man stiffened.

“If any rumors about Canadians in Paradise start making the rounds, I'll know who to come looking for.”

Jonas Littlejohn touched the brim of his tricorne and trotted off without a word.

When the cook fires had died down and the last of the food had been carried away, the fiddlers—one black man and a boy who might have been his son—climbed up on crates, and the music began. The men made a circle of light to dance by under the rising moon: a ring of torches on long pickets hammered into the ground, sending sparks up into the sky like errant stars.

The women moved through the dark calling to children who must be seen home to their beds, and for a moment Jennet thought how good it would be to be one of the little ones, bellies full of good food, tucked in next to wiggling brothers and sisters to fall asleep by the sound of fiddle music and laughter.

But it was her first night in Paradise and Jennet would not waste it on sleep. She watched as people who toiled so hard by day put aside their weariness. Elizabeth had met Jennet's surprise with a laugh.

“You mustn't confuse Yorkers with the pious Yankees of Massachusetts,” she explained. “The people of Paradise will jump at any excuse for a party.”

Now Jennet sat, weary but contented, on a long trestle in a row of other young women, with Lily on one side and Hannah on the other, all of them twitching with the fiddle music. The rhythm was lively and the girls were eager, but Jennet could see that most of them must be content to listen or dance with each other, because there would be little dancing tonight, and the reason was the post rider's news.

On the other side of the dancing circle most of the men and boys had gathered with the Bonner men at their center. Some of them cradled muskets like a sleeping child in folded arms, while others leaned on rifles that pointed sleek barrels up to the sky. Thus far Jennet had never seen a man without a weapon in his hands or on his person, a fact that said more about this place than any stories she had been told.

Jennet could not hear them but she did not need to; they had already read the newspaper into tatters, and the debate on whether or not to join the fighting was hot.

Not that Luke was saying very much. Even here with his family around him he did more listening than talking, his head canted at an angle that meant he was giving his brother Daniel all his attention.