They were left alone in the main room of the cabin, dim and cool. There was no fire laid, but the ashes were swept and the pots polished and hung neatly. There was something oddly empty about the place, perhaps, Elizabeth told herself, because there was so little furniture. A table, a few chairs, a rug on the rough floor, a sewing basket. There were two dented pewter plates in the dish rack on the wall, but there was no pottery anywhere that Elizabeth could see. She had thought the rumors circulating in the village about Jemima's tempers were exaggerated, but now she must wonder if all the missing things had been sacrificed to a fit of anger.

“Feels deserted,” Curiosity said.

And that was it exactly. The cabin was clean and ordered and empty of all sense that people lived here.

Nicholas came in, his cap held in front of him as he ducked his head.

“Is it Callie?” he asked. “Is Callie all right?”

Behind him Jemima snorted softly, her mouth turned down hard at the corners. She had crossed her arms and rested them on the swell of her stomach.

“Callie just fine,” said Curiosity. “Healthy as a colt and just as frisky. Martha too.”

Jemima might have never known anyone named Martha, for all the expression she showed. She had put her daughter away from her, and that was far more shocking than the sad state of the cabin.

Elizabeth steadied her voice. “We are here on a different matter,” she said. “Black Abe is come. You will want to talk to him about your mother-in-law's grave, Jemima, will you not? And I was wondering if you would consider singing tomorrow when we bury Dr. Todd. He specifically requested it.”

Next to Elizabeth Curiosity was tense with surprise, though a smile jerked at the corner of her mouth.

Jemima said, “What?”

“Dr. Todd asked that you sing a hymn when he is buried. Are you free tomorrow morning?”

Jemima frowned. “Richard Todd asked for me.”

“Yes.”

“I don't believe you,” she said shortly. “Is it writ down in his will?”

Curiosity snorted softly. “A will ain't for writing down something like that. Listen here, Jemima. Either you care to come sing, or you don't.”

Elizabeth could have kissed Curiosity, but she didn't dare even look at her.

Jemima's mouth worked. “All right then.”

“Good,” said Elizabeth. “At ten, at the family plot.” She smiled then, a woman who had accomplished a difficult task and had one more before her.

“What else?” Jemima said. “There's something else you want.”

Nicholas had watched all this silently, his gaze moving back and forth from Curiosity to Elizabeth. He said, “You haven't said anything about Dolly or Cookie. They need burying too.”

Jemima let out a sound, soft disapproval and resignation all wrapped up together. She turned her face away.

“That's right,” said Curiosity to Nicholas. “Black Abe is digging the graves this afternoon.”

“I should do that.” Nicholas touched his brow with the heel of his hand, as if to keep whatever thoughts he was plagued with to himself.

“Let the African do it,” Jemima said, without looking at him.

There was a moment's strained silence, and Elizabeth wondered if she was about to witness one of the fights the village loved to talk about. Then Nicholas made a sound that came up from deep in his gut, and turned his face away.

Jemima turned to Elizabeth, her eyes narrowed.

“You think you're clever,” she said, rocking herself gently back and forth. “You think you got the best of me.”

Elizabeth started to say something but Jemima held up a hand to stop her. There was no threat in the way she held herself, nor was there anything to read in her expression.

“The day will come,” Jemima said. “My day will come, you wait and see.”

Curiosity said, “Don't talk foolish.”

Then Jemima smiled. It was a smile that would stay with Elizabeth for the rest of the day and into the night; for its cold honesty, and the weight of its promise.

Chapter 30

Dear family,

It is two weeks since I removed the bullet from my brother's side, and so I write to tell you that the wound is healing and there is no sign of infection. He is stronger every day. The rest of the news is not as good. The damage to the nerves in his shoulder must be considerable, for the pain is constant. For the most part he refuses laudanum because, he claims, it clouds his mind, and there are others more in need than he.

The truth is, he has no use of the arm and will not, I fear, for a long time to come. Still he exercises it to keep the muscles from wasting, which Curiosity and my aunt Many-Doves will approve.

He sends the following messages: to his mother, that he is well tended and fed; to his father, he is sorry to have lost the good rifle he was given when he turned twelve; to Gabriel, that maple sugar is worth the work; to his cousin Annie, that he is trusting her to keep an eye on Gabriel lest he drink all the sap before it can be boiled into syrup; to Curiosity, that he is glad of the warm socks she knit for him from the wool of her own good sheep; to his twin Lily, that he has a painting she did of a sleigh moving over a snowy field, sent to him by our brother Luke, and how proud he is of her. And more, that he has learned to approve of Simon Ballentyne, and hopes that she does the same.

Blue-Jay is in good health. He is sent out into the garrison with the other able-bodied men to work, every day. Thus it has been possible for him to see my uncle Runs-from-Bears and they have talked. Because we are only allowed to be with the prisoners from sunrise to sunset, the same hours that he must work, I do not often have the chance to talk to him, but I make sure that he receives his share of the extra food that my brother Luke sends now twice a week.