“You mean to make me squeal like a grumfie?”

He pressed his mouth to her forehead and his shoulders shook a little, with wanting and laughter and surrender too, and Lily felt dizzy with the power of it.

“If there's a blanket, aye,” he said.

“In front of the stove,” Lily said. “Hurry.”

Chapter 32

Dear Luke,

For your letter with news of your brother and cousin our thanks. Your stepmother tries to hide her disappointment, and almost succeeds. Of course she would have them home now, but not at the risk of Daniel's health, and so she daily lectures herself and everyone else on the virtues of patience. While I write she is busy with a letter to Hannah and Jennet, which we trust you will see delivered safely into their hands.

I don't know anything of this priest you describe, nor of any man who fits that description of the right age. I have been long out of the north woods and my connections are poor. Now while it is true that many priests are rascals, most are harmless enough. If he is the kind who preys on the weak of mind, then he has met his match in Jennet. If he has some other plan you are right to remember that Runs-from-Bears is close by, and there is yet to be born a priest who could get the better of Bears. I'll remind you that your grandmother's distrust of the church goes deep, and that you were raised on it.

And having said all that, I believe that if in your gut you know he is a danger to your sister and bride, then you must do what must be done to see that no harm comes to them. Consult with Bears, and take action as you see fit.

As far as Jennet is concerned, my advice to you is this: this is not the last time you will be at odds. You are both stubborn and single-minded, and you must learn to pick your battles or resign yourself to losing the war.

Your father,

Nathaniel Bonner

Daughter,

With this post the courier brings you a number of things from your aunt Many-Doves and Curiosity, foremost a crock that they worked all day to fill with unguent. They say you will recognize it for what it is, and to rub it daily into Daniel's shoulder and arm and then to wrap it in the flannel. Many-Doves begs you tell Daniel that without sleep he will not heal, and that he should take the tea she is sending without complaint. Curiosity adds that he must take the laudanum you prescribe for him along with the tea. And if he will not, you are (in her words) to pour it down his gullet and hold his nose until he swallows.

Gabriel sends two carvings, one of a horse and one of a bear, for his brother and cousin to share between them, he says. The carving of the squirrel is for you, and the one of the beaver is, of course, for Jennet. Gabriel and Annie send her word that they are watching her favorite dam closely and will give her a full reporting when she comes home again.

I am sending a large cake of the new maple sugar and a jug of syrup, as well as a cask of cornmeal and a sack of beans. With these things I send my loving concern and faith in you, that you will do everything in your power to see that your brother and cousin regain their health.

We would send more, but the courier balks at boxes of candles and bundles of blankets, and he is eager to be away. Yesterday when he arrived there was an ice storm of such strange intensity that I can hardly describe it. He seems to fear that it might happen again, though the weather has turned warm and the sky is clear.

May this letter reach you quickly, and find you all well.

Your loving stepmother

Elizabeth Middleton Bonner

Postscript: I have written nothing of your sister Lily, not because there is no news, but because there is too much to say in too short a time. She is in love, I think, but struggles with it, as of course she must.

Chapter 33

When the courier had ridden off, Elizabeth stood in the muddy path outside the trading post with her arms wrapped about herself and gave in to tears. They came in a great warm wave and without sound: his Elizabeth, stoical and impatient with sorrow, no matter how honestly she came by it.

Nathaniel put an arm around her shoulders and said nothing; his own throat was swollen almost shut with the things he wanted his daughter to know, but must keep to himself.

“It would be too much, just now,” Elizabeth said. “It would be unfair to burden her any more.” And then, on an indrawn breath: “Oh, Nathaniel, perhaps we should have.”

There was a warm breeze today, one that smelled of sap rising and the ice water that rushed downmountain to swell the Sacandaga to its banks. He could smell Elizabeth's tears too, salty, with a bitter edge.

He said, “And what if Manny doesn't come, after all?”

Under his arm he felt Elizabeth's shoulders tense and then roll forward in surrender. To give Hannah hope that she might finally know what had happened to her husband and then take it away—neither of them wanted to risk that.

Elizabeth wiped her face hastily with her handkerchief and pulled in a shuddering breath just as Simon Ballentyne appeared on the path that came from the doctor's place, bareheaded in the weak spring sun. At this distance the difference in color between his forehead and the new-shaved cheeks was still clear, and it always made Nathaniel uncomfortable to see, for reasons he didn't ask himself about very closely.

He was coming straight for them, head high, straight of shoulder: a man ready to take the harsh words he knew he had earned. Something else Nathaniel didn't much want to think about, but Elizabeth was of a different mind altogether.

She said, “I think I must own that my arrangements have failed. They must work out this business between them without any interference from us.”