Startled, Elizabeth felt her jaw drop. She shut it with an audible click; opened it again to say something, anything. A dozen things occurred to her all at once, denials and protestations. Then she heard herself say, “Thank you.”

Anna nodded. She had a habit of closing her eyes for a few seconds at a time and then opening them suddenly, like an owl.

She said, “Too much gossip in this place as it is.” And then: “Here's the post rider. This place is going to fill up right quick, Elizabeth. You might want to be on your way if you ain't in a talkative mood. I swear there ain't nothing like a war to set people to writing letters. Even Jemima is in here twice a week sending something off or looking for a letter.” She dropped her voice another notch and leaned forward again.

“Don't suppose you knew she's got kin in Boston?”

Elizabeth was torn between reminding Anna that there was already too much gossiping going on, and interest in this rather odd offering. She settled for composing her face in an expression that she hoped conveyed interest without commitment.

Anna said, “A cousin, she says. Writing back and forth regular, the two of them. You wait and see, she'll be in that door in the next five minutes.”

Charlie LeBlanc had come up behind Elizabeth so quietly that she hadn't noticed, and she jumped in place when he spoke.

“My thought,” he said in his most ponderous tones, “is that our Jemima is looking for somebody to take her in. She's had enough of Paradise, and Paradise of her.”

Elizabeth wanted very much to walk away, but Martha came to mind. For Martha Kuick she must speak up, as no one else seemed to remember that Jemima had a daughter.

“Whatever trouble there might be at the Wildes' place, I trust no one is taking joy in it.”

Charlie began to worry his thumbnail with his teeth, but Anna had the good manners to at least look abashed.

“Well said. Well reminded.” She pushed out a sigh between her teeth.

Elizabeth said, “And if Jemima does have a cousin or friend in Boston, why, I hope it is some comfort to her. Whatever her wrongdoings, even Jemima is made of flesh and blood.”

“No need to bash me over the head with my wickedness,” Anna said. At that moment the door opened, and a man stepped inside. Not the post rider, as Anna had predicted, but a stranger.

Anna straightened and put on the smile she reserved for well-dressed travelers who might have real coin to spend.

“Good day, sir,” she said. “Can I help you?”

A well-formed skull covered with a pelt of white hair swung ponderously in the direction of the counter. All through the trading post voices quieted and eyes turned to the stranger.

Elizabeth had read about albinos, but she had never seen one before. The stranger had skin the blue-white of skimmed milk, and eyes that were almost pink even in the deep shadow provided by the brim of his hat. For all their strange color the expression in his eyes was quick and clear. He had a strong nose, slightly upturned, with prominent flared nostrils. His mouth, small and the color of bruised strawberries, was his oddest feature. When he spoke a row of strong teeth flashed, too perfect to be anything but man's invention.

“I take it you are Mrs. McGarrity.” He spoke in an accent Elizabeth could not place right away: clipped, with a singsong quality. “Mrs. Wilde suggested that you might be able to direct me. I am the Reverend Stiles. That boy out there in the wagon—” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “That's my nephew Justus Rising.”

He said his name as if he expected it to be familiar to her, and then he looked around the crowded trading post in the same way.

“Well, now,” Anna said, casting a surprised look at Elizabeth, who was no less at a loss. “If I can help, certainly. Were you wanting directions to find Jemima?”

Charlie LeBlanc found his tongue, as he usually did, to ask just that question that everyone was thinking but would not voice. He said, “Are you some kin of Jemima's then? Come from Boston?”

Elizabeth had a sudden sense of falling, a dizziness that would have got the better of her had she not been close enough to the counter to grab it with one hand. Some part of her understood already what this stranger would say before he opened his mouth, his expression shifting from polite to puzzled. Jemima's face came to mind, the deep-set eyes hooded and knowing. My day will come, you wait and see.

“Why, no,” said the Reverend Stiles. “I'm no kin of Mrs. Wilde's. Yesterday was the first time I ever met the good lady.” He rocked back on his heels and lowered his chin to his chest, the posture of a man about to launch into a sermon. Luckily Charlie caught that too, and asked another question quick.

“You saw Jemima yesterday? But where?”

“Why, in Johnstown,” said the Reverend Stiles. “At her attorney's office, where we signed the purchase agreement.” He caught the look on Elizabeth's face.

“Madam, are you unwell?”

“I am well enough, sir,” Elizabeth said. “Tell me, do I understand you correctly? You have bought the Wildes' property?”

All the men around the stove came closer to stand behind her in a loose half-circle.

“I assumed you would know, Mrs.—”

“Mrs. Bonner,” Elizabeth supplied. “And this is Mrs. McGarrity, and Mr. LeBlanc.”

For once in her life, Anna was speechless; she made some small sound that was meant to be a greeting.

The Reverend Stiles nodded solemnly. “I have bought the Wildes' place, and I'm here to take possession. Of the orchards and the meetinghouse as well. I've agreed to take up your empty pulpit. Mrs. Wilde impressed upon me how in need this place is of the Lord's word.”