“Christ on the bloody Cross,” said Charlie, scratching the crown of his head with the stem of his pipe. “Jemima's gone and sold the place out from under Nicholas. I'll bet he doesn't have a clue.”

Tuesday morning, Lily woke in her own bed at Lake in the Clouds and listened. The house was empty. Her parents had gone down to the village to give the courier their letters and packages, and left her to sleep, something she might have done for a longer time if not for the noise that she could not identify.

Then it came again: a crashing like dishes breaking, but from outside. More awake now, Lily recognized it for what it was: the great icicles that hung from the eaves, many as tall as her father, were falling. As children she and Daniel had made it their special chore to help the process, taking up fallen branches and leaning out the windows to swipe at the ice.

Those days were gone now, and wouldn't come again. Daniel was in Canada, and when he was well enough he would escape and make his way home, but even then things wouldn't ever be the same again.

She tried to imagine her brother without the use of his arm, but it would have been easier to give him wings and watch him fly away. In her mind she always saw her twin busy with something. That was Daniel, the very essence of him: movement and work and getting things done.

Lily turned her face into her pillow and willed away the tears that wanted to come. Her mother did not weep when she read the letter aloud, though she had gone very pale. Instead she had set herself to work. They all had. Yesterday Lily had spent the day helping Many-Doves and Curiosity, sorting and washing and grinding the herbs and roots they needed. All day she had worked, and into the night.

She hadn't seen Simon Ballentyne, though he had never been out of her thoughts.

When she allowed herself to dwell on Simon, and on herself as she had been with him on the night of the ice storm, she was overwhelmed by so many feelings that she despaired of ever making sense of them. Embarrassment was foremost among them, and not far behind, a kind of stunned astonishment, that her body was capable of feeling such things, and that her heart and mind could survive them.

As soon as her parents went to bed the night before, Lily had dragged out the washtub and started to heat water. Alone in front of the hearth she had climbed into water as hot as she could stand and scrubbed with the fine soap that her aunt Spencer sent from the city. It came all the way from Bruges, a city that Uncle Spencer spoke of often and visited whenever he was in Europe. It smelled of lavender and roses but it could not scrub Simon's smell away, and nothing could. He was in her pores now, and would not be banished.

To herself Lily must admit that what she wanted, what she really wanted right now, at this early hour of the morning, was to go find Simon and have it all happen again. There was a new hunger in her, one that grew steadily and fed on the memories that she couldn't—didn't want to—keep at bay.

She had the idea that if she were free to go seek out Simon she would be able to put Daniel out of her mind, for a short time, at least. He would do that for her, and when they were sated she could talk to him and tell him this latest news, and he would listen.

But they had made an agreement, in the last hour of that long night of the ice storm: they would stay apart during the week, as Simon had promised Lily's mother. He would go about his work and she would go about hers; they would cross paths, certainly—the schoolhouse he was building was next to the old meetinghouse where she did her work. When that happened they might exchange a few words but then they would part, and on Sunday he would call on her as planned. And they would be together, somehow: neither of them had the heart to pretend otherwise. Worn down by passion, satisfied with this compromise, Lily had agreed that she could be patient until Sunday. Now she wondered if that had been foolish; if she could wait so long, or if she would have to go looking for Simon before too many days had passed. She had no pride left where he was concerned, but neither, she was surprised to realize, did she miss it very much.

Her brother was lying in a prison camp in mortal pain and here she lay in the full light of day, thinking of the things she might do with Simon Ballentyne before the sun set, if she happened to come across him alone.

Disgusted with herself, Lily got out of bed and dressed. Gabriel and Annie were playing cards in the workroom, their voices rising and falling as they argued good-naturedly. She slipped out without stopping to eat, and headed for the village.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that Lily didn't notice anything amiss until she was over the bridge. Then it took the Ratz boys to get her attention.

“You're late,” Harry shouted as he ran by. “It's already started!”

“What's started?” Lily called back, picking up her pace.

But she got no answer. The boys flew up the trading-post steps and disappeared inside, the door open long enough for Lily to see the crowd of people.

For a moment she paused, and considered. It could be nothing more than Missy Parker and old Mrs. Hindle in the middle of a particularly colorful argument, or Jed McGarrity's latest experiment with distilling schnapps, or one of the trappers who came into Paradise for supplies with a tall tale. She could just go to her work and get it all from Martha and Callie later, but there was something in the way the boys had been running, some energy that filled her with curiosity and dread in equal measures.

She slipped into the crowd and found herself confronted by nothing more than the backs of her neighbors. The only person who took note of her was Simon Ballentyne, who stood in the corner, arms folded. He smiled, a little shyly, she thought, the way she herself must be smiling, and gestured her closer with a small movement of his head.