The fact was, he had to keep the truth from them; but there was another, harder truth that went right along with it: Nathaniel wanted nothing more in the world than to tell Elizabeth the whole of it, to pour out the words and free himself of the pictures they built in his head. But he could not, would not, unburden himself like that. Not tomorrow, or the day after, or when she was safely delivered of this new child, or on his deathbed. It was his burden to bear, as the child was hers.

Chapter 34

Dearest Hannah and Jennet,

For your latest letter, arrived just yesterday, we thank you. Any report is preferable to the work of the imagination. Of course we are glad to know that Daniel is able to leave his bed for short periods of time. We trust that your next letter will bring more such news. I enclose a short letter for him.

I expect that this letter will not reach you until well into the month of May and the beginning of warmer weather. We are sending a bundle of clothing I hope will suit you both, along with some fine-milled soap that cousin Ethan sent.

You both know me well enough to realize that if I dwell on trivialities there must be some matter of importance to share that makes me anxious. Let me give you our news, in the manner of a journalist; that is to say, without embellishment.

First, I am expecting a child, sometime in November. Your surprise can be no greater than was my own, but I trust you will take as much joy in this news as we do. I am easily tired but Many-Doves and Curiosity are well satisfied with my health.

Second, Nathaniel and I have decided, after long deliberation and discussion, that we will live in the village until this child is come. We have already taken up residence at my father's house. It is a drafty place and the hearth smokes when the wind comes from the west, but Nathaniel and Simon have undertaken repairs and improvements and I believe we shall be very comfortable here. Certainly it is convenient to be so close to the work at the new schoolhouse, and a great comfort to be only a short walk from Curiosity. Her Lucy is come to cook and look after the house, and Callie and Martha are here most days too, all of them carrying out Curiosity's injunction—with surprising tenacity—that I am not to take up anything heavier than a quill.

Lily, too, has been excessively considerate and kind, and much more even tempered, but whether my condition or Simon Ballentyne deserve the credit for that transformation is unclear to me. Or perhaps it is simply the move into the village, as Lily is very pleased to be closer to the old meetinghouse. When she has finished with her share of the housework she goes there, every day, to draw and paint.

Third, and this is a circumstance that will be clear to you already, as your aunt brings you this letter: Many-Doves has decided to remove to Canada until her son and my own are free and on their way home. Annie is gone with her. All this has put Gabriel in a very poor mood indeed. The solitary comfort in all this is the fact that there will be no corn to weed this summer.

And now. How I hate the need to write down the details of the tragedy in the village.

Jemima Wilde is run away and her husband disappeared into the bush. Nathaniel tracked him for two days and then came home none the wiser. Before he went away Nicholas brought Curiosity an apple sapling and a letter writ in his own hand and witnessed by Mr. McGarrity, giving her care of his Callie until he comes home.

I do not think we will ever see him again. Such a terrible waste, it hardly bears contemplation.

As far as Jemima is concerned, I confess that I had not realized the depth of her anger, nor how far it would drive her. By the time she had finished with Nicholas, he lost his daughter, his unborn child, his livelihood, the orchards he worked with such dedication and passion, his reputation, and his self-respect.

Because this beast, at which thou criest out,

Suffers not any one to pass her way,

But so doth harass him, that she destroys him;

And has a nature so malign and ruthless,

That never doth she glut her greedy will,

And after food is hungrier than before.

The orchard and farm have been sold to a Mr. Stiles, originally of Maine, who is a part-time farmer but a full-time missionary, and came to us determined that our souls must be saved. If he were simply a dull man, I could wait for him to tire of the recalcitrant Yorker temperament, but every day I see new evidence of a devious and supple mind. Because he has no meetinghouse he has taken to preaching in the middle of the village, where it is difficult to avoid him. If there were not other things of greater importance to occupy me, he would be a worthy opponent.

This letter is already two and one-half sheets, close-written, and Gabriel asks for a little space, thus I leave you, Your loving E.M.B.

Dear Sister and Cousin. Annie is gone to Canada to help rescue our Daniel and Blue-Jay and here am I, feeding bad-tempered hens. There may be no corn to weed this year but there is cabbage and pompkin and beans in the kitchen garden and when they sprout weeds who will be sent to pull them? Lily paints and draws and makes eyes at Simon, who teases her and calls her Grumpy when he thinks no one will hear him, and she frowns at him and smiles, all at once, though I should get my ears boxed if I called her such a name. If that's what love is about, then it's a silly business, say I, and one I want no part of.

All in all things are in a sorry state here and I hope you come home soon and bring Daniel and Blue-Jay and Annie too. And if there are more stories like the runaway porkers for Jennet to send, it would be a comfort to me in my misery.

Your brother and cousin, Gabriel Bonner

Chapter 35

Of the many adjustments that moving into the village required of them, the one that was hardest for Elizabeth was something that not even Nathaniel, with all his reservations, had thought to warn her about.