The path led through a stand of evergreens and then, beyond that, it took Elizabeth to the lakeside. She stopped suddenly within a foot of a little beach with its own dock, its supports all encased in ice, and saw that the fishermen were coming in now, dragging with them their heavy nets. There were six men and a number of boys, Elizabeth counted, and they were coming straight toward her with curious and expectant looks on their faces. She suppressed a little groan, and turned abruptly away back up the path, running as she did so directly into Nathaniel.

With a little cry Elizabeth slipped and would have lost her footing on the hard—packed snow if Nathaniel had not reached out to steady her, both his hands catching her upper arms just above the elbows, her own hands coming to rest on firmly muscled forearms. Dismayed at her own clumsiness and confused by his sudden appearance, Elizabeth looked up at Nathaniel, who stood calmly with his head inclined toward her. She felt the press of his fingers quite clearly through her cape and she was aware of his warm breath on her face; for a moment Elizabeth was strangely paralyzed, and then she pulled away with a little twist. Breathing heavily, she glanced back toward the lake at the approaching fishermen.

"Pardon me," she murmured to Nathaniel and she started up the path once again. "Excuse me, Mr. Bonner."

"Wait!" Nathaniel called after her, and Elizabeth walked all the faster. She picked up her skirts a little to increase her speed.

"Elizabeth, wait!" he called again, this time much closer. Realizing that she could not outpace him, Elizabeth stopped and tried to calm her breathing. Then she turned toward Nathaniel.

"Yes?" she asked as evenly as she was capable. He stood before her dressed as he had been the day before. Elizabeth noted that under his own lined mantle he wore a clean buckskin shirt, and this brought to mind his injury; Her face fell.

"Pardon me, Mr. Bonner," she began.

"Nathaniel."

Elizabeth drew in her breath and let it out. When she was calmer, she set her face in what she hoped were friendly but distant lines. "Please pardon me for bumping into you that way. I hope I did not disturb your wound."

Nathaniel glanced at his own shoulder and back again.

"I did not realize you were behind me," Elizabeth finished.

"I was coming after you," Nathaniel said. "I should have thought that was clear enough. I need to talk to you," he paused. "About your schoolhouse."

Elizabeth looked away and made an effort to control her breathing, to steady her voice. "I doubt that there will be a school," she said. "The people here don't seem particularly interested in one."

"You give up easily."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I wouldn't have thought it of you, that you give up so easy. That little bit of ribbing at the trading post couldn't change your mind, if it was really set."

"I haven't given up," she said. "It's just—" She paused, and seeing that Nathaniel was not laughing at her, she continued more slowly. "It's just more complicated than I anticipated. It's not what I expected," she finished.

"You're not what they expected, either," Nathaniel said.

"And what did they expect?" she asked, although she was a little afraid of what Nathaniel might offer in reply.

"Not a bluestocking," he said lightly.

The term was not familiar to Elizabeth, but she sensed that it was not complimentary. "I expect that unmarried women who care little for fashion are what you call bluestockings," said Elizabeth.

"A spinster who teaches school is a bluestocking, in these parts," corrected Nathaniel. Before Elizabeth could comment, he continued: "They thought that a princess was coming, you see, the judge's daughter. Dressed in silks and satins, on the lookout for a rich husband. The doctor, most likely. Which ain't what they got—if it weren't for those fancy boots you could be a quaker, as simple as you dress. Since you won't be the spoiled princess they expected, they don't know what to do with you."

"I am so sorry to disappoint," Elizabeth snapped.

"On the contrary," Nathaniel said, producing a slow smile. "I ain't the least bit disappointed."

In a fluster, Elizabeth picked up her skirts in preparation for walking back uphill and caught sight of her boots: soft cordovan leather polished to a gleam, brass hooks, tassels, and delicate heels. Not sufficiently lined for the icy byroads of upper New—York State, her toes were informing her. Pretty boots: her one luxury and weakness.

"Don't go," he said behind her in a gentler tone. "I won't make light of your boots anymore."

Elizabeth came to a halt, wondering even as she did so why she should not go. Why she did not wish to go.

He said, "Folks will send their children to your school, but you got to have one first."

She had been ready to do battle, but Elizabeth found herself suddenly less angry than curious. She turned to him. "Do you think they'll come? I thought that I had ruined everything."

Nathaniel stepped back off the path to lean up against a tree trunk. Elizabeth noted, distracted, how big a man he was. There were many tall men in her family; uncle Merriweather dwarfed most in the neighborhood. She realized it was not so much his size but his gaze which truly disconcerted her, absolutely direct and without apology.

"Folks here're a little tougher than you might be used to, but they know an opportunity when they see one. Didn't the judge tell you that he hired me to build a schoolhouse for you?"