"No," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. "Otter said nothing of this. He mentioned Richard very little."

Nathaniel looked concerned. "The boy bears watching," he said finally. "Stone—Splitter wouldn't be pleased if he took vengeance on Todd, not here and now."

"I made Richard a promise," she said, more to herself than to Nathaniel.

He grunted, as if to save himself the trouble of disagreeing.

Pausing while he caught his breath, Elizabeth had time to look around her. The village was as large and ordered a community as any farming village in England, with every adult she could see at work. A trio of young girls about Hannah's age were clustered together under a young birch tree, stripping dried corn from cobs, each of them working with what looked to be the jawbone of a deer, teeth intact. They had been chattering with great abandon, but when Elizabeth and Nathaniel came into hearing distance they giggled, and fell still.

"Nathaniel!" Otter materialized out of a crowd of young men examining a gun—Elizabeth saw with some discomfort that it was Lingo's rifle—and came at them at a trot. Robbie was just behind him, his great rosy face beaming and Treenie at his side. The dog greeted Elizabeth with great joy, took unenthusiastic note of Nathaniel, and then calmly positioned herself on Elizabeth's free side.

"You see?" she asked him. "The red dog."

He grinned at her. "Aye, Boots. I see plain enough."

"By God, man," Robbie said, clapping him on a shoulder. "Ye canna be left alone wi'oot callin' a' the trouble i' the world doon on your thick heid."

For the moment Elizabeth was content to stand and listen as Otter spoke of home, and how he had left them. She saw Nathaniel's concentration and his slowly growing alarm as he listened to Otter's story of how he came to be in the bush at all, but Elizabeth was suddenly very sleepy and could not concentrate on this involved tale of an Indian called Little—Turtle who lived to the west.

She stifled an expansive yawn.

"Did ye need mair sleep, lass?" Robbie asked, and then produced one of his blushes. It occurred to Elizabeth that his Kahnyen’keháka name had something to do with the blossoming of flowers, and she felt a great wave of affection for the man, which she showed by brushing some of the accumulated muck from his sleeve.

"Nathaniel and I thought to go down to the river."

"Ach, weel," said Robbie, slapping Otter on the back. "We mun be on our way. Tae see aboot a canoe. Or wad ye rather walk back tae Paradise, experienced woods woman that ye are?" He winked at Elizabeth and turned away without waiting for a response, whistling for Treenie to follow. The dog trotted off with an apologetic glance at Elizabeth.

Otter hesitated. "I won't be going back with you."

Nathaniel grimaced. "That's a discussion for another time," he said. "Right now Elizabeth and I have business."

Elizabeth looked down to find a very young boy tugging on the long fringe which bordered her overdress. He gulped hard and giggled a high, sweet tone. Then, seeing that Elizabeth was not in a frame of mind to eat him whole or otherwise bewitch him, he rattled off what seemed to be a question in a torrent punctuated by the soft whistle of his breath.

"I don't understand." Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders at him regretfully.

Nathaniel shooed the child off with a few words and then he took Elizabeth's hand. The rope burns on her wrist were scabbed over, and Nathaniel looked hard at them.

"He wanted to see the ghost coin," he said evenly. Elizabeth could see in his eyes that he knew most of what she would tell him. When she tried to look away, he pulled her closer, and leaned down to speak into her ear. "Come on, then," he said softly. "Let's get it done with. It won't go away on its own." He lifted her hand higher, turned it this way and that.

"Your wedding ring."

"He took it." Her tone was hollow, but there was a flash in her eyes: anger, and desperation. "Lingo took it, and I couldn't find it—after."

"We'll get another one," Nathaniel said.

"No." She shook her head. "I don't want another one. I want that one."

And she walked off toward the river with her husband close behind, to tell him what he needed to know.

* * *

Otter and Robbie spent their morning negotiating with Aweryahsa about the cost of the fine birch bark canoe he had just begun to build, and having come to an understanding, Otter went to fetch Nathaniel and Elizabeth to get their approval.

"You can come see it. If you've got the inclination," Otter added, politely looking away. He had found them stretched out in the sun on the riverbank, Elizabeth asleep with her head in Nathaniel's lap and her face blotchy and streaked with tears.

Nathaniel looked up at him, this young man he had known all of his life. He had had a hand in the raising of him, and at this moment, he was especially proud to be able to claim that.

"We'll be up directly," he said quietly.

Otter nodded, and turned to go.

"Wait." Nathaniel looked out over the flowing river, seeking the words he needed there.

"What you did for her I can't ever repay," he said. "Although I will surely do my best."

"I didn't do anything for her you wouldn't have done yourself." Otter pointed out. "Nothing I wouldn't have done for my sister."

Nathaniel was silent. He watched Elizabeth breathing for a long minute.