"She would have made it on her own," he said. "She's that tough. But she wouldn't have had a chance to heal, and now she does."

Otter looked thoughtful. "She is not proud of what she did," he said, and Nathaniel knew this was more of a question than a statement. Often he was called on to explain the way that white people thought and acted, when their ways mystified the Kahnyen’keháka. Otter was watching him, wanting to understand how this woman could take anything but pride in killing stronger enemy. But Nathaniel could not explain this to him in any way that he would understand, and after a while the younger man went away, as thoughtful and quiet as Nathaniel had ever seen him.

After he watched her sleep for a few more minutes, counting her breaths and measuring them against his own, Nathaniel woke Elizabeth. She was disoriented and flushed, but the silence between them was an easy one. When he told her about the canoe, she managed a smile.

"We can go home," she said. "When?"

"The canoe will need a good week," he said, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. "And I'll be stronger then, too."

"A week," she echoed, looking uncertain.

"Sitting still for a week goes against the grain, I know," he said. "If it can be managed in less, we'll do that."

"I suppose I shall cope," Elizabeth said.

"Aye." Nathaniel nodded. "I know that you will."

She sighed, and started up the riverbank. "Let us go look at this wondrous canoe, then."

Nathaniel caught her by the arm, and turned her to him.

"Elizabeth."

The gray of her eyes seemed lighter now that her skin had darkened in the sun. He traced the outline of her face, touched the dimple in her chin. Cupped her cheek, and then the back of her neck. "None of it would have mattered if you hadn't come back to me," he said, hearing the catch in his voice. And saw by some miracle that he had found the words to comfort her.

* * *

On a small stream a short walk away from the long houses they found the canoe maker and his apprentices hard at work, their naked upper bodies and legs streaked with grime and sweat. One of the boys alternately fed the fires and stirred a great kettle of what looked like a coiled mass of stringy rope.

"Spruce root for lacing," Nathaniel explained. Elizabeth, who as a child had willingly spent hours with the cook, the blacksmith, and the carpenter, stepped in closer to watch.

The second boy was holding two long ribs of wood at an angle in another kettle while the older man poured boiling water over them. While they watched, he dropped his ladle and took the ribs in both hands, stepping backward without looking to sit on a tree stump, where he began to work the wood back and forth over his knee. His whole concentration was on a single point in the wood, as if he could will it to bend. Suddenly his mouth turned down at one corner and then blossomed into a full—blown frown. With a sigh he took up a crooked knife, and began scraping at the wet wood.

"Not thin enough to give the right bend," Nathaniel explained. The canoe maker looked up at him and asked a question, which Nathaniel answered at length.

"That is not Mohawk," Elizabeth said, her tone slightly vexed.

"No," Nathaniel agreed. "Sturdy—Heart is Atirontaks. He came to live with the Kahnyen’keháka many years ago." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "He wants to see the gold."

"I suppose it would be impolite to refuse," Elizabeth said. With a little shake of her head she pulled the chain from inside her neckline and held it out. The boys came up close, so that Nathaniel spoke a soft word to them. Then the canoe maker came, too, and looked down at her face, rather than at the coin in her fingers. Elizabeth did not mind his close inspection, for there was an honest curiosity in him that disarmed irritation. He said something to her directly and then stood waiting for Nathaniel to translate it.

"He says he will build you a very good canoe."

"Ah, well," said Elizabeth with a half smile. "Then I suppose it was all worth the effort."

* * *

She slept again, and ate, and slept, and in between she talked to Nathaniel at great length. Sometimes she talked to him in her sleep, and woke to find him listening to her with an intent look on his face. They passed three days like this, seeing Robbie and Otter now and again but otherwise keeping to themselves. In the evening when the great fire was lit and the singing began, they retired with the youngest children and the oldest grandmothers. In a few days' time the village would celebrate the Strawberry Festival, which they would be obliged to join, Nathaniel told her. She agreed to this, but for the moment she sought to avoid both Todd and a conversation with the old woman.

Made—of—Bones came twice a day to feed Nathaniel infusions and to tend his wound, bringing along a steady dialogue which required no reply, and in fact would tolerate none. Elizabeth watched carefully and even asked a question on occasion, which seemed not to please the old woman, or to displease her, either.

With every passing day Elizabeth felt stronger and more sure of herself in the village, understanding a little more of the rhythms of the place, and a surprising amount of the language. She ate with huge and unapologetic appetite. Some of the Kahnyen’keháka food was unusual and she knew that in the past she would have surely turned away from it; in fact, her affronted stomach could not always keep it down. At night she sometimes woke with hunger pangs, but with Nathaniel's heartbeat in her ear and the smells and sounds of the Kahnyen’keháka all around her, she would sleep again, at ease.