On the tenth morning there was a heavy rain falling. The others seemed not to mind the weather, going on about the business of preparing for the Strawberry Festival, which was planned for the next day, but bringing in some work that was normally done out of doors. Elizabeth had had enough of rain, and was content to stay under the roof.

Made—of—Bones had assigned one of her granddaughters, a serious young woman by the name of Splitting—Moon, to look after their needs. She brought them food, offering the bowls with downturned eyes and few words. Other young women had soon begun to find excuses to come by and talk to Elizabeth, in short and sometimes awkward conversations, but Splitting—Moon had nothing to say to her. Sometimes, when she looked up, Elizabeth found the younger woman watching her.

This morning she accepted a bowl of beans and cornmeal bread from Splitting—Moon, who barely acknowledged Elizabeth's thanks and did not meet Nathaniel's eye at all.

"Nathaniel?" Elizabeth asked thoughtfully when she had gone. "Splitting—Moon doesn't go out to the fields with the other women?"

He glanced up from his food and shrugged his shoulders. "Made—of—Bones is training her as Ononkwa," he said. Medicine woman. "She spends her time gathering herbs and roots and whatever else she and He—Who—Dreams need for medicines."

"I am afraid we are a burden to her. Should I offer to help with her work?" Elizabeth had been grinding corn for the last days, an unskilled task she could do while talking to Nathaniel.

"I don't think it will set her more at ease, if that's your intention."

"Her silence does unsettle me a bit. Is it me she minds serving, do you think?"

Nathaniel had an uneasy look about him. "It's got nothing to do with you, Boots. Or at least not directly. It's me she's uncomfortable with. There's some history between us," he finished.

Elizabeth had a sudden unwelcome memory of Jack Lingo, and his claims about Nathaniel. She put her bowl down. "What do you mean by 'history,’ exactly?"

She had the surprised satisfaction—for there was no other word—of watching Nathaniel become flustered. "It don't mean a thing, anymore. But a few years back I brought Falling—Day and Many-Doves up here to visit, and I spent some time with Splitting—Moon. She wasn't happy when I left."

Nathaniel lowered his voice, and his eyes. "I was lonely, you see. It had been a few years since Sarah, and I suppose I let my guard down." He cleared his throat and looked up at her. "To be truthful, I ain't especially proud of the whole thing. She did me a good turn, but she wanted things from me couldn't give her."

Elizabeth considered this information, and found herself strangely detached from it, with only the vaguest stirring of jealousy. The serious young woman with her straight back and beautiful, glowing skin had shared Nathaniel's bed, and had at one time thought to claim him. But he had left her, and gone back to Paradise to live without the company of a woman.

"And you? Were you happy to leave?"

He was watching her face closely. "I like it here, but I was ready to move on home."

"And I'm glad that you did," she said simply. He smiled at her, and then his face clouded again.

"It ain't kind of Made—of—Bones to make her spend so much time near us," he said. He seemed to be on the verge of telling her more, but voices rose suddenly at the far end of the long house and three young boys appeared. They ran, dodging fires and tools and children at play, to come to a breathless halt in front of the clan mother's fire. The old woman and Splitting—Moon had been sorting through baskets of dried plants, but Made—of—Bones looked up at the boys with a kind of irritable affection, and allowed them to speak.

Their story was told in three voices, simultaneously. Elizabeth had caught only isolated words when a translation became unnecessary, for a group of men had appeared at the bearskin door. The tallest and foremost of them was a frightening sight, with hooded eyes and a ragged scar which ran from his scalp down the left side of his face. His head was shaved for war, and like the scout, scalps hung on his belt. He was every horror tale that had ever been told about Indians, and then he grinned and produced two dimples which belied the impression entirely.

Nathaniel was rising, with a smile of his own. "Spotted—Fox," he said. "And his trading party, back from albany. They brought us out of the bush." He glanced at Elizabeth apologetically. "I have to—”

“Go on," she said. "I understand." But Nathaniel was already gone.

* * *

The village erupted into a new kind of activity. The men had come back from trading the winter's furs, their canoes loaded with provisions of all kinds. There was a profusion of materials to sort out and store according to the instructions of the three clan mothers, as well as the Strawberry Festival on the next day. Young people had been assigned the gathering of the fruit, and it seemed impossible to step anywhere without danger of putting a foot into a basket of strawberries. They were being crushed for juice, and the heavy, sweet scent hung in the air.

Nathaniel came to find Elizabeth as soon as he could remove himself from the storytelling of the traders. He found her grinding corn, with Robbie at her side and the red dog at her feet. She looked up at him with her eyes softly shining, and Nathaniel felt a familiar stirring. They had not come together since the day Joe died, three weeks ago now. It seemed like much longer. In the night the smell of her had often pulled him aroused and eager from his sleep, but thus far he had resisted his growing need. She was still very fragile and easily startled, and content with kisses. Although he thought that soon she would want more.