"You don't need to work so hard, Boots," he said softly. "I worry about you.

"Pah," she said, tweaking his ear. She took his hand and spread it across the slowly increasing curve of her stomach. "I'm as healthy as an ox."

"And just about as heavy." He grinned, wiggling underneath her.

Elizabeth yanked harder on his ear this time. "I shall remember that, Nathaniel Bonner, the next time you want me to sit on your lap." And with a little push she was up and away.

* * *

For the recital Anna Hauptmann promised five dozen doughnuts and a wheel of her good cheese; the Gloves, cider and ale enough for all; the other families, blessed with fewer material goods, pledged apple and pumpkin pies, corn fritters and baked beans. Curiosity announced that if she was making one cake, she might as well make two. The schoolchildren came to Lake in the Clouds by special invitation on the night before the recital to practice their singing, and to make popcorn balls, sampling extensively as they went.

There was much discussion of what to sing, in what order, and whether or not audience participation should be encouraged, or tolerated.

"Just try to keep our ma from singing," said Hezibah, licking her fingers.

"Not during "Barbry Allen'!" warned Jemima. ""Barbry Allen' is mine!"

"We'll make sure your mother has a full plate," Elizabeth suggested to the Glove girls. "So she won't feel compelled to sing along."

This made sense to Jemima, who went back to squeezing popcorn into tortured shapes.

"Is the judge coming?" asked Hannah.

"He is," confirmed Nathaniel from the corner where he was casting bullets. "Told me so himself." He raised a brow in Elizabeth's direction, seeing her frown. "I think you'll be surprised at the audience you get. It's the talk of the village, your recital. Do you think you'll have your mouth unglued by that time, Ephraim?"

Ephraim mumbled an answer through a great mass of molasses and popcorn.

"He don't know his poem yet," Henrietta announced primly. "I heard him trying to say it to Ma today, and he couldn't get past the third line. Maybe Dolly will have to say it for him."

Ephraim took a threatening step toward his sister, and Elizabeth caught him up neatly. "Well, then, you'll have to come to the schoolhouse in the afternoon and practice. If your mother can spare you. Could we possibly try "The Lass of Richmond Hill' now? All of us?"

Rudy McGarrity, blessed with his father's musical ear, provided the tone and the children were off at a great gallop, with cheerful enthusiasm if a notable lack of synchronization. They followed this with "Robin Adair" and concluded with a thunderous rendition of "Yankee Doodle." Outside, Hector and Blue raised their voices to sing along.

Elizabeth made a mental note to herself to make sure the dogs were securely tied up far away from the schoolhouse for the duration of the recital.

* * *

Paradise was a hardworking, no—nonsense kind of place for most of the year, not much given to taffy pulling or picnics. At first worried that folks would just ignore the school recital—something he did not know how to warn Elizabeth about—Nathaniel began to imagine what might come of excesses of hard cider, high spirits, and old grudges scraped newly raw. The combination of Polly's wedding and the school recital on the heels of a rushed but successful harvest was a powerful one, and he watched its approach as he would watch a dead tree in a windstorm, to see in what direction it might decide to fall.

The day arrived, and Paradise surprised him by turning out in its best. Jack MacGregor, a man known to spit at his own shadow when it got too close, showed up for the wedding in a regimental kilt so moth—eaten and dusty that it set half the village to sneezing; Charlie LeBlanc had invested in a top hat two sizes too small, and it perched on his pinkish skull like a hen at roost. Most of the men owned nothing more than two sets of buckskins, and had had to dig to the bottom of their trunks.

"Ain't seen the back of so many uniforms since we run the Tories out of Saratoga," announced Axel, drawing sharp glances from his daughter and a giggle from his grandchildren. "Schau Anna." He poked her with a long finger. "Ain't that the jacket Dubonnet wore to his own wedding? Must be ten year ago."

Even Billy Kirby had made an effort: his buckskin and his hair both approached something a man might call clean. There was no sign of Liam, or O'Brien. Nathaniel was glad of Bears, back up on the mountain to keep an eye on things.

The Bonners were barely settled in the pew behind the Hauptmanns when the service began. Yankees might be the kind to spend their free time in a church but Yorkers had other ideas, and Witherspoon knew his congregation and their worldly leanings: over the years he had learned to carve his services down to the bone.

Under the pitched roof the crowd generated a lot of heat. Elizabeth's color was high, and there was a sheen of sweat on her brow, but she smiled when Nathaniel caught her eye. Between them, Hannah hopped with excitement, until Many-Doves leaned over to give the child a pointed look. Many-Doves was getting a few looks herself: she didn't often come to the village, and people took note. He was not much given to prayer, but Nathaniel wondered if they could all get through this day without some help from Above.

In a new dress of deep green, cut generously so that she could move and breathe, Elizabeth listened to the ceremony, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the bride. Even above the rustling and coughing of an impatient congregation, she heard Polly's calm voice as she recited her vows; she wondered if she had sounded so composed, but at the moment she could remember nothing of her own wedding except a series of disjointed images, and the feel of her hands in Nathaniel's. This put her in mind of Mrs. Schuyler, which in turn raised the idea of aunt Merriweather; Hannah tugged on her skirt, rescuing her from her worries. The congregation was on its feet and singing. Polly and Benjamin were making their way down the aisle with Curiosity and Galileo just behind.