"Going to fetch the judge and Mr. Witherspoon," she said, pulling up her hood.

Elizabeth held out both palms in a gesture which pleaded for good news.

"Kitty held up fine."

"The child?"

"Alive, right now, breathing better than Mama thought he would."

"Thank God," Elizabeth murmured.

"Amen," said Daisy, and she closed the door softly behind her.

Elizabeth went into the other room to be introduced to her nephew. Cradled in the crook of Kitty's arm, he looked like an undersized and ill—proportioned doll.

"Meet young Master Middleton," Curiosity said, wiping her neck with linen square. Cocky as a banty rooster, but a sight smaller."

Kitty looked up wearily. With some obvious effort, she focused on Elizabeth.

"I did it," she said. "I didn't think I could, but I did."

"Yes," Elizabeth agreed, not trusting herself to say much more. From Martha she accepted a cup of tea, but she could not take her eyes away from the child. Her brother's son.

Kitty touched the baby's cheek with one tentative finger. "Will he live?"

Curiosity drew in a deep breath.  "If he's kept warm—there's precious little fat on him—and fed regular, and if God is kind, why then, yes, I'd say he's got a chance," she said slowly. "But it'll be a struggle, and not all of it is in your hands."

The child mewled, his tiny fists working into his cheeks.

A knock at the door, and both Curiosity and Elizabeth turned to see Runs-from-Bears come in and close the door behind him against the storm. He was drenched with rain and mud—streaked; over his arm was Elizabeth's cloak of boiled wool, and he carried her walking boots. With some surprise she looked down and realized that she was barefoot, and had been since she left Lake in the Clouds the night before.

He greeted Curiosity with a nod, and then turned his attention to Elizabeth.

"Nathaniel sends word." He spoke Kahnyen’keháka. "You must come, now."

The smile on her face faded. "More trouble?"

"All of our people are whole," he said. "But come, there is no time to waste."

Elizabeth knew that no amount of questioning would get information from Bears that he was not ready to give, and so she did not try to talk to him on the way up the mountain. He had come on horseback, which made it clear how urgent this errand was; Runs-from-Bears disliked horses and would walk almost anywhere. He helped her up behind him and took off, and Elizabeth was immediately glad of his solid form in front of her, for he took the brunt of the cold, wet wind. As they crossed the strawberry fields the cloud cover broke up to reveal a quarter moon, a smudge of light in brooding dark sky.

Nathaniel was waiting for them on the porch of his father's cabin, and she walked into his arms. He held her for a moment, but he could not hide his distraction and tension.

"Kitty? The child?"

"Both alive, but the boy is very small," she said. "Curiosity seems to think he may live. Have you got somebody in there?" Elizabeth asked, peering around him.

He rubbed his eyes. "Aye," he said. "Liam, in a sorry state."

Nathaniel caught her by the shoulders, shaking his head.

"No, Boots. He ain't dying."

"Did he—was he—" She could barely collect her thoughts.

"He says he'll only talk to you." Nathaniel's fingers pressed into her shoulders. "Elizabeth. Listen now, because we don't have much time. Bears found the boy beat up and unconscious on the north face of the mountain. He had McGarrity and O'Brien with him at the time."

The north face of the mountain. Wild and steep and dangerous; Elizabeth had only seen it from above. The north face of Hidden Wolf, where the entrance to the silver mine was.

"Half the village is up there now, looking for Billy."

She squared her shoulders. "I'll talk to him," she said. "And see what he knows. Is Hannah in there, too?"

"She was, but Falling—Day sent her off to bed. Though I doubt she's asleep."

"Just as well," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. "I may have need of her help."

The first thing she noticed was Hannah, peering down from the sleeping loft. And then Liam, on the cot where Chingachgook had died. Many-Doves looked up at her and blinked a greeting.

She had wondered, through the first long hours of Kitty's labor, why she was not angrier. Her brother had died needlessly; her stepdaughter had barely escaped with her life. The schoolhouse and all the books and materials collected over such a long time, the children's work, all of it gone. But she had not been able to find any anger in herself. When the thought of Billy Kirby had come to her, it was as though he were a stranger, someone she had seen once long ago. She could not even remember the sound of his voice, or his face.

Looking at Liam, so like his brother, Elizabeth felt a small flame of anger flicker and begin to burn in the hollow place beneath her ribs.

Falling—Day had splinted Liam's left leg below the knee, and bound his wrist. Between crisscrossed bandages his chest was bruised into a dark rainbow. But his face was the worst: a lumpy mass of spongy flesh, his lower lip mangled. Elizabeth touched his shoulder, and he jerked.

"Liam," she said softly. "Who did this to you?"

He tried to turn his face toward her, but caught himself with a strangled cry.

"Don't, please. I'm right here. Who did this to you?"