"I've got the feeling you've had another idea," he said dryly.

"Many-Doves ," Elizabeth said.

"Many-Doves needs no schooling."

"No, but she could help me teach. And Hannah wouldn't be alone, coming and going."

Elizabeth began to pace the room again, looking at it more closely. "We need tables, but that's not hard, is it?" She whirled suddenly to find Nathaniel directly before her. Wound up in her new plans, she forgot to be nervous of him; presented with the possibility of her school opening very soon, she forgot, just for the moment, about kissing Nathaniel.

"Don't say no," she said. "Please, not right away. Think about it. It would be right to have her here. Little girls are kept away from the things that would make them strong, in the name of protection and propriety." She paused. "I came here hoping to change that, at least for one small place. Don't stop me before I've started, please, Nathaniel."

He nodded. "I promise to think about it."

Elizabeth's face, bright with excitement, suddenly shifted: her eyes drifted down to his mouth, and she looked away.

"Nathaniel." She raised her head and focused all her attention on him. "What began between us—out there. It is not a good idea."

"You're lying," he responded in a congenial tone, but his eyes were glittering, a feral gleaming. "You think it a very good idea."

Flustered, Elizabeth tried to draw her thoughts together. "I don't know what you want of me."

"You do know," he said calmly. "You know very well what I want of you. What you don't know is what you want of me."

Elizabeth stood shaken by the truth of it, unable at first to look at him. She could acknowledge that he was right and risk the discussion that would follow, or she could lie to him. She could force herself to meet his gaze; with enough willpower, she could steel her heart against him and tell him she knew what she wanted, and that it was not him. But it would be a lie, and she could not bear to lie to him. He deserved the truth, and she could give him no less. Elizabeth swallowed hard, and found that for once in her life words had deserted her.

"Don't tie yourself in knots," he said gently, and she flinched at this, at how easily he could read her thoughts and moods. He leaned toward her, touching her with nothing but his words. "I won't put a hand on you ever again unless you ask me to," he said. "But know this, Elizabeth. You will get what you ask for. So think hard about it first."

He opened the door and went out of the cabin ahead of her.

When Elizabeth emerged a few minutes later, Nathaniel was busy strapping on his snowshoes with economical and quick movements.

"I said more than I meant to," he said, gesturing for her boot so he could strap on her shoes. "I have to ask you not to talk about the thievery at Lake in the Clouds to anybody at all." For once when he looked at her, he was unguarded and she saw the full force of the rage generated by the threat to his home and family. The hope came to Elizabeth, in passing, never to see such fury directed toward herself.

* * *

They were coming down through the last wooded section before the outermost clearings when Nathaniel pulled up short and gestured to Elizabeth to be still. There was a crackling from the path ahead, and then Richard Todd came around the corner, with Billy Kirby just behind him. They were talking in low tones when Billy saw Nathaniel and stopped.

"Hail!" called Richard, looking up. "Hail, Elizabeth! G'd day, Nathaniel."

Nathaniel nodded. "You two out for a walk in the snow?"

"Another storm coming," said Billy. "We can see her home from here."

Elizabeth looked at Nathaniel and thought how strange it was that his face, so animated when he spoke to her, so capable of showing his feelings, could show nothing at all when he wished it, when he needed it so. He might look at me like that someday, she thought. And Elizabeth was stunned to find out something about herself, to recognize what she feared most of all: not Nathaniel's passion, or his anger, but his indifference. That he might take her at her word and believe the foolish things she had said to him in the cabin. It's not a good idea. Suddenly Elizabeth wished Richard Todd and Billy Kirby far away; if she could just talk to Nathaniel by herself, if she could just touch him, she thought, at this moment she could say things to him she had once—even this very day—thought herself incapable of.

He was turning toward her. She imagined a flicker at the corner of his eye.

"I'll say my farewells, then," he said. "Elizabeth, I'll be by in the next week or so, if you want to come along and see the foundations of the school. Weather permitting."

Richard was watching her closely over Nathaniel's shoulder. "Yes, that would be very good. Thank you for your help, Nathaniel. And—you'll think about Hannah, won't you?"

"I'll do that. And do mark, if you've got a yearning for apples, you only need to ask."

Richard and Billy could not see Nathaniel's expression, but Elizabeth could, and she struggled not to let her face respond in kind.

With a murmur of thanks and farewell she brushed past Nathaniel and joined Richard Todd and Billy Kirby. When Elizabeth looked back, Nathaniel was already lost in the forest.

"Did the old woman make a crumble?" asked Billy.

She turned to him. "What?"

"Did Hawkeye's squaw make apple crumble?" he asked. "I'm mighty fond of it myself."