“No?”

The boy said, “A visitor comes and goes away again. I don’t think we are going away.”

Martha turned because she couldn’t govern her expression. She could only hope that the boy was mistaken; the idea of Jemima settling permanently in Paradise was more than she could face, just now. She reminded herself that to do so, Jemima would have to purchase land, which required more than money.

Unless, of course, she was assuming she had the right to make a home for herself at the orchards.

All Callie’s attention and concentration were on the boy. For one moment Martha imagined Callie striking out; she would use her fist like a hammer. The image was so strong that she shifted, but only Ethan turned to look at her.

Callie’s eyes were fever bright. She was saying, “Do you know who I am? Does the name Callie mean anything to you?”

That angelic smile spread across his face. “My sister?”

“That’s right,” Callie said. Her voice wavered and caught. “That is exactly right.”

Chapter XLV

Birdie stood in the open doorway of the classroom and hoped no one would send her away. This was far too important and interesting a meeting and the details needed to be recorded. Grown-ups always got things wrong when it fell to them to tell such stories, and so it was up to her. Strangely enough, it seemed as though Callie took one look at Jemima’s son and knew right off who he was. All the worry and doubt of the last few days, people wondering out loud what kind of trick Jemima was trying to play, and then this simple end because Callie looked at Nicholas and saw her father.

Birdie had asked both her ma and da if there was a resemblance, and neither of them had been sure enough to say. Curiosity had been a little clearer. She raised a shoulder and let it fall.

“Could be,” she said. “Might not be.”

And so Birdie had gone to Lily, who had the best memory for faces of all of them.

Lily said, “I have more than one drawing of Nicholas Wilde in a box somewhere.”

“Could you draw him again, without the old pictures?”

She looked surprised. “You want me to draw him now?”

“I thought you’d have his face by heart.”

That made Lily smile. She caught up her little sister’s hand and pulled her down so she could kiss her cheek. “There is only room for so many faces on a person’s heart.”

“But Hannah says you were sweet on Nicholas when you were my age. You wanted to marry him. Why are you laughing?”

Lily bit her lip and then tried to govern her expression. “I’m sorry, Birdie. I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing to hear that Hannah still recalls that conversation. She was so irritated with me for going on about Nicholas Wilde.”

“But didn’t you love him?”

“In a small way, I suppose I did. But it was a love without foundation and so it couldn’t grow.”

“And then he married Jemima.”

“Yes,” Lily said. “I was very insulted at the time, but not for any good reason. Tell me again why you are so interested in my drawings of Nicholas. Does it have to do with Jemima’s son?”

Birdie plopped down on the stool beside the divan and let out a deep breath. “I thought maybe we could see if the boy looks like Nicholas. If he does, maybe the gossip and talking will stop.”

“You feel bad for the boy?”

“Yes,” Birdie said. “Hardly anybody has even spoke a word to him and they’re taking him apart already like a Christmas turkey.”

“You do realize,” Lily said slowly, “that even if there is a strong resemblance, people might not admit to seeing it.”

“But we’ll never know one way or the other without the drawing.”

“And I suppose the drawings I gave to Callie were lost in the flood.”

“With everything else.”

Lily said, “I tell you what, let me talk to some other people and see what they think. If everyone agrees the drawings would be some help, I’ll give you leave to sort through all my boxes to find them. What will you do if it turns out the boy looks nothing like Nicholas Wilde?”

Birdie said, “I don’t know.”

“Exactly,” said her sister. “Exactly that is the problem.”

Birdie had thought about that for a long time. She tried to imagine what Callie would see when she looked at the boy who was supposed to be her half brother. If she was capable of seeing him at all. Martha was less of a worry to her. Martha would take her time making up her mind, because that was her way.

And then at recess she had come out to play with her head full of algebra, and there he was, playing with the other boys as if he had grown up right here in Paradise. They had worked Hopper into such a frenzy that the pup had finally collapsed, and now he slept tucked into Nicholas Wilde’s shirt.

Birdie said, “You’ve got a way with animals, Nicholas.”

He stopped just where he was and smiled at her. “Do I? I like them. Would you like to play?” And without waiting for an answer he threw her the ball. This was a good sign; the boys tended to be possessive about such things and reluctant to include girls.

She caught it with one hand—she was a Bonner, after all—and for the last five minutes of recess they talked while they threw the ball back and forth. By the time the bell rang Birdie hadn’t discovered anything that might help understand what Jemima wanted or why she had sent the boy to school, but she did know something important about the boy himself. He was what Curiosity called a gentle soul, someone who lived in the world but was not really part of it. Someone without the ability to see danger coming, and even lacking the most basic instincts to protect himself.