They talked about everything. He told her family stories, sad and funny and outrageous, about his grandfather Hawkeye, his own adventures on the mountain as a boy, the time in the militia before he was shot and captured. The time in the garrison at Nut Island. He talked about his injury, and gave her extracts to read from books on anatomy and medicine, so that she would have a better understanding of the damage to his shoulder, and what it meant.

He told her the story he had heard from Lily about Gabriel Oak and his grandmother. It was hard to believe that Elizabeth’s parentage was as unorthodox as Martha’s, but it made her feel closer to her mother-in-law.

“She should have been Elizabeth Oak,” Martha said, and Daniel looked directly surprised at that suggestion.

She told him more about the years she had lived alone with Jemima in the old mill house. Things she hadn’t allowed herself to think about swam up out of the dark and Daniel listened while they sat together on the porch, his fingers laced through her own.

Elizabeth went to Albany and took Birdie with her, and for that week Martha went more often to Uphill House to help Jennet and visit with Lily. She sat with Nathaniel and Simon and Luke while they ate supper and listened to tall tales that made her laugh until her sides hurt and she wept tears.

Every third day Hannah came with her box of needles. Sometimes Birdie came along and sometimes Hannah brought her youngest, and Martha sat outside with him until Hannah had finished. Simon was a sturdy, cheerful child who was very serious about learning to crawl. Martha’s courses came again and for all her affection for the little people, she was relieved. She wanted to remember this summer exactly as it was; she wanted to keep Daniel to herself for a while at least.

In the normal course of things she would have spent a year or more learning about him before they ever entertained a serious thought about marriage. He would have come to call on her, and they would have gone for walks and buggy rides, and little by little they would have given in to the attraction between them. She said this to him and he laughed at the idea outright.

“You think either of us could have waited a year?”

“Well, yes,” Martha said. “Or at least, I could have.”

He raised one eyebrow, which was his way of calling her less than truthful.

“You have a high opinion of your powers of seduction,” she said.

“Oh, I would have had my work cut out for me,” he said as he pulled the brush down the length of her hair. “But I imagine we would have had a good time, both of us.”

It made no sense to argue with Daniel about these things—mostly, Martha admitted to herself, because he was more comfortable with the subject matter, and worse, he was usually right. And still, he did ask her thoughts and listen when she gave them. He valued her opinion, and he trusted her.

Martha understood the full measure of his trust the day he emptied his satchel out in front of her. Nothing there was much of a surprise: whetstone, handkerchief, string, compass, the stub of a pencil, a folding of paper covered with notes, and neatly trimmed newspaper clippings held together by a pin. The only item that gave her pause was a tightly wound ball of yarn that smelled of lanolin. Before she could think to ask him about it, he had taken it up and begun to squeeze it rhythmically with his injured hand.

After a few minutes sweat appeared on his brow and ran in rivulets down his face, but his expression was resolute and he continued on, looking neither left nor right, looking at nothing at all except whatever goal it was he set for himself.

She wondered if anyone knew he did this, and what Hannah would say. In the end she only brought him a cup of water and a damp rag to wipe his face. It was an hour before Daniel came back to himself, and then he spoke to her about the window sashes they expected any day, and how good it would be to have the renovations to the house done.

The next day Hannah came alone, and Martha stayed close by to watch. Daniel stretched out on the table, bare to the waist, so his sister could work on his back and shoulders and on the arm that had never healed. She worked in companionable silence, only stopping now and then to talk to Martha about what she had before her, as if Daniel were the subject of an anatomy lesson.

For the most part Martha kept her questions to herself. She wanted to know if Daniel thought the treatments might be helping, if the pain came less often, if he was feeling hopeful. But now was not the time to ask such things; maybe there would never be a good time unless Daniel raised the subject himself.

Hannah left, and they went to the spot on the stream where Daniel had killed the timber rattler. They spent the rest of the afternoon in the sun, napping or talking. Sometimes Daniel read aloud to her while she made flower crowns for both of them and for Hopper, who was growing fast out of puppyhood but still insisted on chasing every insect and inspecting every rustle in the grass.

Every few days Martha went into the village to the trading post. It seemed now certain that no one would ever call it the emporium or anything but the trading post, regardless of how big a sign the Mayfairs nailed in place. She stopped to talk to almost everyone she met, and realized one day that she had lost her reserve. She was too busy to be shy, too happy to be self-conscious. Even the sight of Baldy O’Brien’s scowl couldn’t stay with her for long.

The only worry was Callie, who seemed ever more distant and preoccupied. She and Ethan had begun building a new house in the orchards—far too big and fancy for Paradise, according to the O’Briens—with room for both the Misses Thicke and for Nicholas too.

Nicholas was so much a part of the village already that Martha wondered if he ever thought of his other life. The urge to ask him about that life she had been able to keep to herself. So many questions that had to go without answer.