Willow bark tea and a quarter hour in the shade would be enough to set her right. With that thought Hannah realized that she had left her bag … where exactly? At home? She tried to remember when she had last had it, and in response the headache dug in its claws.

Ethan would go look for her, if she asked him. She could sit in the shade of the beech trees up ahead, and maybe she would sleep for ten minutes or twenty while he retrieved it. She needed some time to sort things through before she told Ethan the things she thought he needed to know. She knew Ethan as well as she knew anyone in her family, but she was unsure how he would react to Jemima’s threats.

What she really wanted was an hour with Ben, to sit down with him someplace quiet. He would listen and then they would talk, passing ideas back and forth, and in the end she would have a better understanding of the choices before her. But right now there was no time. Right now there was Ethan, who walked beside her, his hands crossed at the small of his back.

He had been a quiet, loving boy and he had grown into a good man. Thoughtful, observant, generous to a fault, but always at pains not to draw attention to himself. He had married Callie for reasons that were still unclear to Hannah, but those reasons were also none of her business. They made a good couple, Ethan’s even temper complementing Callie’s easily roused anger. If there was no obvious passion between them, then that was nothing unusual. She knew married couples who never even looked at each other in public, and who had five and six children—evidence enough that in the privacy of their homes they could give and accept affection.

Without any discussion Ethan turned onto a path that wound its way through the farmsteads to the far side of the village, and Hannah followed. The wind brought them the occasional faint sound of laughter, music, the shrieks of children at play. And the first rifle shots. The sharp-shooting had begun. Ben was going to compete again this year, and she had wanted to be there to watch him.

Ethan said, “There’s nothing you can say that will surprise me,” and Hannah came up out of her thoughts with a jerk. He was looking at her with an expression that said he would have answers to his questions.

“What is she threatening?”

There was no help for it; she could not contain Jemima’s seething anger, or protect her family from any of what was to come.

Hannah said, “It’s about Martha and Callie.”

“Go on.”

“That’s all I know. That’s all she said. It was just—the look on her face. As if she were cherishing the idea of doing Callie—and you—harm. But she said nothing of the why or how. Why should she hate you so much? At first I thought she was bluffing to get her way, but afterward I couldn’t stop thinking about that smug look…. You’ll think I’m imagining things.”

“Oh, no,” Ethan said. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“Then what is there to do?”

“One thing I am certain of,” Ethan said, “and that is that she stays where she is. Hannah, you can leave this to me now. I’ll speak to her. I’ll take Nicholas to see her too, so you need never step foot in that room.”

Hannah said, “I promised Callie I’d take the boy, and I want to keep my promise.”

“Fine,” Ethan said, and after a long moment: “Thank you for bringing this to me first.”

“Do you—do you have any idea what it is she’s talking about?”

“Maybe,” Ethan said, his expression both closed off and distant. “Can you leave this to me now?”

“I can try,” Hannah said. “I’d like to find Nicholas and get this over with.”

Ethan nodded. “The sooner the better.”

Chapter LX

Daniel told Martha the story as best he remembered it.

A hot summer afternoon, the sky clear overhead and he was a pathfinder, leading a family of settlers deep into the frontier. His face painted with clay and chalk as his uncle Runs-from-Bears had taught him. He had gone off trail because there was a war party of Huron nearby, and it was his responsibility to see that the settlers’ scalps stayed on their heads where they belonged. He had a tomahawk, the one carved by his grandfather Hawkeye with a handle painted red. He used it to cut through the underbrush, and then stopped when he heard a step behind him. Maybe Aunt Todd had let Ethan come out to play after all. That would be good; it was hard work to ambush a war party by yourself.

But then his sister stepped out onto the deer trail. His twin, determined as ever to have her part in his games, though she was a girl. It did no good to argue with Lily but if he worked at it he might lose her, and so Daniel let out a war whoop meant to startle her and ran off, pushing hard up the mountain, wondering if she would dare follow him if he went as far as Eagle Rock. When he glanced behind him she was there, breathing hard, a scratch across her cheek, her mouth set in a line that meant she would get the best of him if she could.

She kept up and never once asked him to slow down or stop. By the time they hit the first crest his lungs were burning and he knew hers must be on fire. He was already a head taller and hard-muscled, but she was smart and stubborn, and her size didn’t seem to slow her down. No matter what tricks he tried, she’d follow. Another time he could be proud of her, but just now he wished he could fly away and leave her behind, a little bit of a girl carrying a fistful of drawings. Drawings, in the bush.

She was three minutes behind at least when he came out of the bush just under Eagle Rock, a boulder as big as a cabin jutting out of the mountain. Standing on top you could see the whole world: the village and Aunt Todd’s house on the hill where Ethan had been kept indoors to help her write letters, and a hundred, a thousand mountains. They came here sometimes with Da or Grandda or Runs-from-Bears, but never from below, as he had come this time with Lily following. From below it was crazy dangerous. A steep shifting incline, covered in many inches of loose scree.