Daniel and Blue-Jay had served under him in the militia and they had seen him fight, but they kept those stories to themselves, out of simple respect and because the conversations at the Red Dog amused them.

Uz Brodie, who served as Bookman’s unofficial sheriff and stand-in, had fought in the same war, but on the other side of the border. A fact that nobody seemed to remember at all, which was all you needed to know about him, Daniel’s father had said more than once. There wasn’t a British bone in the man’s body, and he was quick to help a neighbor.

The idea that these two would have the running of the hearing was the only thing that could keep Daniel’s worry within bounds. And still he was preoccupied enough that Martha had to call his name more than once.

They were picking strawberries, so fragrant and full of juice that their hands were stained a deep red.

“The idea is to have something to take to Jennet,” Martha reminded him. “Which means you should stop eating every berry you pick.” She was short with him, and had been since she woke. When Betty came to start the day’s chores Martha had found it hard to speak even a whole sentence, though Betty brought the news that Jennet was safely delivered of a son.

“They’ve named him after his father,” Betty said. “Luke Alasdair Scott Bonner. And why a boy needs so many names, that I’ll never understand.”

At that Martha just walked away.

Betty was a Ratz and so she knew more about short tempers than most; in fact, Daniel realized, she probably didn’t recognize Martha’s temper for what it was. In any case she went about her business as cheerfully as ever.

Part of the problem was that Martha didn’t want to go to the hearing at Lake in the Clouds; she had made that clear enough. She had also made it very clear that she would go, no matter how many logical reasons Daniel offered to stay away.

He picked up his pace, and resisted the urge to remind her that they needn’t visit Jennet and her newborn today either. Tomorrow would be soon enough, or the day after.

The trick, his father had told him, was to know when to let a woman be mad because she had a right to it. This was one of those times.

They saddled the horses and by ten they were crossing the bridge into the village. It was a perfect summer’s day, not yet hot enough to be uncomfortable, and it seemed that everyone was out of doors. A good number of those were cleaning up after the Fourth of July party, laughing and talking among themselves as they worked. When Martha passed they paused and then dropped their gazes.

So word had spread, then, as they had known it must. He wondered how many of them would come to Lake in the Clouds this afternoon. Baldy and Missy O’Brien would be the first through the door, no doubt. Set on getting their names on the record and making as big a fuss as possible.

Sometimes you have to settle in and wait. That was another piece of advice from his father. What he hadn’t said was, sometimes a man didn’t have a choice.

What Martha wanted, what she needed most of all, was an hour alone with Curiosity. By the time they got as far as Downhill House, she had worked up the courage to say as much to Daniel, only to discover that she had worried about his feelings for nothing. He was neither hurt nor rejected; on the contrary, he was distinctly relieved. Why she should be irritated with him because she had failed to offend him, that was too confusing a question for the moment.

Instead she turned her attention to Jennet and her new son, and said all the things that were required of her. She stopped just short of pronouncing him a beautiful child, and Jennet caught her hesitation.

“He looks like a crabbit auld man,” Jennet volunteered. “With his bald pate and empty gums and that scowl. You’d think he was the one who did all the work.” She had a whole slew of unflattering things to say, but every word was spoken in so soft and caressing a tone that the baby only blinked at her, entranced already.

After the little people had been congratulated, Daniel went off to find Luke, and Martha was finally free to seek out Curiosity.

She found her in her garden, sitting on a low stool and pulling up the first of the carrots. Curiosity smiled her slow smile, the one that said she had been expecting you and she knew why you had come even if you didn’t know yourself.

In the bright sunlight Curiosity looked her age, and more. Her face was as lined as a map folded a hundred times too many, and there were deep hollows in her cheeks. She looked as tired as Martha had ever seen her, a thought that made the knot in her belly pull tighter. Jemima might be dying, but Curiosity could not.

Martha said, “Are you unwell?”

“Help me up,” Curiosity said, holding out one arm. “Let’s you and me talk a while.”

It took all her self-control to contain herself until Curiosity was settled in the kitchen, and then Martha asked the question again. It earned her only an amused shake of the head.

“I’m as well as any old woman who spent most of the night at a difficult birthing. Were you wanting to talk about my health? I thought me not.”

“You heard, then. About last night.”

“Oh, ayuh, I heard. Nathaniel told me early this morning when he came by to see his newest grandbaby.”

“He told you about the—” Martha hesitated, and Curiosity sent her a sharp look.

“About the hearing. Yes, he did. Come on out with it, girl. Say what’s on your mind.”

“I don’t want there to be a hearing,” Martha said. And in a rush of words she could not have stopped, she said all the things she had been holding back.