For once Bookman looked taken aback. “O’Brien told me all records had been lost in the flood.”

“Which is true, no doubt. But I had a second set made at the time. My husband thought I was being overly fastidious—Nathaniel, you must admit you didn’t see the need—but I doubted Mr. O’Brien’s ability to keep such records safe. You must correct me if I’m wrong, but I suspect he offered you his memory of the proceedings as fact.”

Bookman cocked a brow. “You doubt his memory too?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

He inclined his head. “I should have time to read this before the hearing. If that’s all?”

“There is one more thing we need to talk to you about,” Nathaniel said. “Boots, don’t look so surprised. I see the roadblocks just as clear as you do.”

“What roadblocks are you talking about?” Bookman said. He was rifling through the papers with considerable interest.

“Jemima has a long history in Paradise,” Nathaniel said. “You’ve heard the stories. What we’re worried about is people who’ll show up because they’ve got some score to settle and want to be heard.”

“You object to that?”

“At the hearing this afternoon, yes. As far as I’m concerned you can have a hearing every day, one for every man jack in Paradise who has a bone to pick with Jemima. But today we’d appreciate it if you could keep things focused on Levi’s complaint.”

“I can’t turn people away from a public hearing,” Bookman said. “In fact I was just on my way to ask John Mayfair if he’d come to serve as her counsel.”

“That’s a fine idea,” Nathaniel said. “Nobody will accuse John of favoritism. Beyond that, we’re not asking you to close the hearing.”

“Then what did you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure,” Nathaniel said. “But my wife has an idea. Don’t you, Boots?”

She gave him a sour look. Later he’d get an earful about his methods, but the truth was they depended on each other in situations like this.

Elizabeth said, “Of course the hearing must be open,” she said. “Have you made it public yet? Provided any details?”

“I have. Four o’clock at Lake in the Clouds, is what I gave people to understand.”

“Very good,” Elizabeth said. “Then here is my suggestion: May the principal parties plan to see you there at three?”

Bookman’s expression was half surprise and half admiration.

“I think that could be arranged,” he said.

“Then we’ll leave you to your reading,” Nathaniel said, taking Elizabeth by the arm. “And be on our way.”

When Martha and Daniel started home just before noon storm clouds were beginning to muscle their way into the Sacandaga valley. Below the lowering thunderheads the light took on the odd cast of copper touched with green, the kind of light some people called gloaming. It made every tree stand out from its neighbor, and every leaf on those trees began to twist and flutter in the wind, as fitful as anxious children. It seemed as though the clouds were leaching the heat from the sky, so that flesh slick with sweat just minutes before suddenly rose in gooseflesh.

The only thing Martha had wanted just a half hour earlier was her own bed and sleep; now she was fully awake and aware. The horses tossed their heads anxiously and nickered to each other.

Daniel picked up the pace as the first fat raindrops began to fall, and then again when the wind shifted and brought a scattering of hail that stung face and hands. Just when Martha began to worry that the horses might really bolt, they came into the center of the village. Daniel rode straight for the livery behind the blacksmithy, hardly slowing as he passed through the double doors.

He was on the ground in a single leap, reaching out to grab Abel’s harness with calming words. Martha took that opportunity to dismount and then nearly staggered, her knees were shaking so.

The hail drumming on the tin roof made so much noise that they would have to raise their voices to be heard, so instead they went to stand side by side in the open doors and watch. Hail the size of a child’s fist bounced off the ground, pummeled wash hung out to dry, and knocked flat the few chickens that had not been quick enough to find shelter. It stopped as suddenly as it had started, and the first wave of rain came in on a buffeting wind.

Martha took a few steps back, shivering so that her teeth clacked. The sound seemed to rouse Daniel out of a trance. He looked around himself.

“There,” Martha said. “Blankets.”

“I think we can do better than horse blankets. Hold on a minute.”

When he had taken care of the horses, Daniel put his hand on the small of her back and steered her out of the stable and into the smithy itself, empty now as Joshua Hench closed for business during the dinner hour. In the hearth that fed the forge a low fire still burned. Martha put her back against the warm chimney and the warmth of it made her sigh.

She watched Daniel tending the fire. He concentrated so completely on what he was doing, she knew that she would have to call his name twice to get his attention. There was a great deal of comfort in this moment, watching him tend to the simplest, most basic chores. He had his father’s quiet competence that never drew attention to itself.

The fire roared into life and lit his face with its strong jaw and deep-set eyes. He might have felt the weight of her regard, because he raised his head and grinned at her.