She stepped out from behind the screen feeling a little shy.

“Aren’t you a sight?” Callie said. She pressed one hand to her mouth, but she couldn’t hide her smile. “With that linen wrapped around your head you look like an old widow woman.”

Becca turned suddenly toward raised voices at the kitchen door. She said, “You two had best scat. That sounds like Charlie and he’ll pin you down talking all day if he finds you in the kitchen. Go on.”

There were five tables in the tavern where travelers could take food and drink, and Martha was relieved to find them all empty. In the normal way of things there would be a full room of people wanting to hear just what happened, and how, and why, and by the way, what was she doing back in Paradise, had she learned something about the wider world, and her place in it?

So she was thankful for the empty tables, but her good luck had its limitations: Daniel sat on a stool in front of the raised hearth, examining a book from the stack on the floor next to him. He looked up briefly and nodded. His expression was distracted and severe, and Martha had the idea that it might be a face his students saw quite often.

“Set by the warm,” Callie said behind her. “You can’t go back up the hill until you are good and dry, or Curiosity will give me the sharp side of her tongue, and she’d be right too. And I expect it will be a while before Becca finds somebody to go fetch your dry boots. Daniel!” she called. “Scoot over, make some room. Maybe Martha can give you a hand with those books. And now I am gone, I have got to go look at Mayfair’s mule before somebody else buys her out from under my nose.”

Daniel had a great many things spread out over the apron of the hearth: buckets of water, piles of rags, knives, a scissors, and a whole range of brushes. Some of them looked like Lily’s paintbrushes, but she must be mistaken about that. Lily treated her tools with great care and would hardly give them up without an argument. She and Daniel had been very good at arguing, as she recalled.

As she watched, Daniel stood to hang a dripping book from a dowel rack over the hearth. Then he took each of the others hanging there one by one, gently shook the pages, and put it back to dry some more. He worked so quickly and efficiently that a stranger might not have noticed straight off that he worked without the use of his left hand.

“I won’t bite,” he said without turning around. “And I could use some help.”

His tone was matter-of-fact, and so Martha took an empty stool and accepted the primer that he offered her. It was damp and already smelled vaguely of mold, but the covers still opened and individual pages could be turned with a little coaxing. It might have been the very primer she used when she had gone to the Paradise school, when it was still halfway up Hidden Wolf in an old cabin.

Becca swept into the room with a tray. “Before he puts you to work you’ll drink down this tea. It’s Hannah’s recipe for a cold in the lungs.”

Martha accepted the cup thrust at her because there was no other option. “I don’t have a cold in the lungs.”

“Not yet, anyhow. You drink that; I don’t want to hear any excuses. Daniel, you need anything?”

“No, ma’am, but thank you anyway.” His attention had already turned back to the book in front of him.

The thing about Daniel Bonner—about all the Bonner men—was that they responded to a woman’s directions as if there were no differences between the sexes. In Manhattan things didn’t work that way, but the Bonners and some of the other people in Paradise had never learned the rules that people in the city lived by, and more, they seemed to do fine without them. There was even talk that when the Quakers held their prayer meetings, a woman could stand up and preach like a man. Martha remembered talking to Teddy about that.

“That little village you come from is the perfect place for Quakers,” Teddy said. “They like forward women and Negroes and most likely Indians too. I can’t think of another group of whites who would be willing to live in such an unnatural setting.”

With time, Martha was remembering more about Teddy, things that she had somehow overlooked or failed to credit. Unpleasant things, most of them. Though he had been right about one thing: She couldn’t see herself preaching under any circumstances. Martha tried to decide what woman of her acquaintance would be comfortable in a pulpit and a few did come to mind: Curiosity, first and foremost; Elizabeth Bonner, if she were permitted to talk philosophy and rationalism. Jennet would tell stories that would keep the congregation laughing in spite of themselves. And the Mohawk women—if you gave any of them the chance, they would be fine speakers.

“You don’t need to help if you don’t care to.”

Martha started. She was still holding the primer in her hands. She picked up a dry rag from the pile and began to press the pages dry, one by one.

Sometime later, when they were working in a companionable silence, Daniel said, “You were far away in your thoughts.”

“Was I?” She kept her eyes on her work. “I was thinking about how the Quaker women are allowed to preach.”

“Ah,” Daniel glanced at her. “Writing a sermon to deliver to friends and neighbors, are you?”

“Me? Oh, no.” She laughed aloud at the idea. “But there are others in Paradise who could do it in a heartbeat. The Mohawk women, first of all.”

“You thinking of our Hannah?”

“Well, actually, it was Blue-Jay’s wife who came to mind. I once heard Terese get into an argument with Anna MacGarrity. Even with her English the way it is, she had people agreeing with her and nodding.”