Daniel was looking at her with a puzzled expression.

“What?”

“Terese died some two years ago. She got tangled up in an old fishing net and drowned. You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t. I’m sorry to hear it. I haven’t seen Blue-Jay since I’ve been back, so the subject was never raised.”

“And you likely won’t see him,” Daniel said. “He remarried a year ago and he mostly stays out of the village. Hasn’t even been down to see Lily yet, and you can believe she’s hopping mad about that.”

“Did he marry somebody from Good Pasture?” Martha asked.

She felt Daniel’s gaze and wondered for a minute if he would just refuse to discuss the matter, and why the subject was so clearly difficult for him.

“You ever meet the Mayfairs when you visited?”

“Well, sure,” Martha said. “Susanna and Sally, and—John, is that the oldest one? You don’t mean to say that Blue-Jay married into the Mayfairs?”

His mouth worked, but out of irritation or insult she couldn’t tell. “He married Susanna.”

“Oh, I see. And her family disapproves.”

“It’s more complicated.” Daniel smiled. “But most things are, when you come down to it.”

While he told her about Susanna and Blue-Jay, Martha was reminded that he came from a family of good storytellers. It went along with being a good teacher, in Martha’s experience.

Blue-Jay and Susanna were living at Lake in the Clouds in the house nearest the falls, the one Daniel’s father built. Gabriel and Annie were in the cabin nearest the cornfields. Runs-from-Bears moved back and forth between the houses as he pleased.

“There are others who come and go,” he finished. “But mostly the Lake in the Clouds folks stay among themselves and they’re happy that way.”

“She must miss her family.”

“She sees John and Sally now and then. But sure, I guess she does miss them.”

“In Manhattan they talk about Indians a lot,” she told Daniel. “But none of them have ever really known an Indian. They asked me rude questions, at first. And then in time they just seemed to forget where I came from and that I might know more than any of them did about the Hodenosaunee. They are full of opinions. What should be done about them, mostly.”

“They think they can decide that?” Daniel’s tone was half amused and half affronted.

“They think they can decide most things. I’m ashamed now to think back at some of the things I heard said. Some of them talked about Indians as they would talk about a rat infestation, but I didn’t say a word. I just left the room.”

He was looking at her; she could feel the weight of his regard. It made Martha wonder why she had said so much, and if he would think badly of her now.

“I am a coward,” she said. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

“No,” he said, turning back to his work. “That’s not even close to what I was thinking.”

The door from the hall opened with a bang and Sam LeBlanc came in. He was a couple years older than Martha, but they had been in Elizabeth’s classroom at the same time. Now he grinned at her and presented a basket with a deep and cheeky bow.

Sam had been a terrible tease, she remembered now. As if she didn’t have enough to cope with at the moment.

“Thank you,” she told him. “Very good of you.”

“I’m a helpful sort,” Sam agreed. He sat down beside her. “What else can I do for you, ducky? Your wish is my command. But first tell me this: Are you home for good? Say yes and you’ll make me a happy man. Why are you laughing?”

“I’m not,” Martha said. “I’m just wondering why Becca didn’t mention you. She’s already tried to get me interested in Roy.”

“Roy!” Sam looked sour at the very idea. “I see I’ll have to talk to Ma straight away.”

While Sam flirted with Martha, Daniel reminded himself that the best thing to do was to keep his focus on the book in front of him. It made no sense to be put out with Sam LeBlanc, who was his usual cheerful self. Odd, though, that Daniel had never noticed before how grating Sam’s voice could be. He could find some humor in Sam’s clumsy and harmless flirting, and something to admire in Martha’s response—not unfriendly, not exactly cool, but standoffish. He wondered if that came to her naturally, or if there had been lessons in poise and bearing. How to speak to young men who were forward, how to discourage them or reprimand as the situation required.

When Sam finally went into the kitchen to find his ma, Martha took up the basket he had brought her. She put the heel of one bare foot on the edge of the stool and began to pull on a stocking, rolling it along her foot and up. She rested her chin on her knee and a great swath of hair—as straight as Daniel’s was curly—fell down over the long arch of her back and over an arm to brush against the hem of her borrowed skirt.

It was an everyday sight. Women put on stockings and took them off with regularity, and often before the hearth in the kitchen, when the weather was cold. Nothing unusual, but he found it difficult to look away.

Martha’s foot was slender with a high arch, the skin as white as paper. Each of the long toes ended in a perfect nail without flaw or scar, and was cushioned with a round pad of pale pink. Martha Kirby had the most delicate and narrow ankles, with a sprinkling of freckles.