“You didn’t like to ride?”

“I did,” she said. “But I liked my lessons as well.”

She crossed her arms at the waist and lowered her chin until it touched the buttons at her throat. As if she were trying to remember something, or maybe she was sorry to have said so much.

“So what does a young lady do with an education in Manhattan?”

She raised a shoulder. “Why, nothing. In fact it’s wise of her to keep her education to herself, if she intends to—” She studied her own feet for a moment and raised her head. “Of course, if she must support herself that’s a different matter. If she is very quick, she might find a school who will hire a female teacher, in a small village or town. Otherwise, there are more female clerks in the shops these days, so she might end up—selling hats.”

“Like the bucket you’re wearing.”

“Bucket?” Martha lifted the bonnet off her head. She held it up on the flat of her hands to examine in a patch of sunlight.

“You may be very well educated,” she said. “But clearly you know nothing about fashion or the workmanship that goes into something like this. Do you see the way the silk seems to glow, and how the colors complement each other? That is all by design. And see how smoothly the shape tapers from front to back. This kind of ruching is very difficult, especially with such delicate material. The workmanship is impeccable.”

“Maybe so,” Daniel said. He took the bonnet from her and held it at arm’s length. “But being well put together and being pleasing don’t necessarily go hand in hand. This bonnet of yours is plain ugly, girl. Admit it, even a goat would have to be mighty hungry to bother with it.”

Her mouth fell open. “I’ll admit no such—” She drew up. “Now you are teasing me.” And her expression was so affronted that Daniel had to laugh.

“And? Don’t young ladies get teased in Manhattan?”

“Daniel Bonner,” Martha said. “You are trying to distract me, because I have argued you into a corner. I find this bonnet charming and beautifully made, and that’s the end of it. Aesthetics have nothing to do with logic. De gustibus non disputandum. Now may I have my bonnet back?”

“Of course.” But he turned it around, examining it. It was a desperate move on his part, a play for a few moments in which to figure out what he was up to, flirting with Martha Kirby in the deserted school-house.

With a sigh he leaned forward and placed the monstrosity of a bonnet on her head. Her hand came up to hold it in place, and without thinking about it at all, he caught her fingers in his and held them there.

He saw the muscles of her throat working when she swallowed.

“Thank you,” she said. “I believe I can manage.”

And when he failed to step away, she raised her face and looked at him with a combination of doubt and irritation.

“Do you realize that the little bit of reputation I have left will dwindle to nothing if someone finds us—”

“Kissing?”

She stepped backward, and he forward.

“I said nothing about kissing.”

“Not with words. But your mouth is all set to do just that.”

“Daniel Bonner,” she said, her breath coming fast. “Let my hand go.”

The door opened, and Daniel released her.

Martha turned from the waist to look over her shoulder, and a ray of sunlight fell across her face and hair and slanted over her throat. For that moment she might have been an apparition, color and form and movement conjured up like a magical being.

Callie Wilde said, “Oh ha. Am I interrupting?”

“You are most certainly not interrupting,” Martha said, too loudly. “Come in.”

“Come in,” Daniel echoed. His voice creaked a little.

“I’m filthy,” Callie said. “I just wanted to leave this basket. Will you take it up to your ma, Daniel? I promised to get it back to her. I’ll say good-bye, then. Sorry to have interrupted.”

The door closed before either of them could deny the obvious.

Chapter XXII

Martha ran so that when she caught up to Callie, she was flushed and out of breath.

“Let me walk with you,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to come by and see how things stand.”

Callie gave her a lopsided smile that Martha took to be an invitation. She fell in beside her friend and for a minute they walked in silence. Martha considered things she might say, but every one of them only made the situation worse. Better to be still.

All over the village people were still busy putting things to rights, repairing the flood damage, digging and sweeping, sawing and hammering. Some of them called out to Callie, and she answered without slowing. I might as well be invisible, Martha thought, and didn’t know why she minded.

They passed the Cunninghams’ place, one of the few old-time cabins left in Paradise. A new door hung from leather hinges and there was a pile of shingles sitting on the ground. Through the window Martha caught a glimpse of women at work. Everyone was busy, but there was nothing frantic about it. The sun had come out and the air smelled of growing things, of wood drying out and of lye soap and sawdust.

“Would you have thought things would be back to normal so quick?”

Callie rubbed her nose with a bent wrist. “I wouldn’t exactly call this normal,” she said. They stopped on the rise where the orchards came into sight. In the fullness of spring this would be the prettiest spot in Paradise, when the first apple trees were in blossom. If there was to be a crop this year.