Jennet said, “I was wondering—”

“What is it?”

“I was wondering about Martha Kirby. She’s a different lass already from the one who left Manhattan with us, is she no?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “She is come back to herself.”

“Do ye think she’ll start teaching come Monday?”

“I don’t know,” Elizabeth said. The question confused and even irritated her. She must not interfere in her children’s lives, but neither could she look away, no matter how much trouble they made for themselves.

“Ye think it’s a good idea?”

Elizabeth gave her a tired smile. “It’s too early to know,” she said. “But I think it might work out quite well.”

“Aye, weel,” Jennet said. “I admit I’m more than a wee bit curious. Were Daniel to walk in this minute I’d come out and ask him.”

Elizabeth said, “Maybe I will be able to put the question to him today. I have to speak to him on a different matter, and the subject could come up.”

“He’s aye fond of her,” Jennet said.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “He is fond. And more than fond.”

Jennet was frowning as she wrung her cloth in the water basin.

Elizabeth said, “Come out and say it. Are you thinking of Martha’s connections?”

“I am,” Jennet said. “And so must you. Does the idea of sharing grandchildren with Jemima—what is her name now? Wilde, is that right?”

“As far as we know, yes. I can’t remember at this moment how she signed her letter to Martha.”

“Would she no be within her rights to demand to see her grandchildren?”

Elizabeth thought about that for a minute. Then she said, “I have nine grandchildren, soon to be ten—” she inclined her head to Jennet’s middle. “And not one of them is related to me by blood. But they are my grandchildren. I could feel no different about them if I had given birth to Luke and Hannah. Do you feel differently about Adam than you do about your other three?”

Jennet and Luke had taken Adam in as a newborn just before they started home from New Orleans. Nathan had been no more than six or seven months old and so the boys had no understanding of themselves as anything but brothers. One towheaded and the other dark, they had slept forehead to forehead for years. Lily had done many studies of them as infants, in just that pose.

For some reason Elizabeth had never been able to work out for herself, even those people who refused to recognize blacks as human beings would smile and coo at an infant, no matter what color. And so it had been with Adam, who had been a beautiful child. But that was changing. He had shot up in the last year; he was tall for his age, well built, strong. In his birth state of Louisiana he would be someone’s possession, already working in the fields. He’d know nothing of books, and most likely even less of kindness. It hurt even to imagine it.

“Aye, when you put it that way—” Jennet turned her head as if she were trying to hear a voice far away. “Were Adam’s faither to rise from his grave tae claim him, I wad put a knife in his heart rather than let him touch the boy.”

Elizabeth said, “Jennet, someday he will fall in love and want to marry. What if the girl’s family forbade it because they knew Adam’s father for the scoundrel he was?”

“But they couldn’t know,” Jennet said, flushing with irritation. “So far as the world kens, Adam is Luke’s son.”

Elizabeth held her gaze, and Jennet closed her eyes briefly. Then she said, “Aye, aye. I take your meaning. It’s the color of his skin that will cause him heartache. Martha’s situation has naught to do with color, but to be turned away for her mother’s sake—aye. But Elizabeth, Adam’s father is deid and can do the boy no direct harm. Jemima is alive, and stirring in whatever hidey-hole she found for herself.”

It was an image that stayed with Elizabeth for the rest of the day.

—

She was determined to find Daniel and have a discussion with him before the morning passed, and so Elizabeth hurried through the long list of decisions and directions she dealt with every day. She talked to John Henry, the husband of Curiosity’s granddaughter Solange, who was come to start double-digging the vegetable garden. She wrote a little in her current letter to her cousins in Manhattan to ask for some French bean seeds she had been wanting to try, and a new pair of shoes for Birdie. She spoke to the LeBlanc girls about the meals for the next days; how salty the ham had been and if the remainder should be put to soak, how long the store of potatoes and carrots might last, or if more would have to be purchased, if there were enough eggs to make custard for everyone, or if they would make do with stewed dried apples and leave the rich eggs and cream to Lily and Jennet.

Having Lily and Simon at home meant more to do in the household, which put the maids in a justifiably sour mood. Elizabeth solved the problem by asking if one of the other LeBlanc sisters might like to come to work.

That brought her the first faint glimmer of a smile. Matilda would start tomorrow, at the same wages as her sisters.

The Bonners were one of the few families in Paradise who paid with coin rather than bushels of cabbage or ells of cloth, and cash was always welcome. They had four LeBlancs working for them—Joan and Anje in the house, and Sam and Carl in the stable and garden. It was why the girls stayed on, Elizabeth knew very well. They had the best places in the village and would keep them, no matter how offended their sensibilities might be.