When Elizabeth finally had the attention of one of the Mayfair sons—which one she could not say, there were so many of them—and he had gone around to ask, she learned that Daniel had been seen in the early morning, but not since.

Elizabeth stood in the soft spring sunlight and considered. Daniel might be helping Callie or working with Ethan; he might have gone to call on one of his student’s families, or he could have gone home to the small house he had had built for himself in the strawberry fields, an hour’s walk up Hidden Wolf. A walk she would not have hesitated to undertake even a few years ago. A walk she would have enjoyed, because it was her favorite time of year in the endless forests, when small things woke up and reached out. If you stood very silent for long enough, you could hear it happening, like the whispering a butterfly made working its way out of a cocoon.

She read herself a short sermon: The smells of spring were in the air, and the light had a buttery color that was particular to this time of year. The walk would do her good, even if Daniel was not at home. Why, she could continue on to Lake in the Clouds and visit with Susanna, who was always glad of company, most especially company of women who had been married longer than she herself. It had been a long time since her last visit, when the snow was still deep and the cold unyielding.

Or she could go home again, and see how Lily was faring. If she had found a way to be comfortable in mind and body both.

The letter she carried crackled as if encouraging her to hurry along.

Don’t be a coward.

She said this to herself aloud, and then she turned toward the lake, where most of the men—including some of her own—were trying to get the new bridge finished. People had had enough of waiting to be ferried across the river. Even fifteen minutes in the company of Willy LeBlanc was daunting, for the boy was as garrulous and distracted in conversation as his father. To Becca’s credit, he was a much harder worker. As were all the LeBlanc children.

“Boots, if you were any deeper in your thoughts you’d drown.”

Nathaniel grabbed her shoulders before she walked directly into him, and then he kissed her and let her go.

“You look less than happy to see me,” she said. “I suppose because I was lost in my thoughts.”

For years he had been trying to impress upon her the importance of paying attention to her surroundings, especially in spots such as this one, where trees cut off the view of both the lake and the village center. When she was first in Paradise she had heard many stories of panthers—or painters, as the woodsmen called them—attacking the unwary. Then she had seen it for herself, and thus should be all the more cautious, but still over the years the fear had faded.

She could try to make this argument to her husband, but it would get her nowhere. Primarily because he was right.

“I’m turning into a forgetful old lady,” she said. “But I will try harder. Where are you going?” She cast a pointed look at the empty bucket he carried.

“Nails,” he said. “If Joshua has got the new batch done. And what about you, Boots? Why are you wandering in the woods? Never mind, let me guess. You’re looking for Daniel.”

He was grinning at her. A long strand of steel gray hair was caught up in the simple silver hoop he wore in his ear, and she reached up to smooth it. Nathaniel took the opportunity to grasp her hand and raise her wrist to his mouth.

“Ow!” Elizabeth pulled away, laughing. “You nip like a bull calf. And don’t you dare start, I won’t have one of your conversations here in the open.”

That made him laugh. “You are looking for Daniel, ain’t that so?” With the heel of his hand he pressed the spot between her breasts and was rewarded with the crackle of paper before she could slap his hand away.

“I knew you were up to something when Hannah brought that letter and the two of you shut yourself up with Curiosity.”

“And how do you know it has to do with Daniel? It could be Lily or anyone else.”

“Because I know that look,” Nathaniel said. He let a long breath go and pulled her to him with one arm. “And because there’s a lot of talk about a box that came all the way from India, addressed to our Hannah.”

It would do no good to deny any of it, and so Elizabeth looked around herself and then lowered her voice. “I promised Hannah I would talk to Daniel before I told you or anyone else.”

His brow folded down, and then he inclined his head. “Fine then, Boots. But don’t make me wait too long.”

“The sooner I find the boy, the sooner you’ll hear for yourself.”

Nathaniel turned to look over his shoulder into the woods. “You don’t hear him?”

“I hear hammering and geese but I don’t hear—” She stopped and concentrated. And there it was: the sharp, abrupt sound of a knife penetrating wood.

Nathaniel nodded. “He’s been at it an hour at least. Give him a reason to stop, he won’t fight too hard.”

Chapter XXV

When he was agitated and ill at ease, Daniel worked with his knives.

At just nineteen he had taken his rifle to war to make a name for himself, as his father and grandfather had done before him. He came home with an arm that could not support the weight of a book, much less a long gun. It took a year for him to accept that he wouldn’t ever be able to handle a rifle again, and another year before he turned all his effort and attention to throwing.

He started with the tomahawk that belonged to his great-grandfather Chingachgook, practicing every day until his good arm shook and he couldn’t make a fist anymore.