And something else. Something she had always feared but never felt before, with Callie. For the first time Callie seemed to be envious. The orchard was everything to her, but she envied Martha, and why, exactly? Did it come down to something as simple as money?

Liam Kirby had left her his considerable fortune. Before Jemima ran off, when she had thought of herself as Martha Quick, she had daydreamed about her real father coming to claim her. He would take her away from Jemima and she would keep house for him, and if he had no fortune she never would have missed it. Instead he had died in the war and now she had his money instead, and with it came the Spencers, her guardians, and a new home in Manhattan. She had never asked for any of it.

She thought Callie understood that much. Callie did understand that much, or at least, she had once understood it. This was not the friend Martha had grown up with. Something was far wrong, and it had only partly to do with changed plans for a new orchard house. Martha determined that the only way to get to the heart of it was to sit Callie down and demand the whole truth, come what may. She would do that as soon as she got back to the village. In the meantime, she would not let the party be ruined because Callie Wilde had got her head full of foolish ideas.

She set herself that goal, and one more: She would see that the orchard house was built, whether or not she ever set a foot in it. Callie could protest; she might insist on paying back every penny, but she would have the house.

Once Martha put Callie out of her mind, she found herself just as wound up with thoughts of Daniel, who hadn’t joined the group for the walk up to Lake in the Clouds either. Whether this meant he wasn’t coming, or had gone ahead, that Martha couldn’t know without asking. Something she would not and could not do.

Out of sight Luke was telling a story about a trapper named Malone who had come into the Red Dog and tried to pick a fight, and how Charlie LeBlanc had made an effort to talk him out of it with liberal helpings of schnapps, and failed. Malone had just about got it into his head to take a swing at Ethan when Jim Bookman showed his face and things settled down.

Once the trappers had gone all the way to Johnstown or Albany to trade their furs, but now they came only as far as Paradise, where they got fair prices from Luke Bonner. But that also meant fistfights and sometimes worse, fueled by hard drink and short tempers.

Today Martha seemed to be overflowing with memories, things that hadn’t come to mind for years. Most likely, she told herself, it had to do with the fact that this was the path she had walked to school and home again, when home had been the big mill house that overlooked the river and the village. Martha had made herself look at it as they passed. Recently painted a light gray with white shutters, every windowpane polished, crisp white curtains. The brass door knocker winked in the late afternoon sun. A young woman with a baby in her arms stood at one of the uppermost windows, a room that had been closed off when Martha was a girl. As most of the rooms had been. They had lived in the kitchen and two tiny chambers. In the deepest, coldest part of the winter they had sometimes slept on pallets by the kitchen hearth where some small amount of heat came from the banked fire. And still Martha remembered waking with her breath frozen on the blanket over her face.

It seemed all her memories of the house where she grew up were of cold. Drafty rooms with great damp splotches of peeling wallpaper, the smell of mice in dim corners. The casements that weren’t shuttered were boarded over because where was the money to come from, Jemima would ask out loud, to replace a dozen windowpanes? When Martha had nightmares, which was not so often in the last years, she always found herself in that house with its smells of cooking beans and cabbage, dust and lye soap. Chilblains kept her awake at night, listening to the sound of Jemima’s pacing.

Martha straightened her shoulders and tried to pay attention to the world around her. Not much farther to the cabin that had been Elizabeth Bonner’s school. Where she had taught her own children and almost everyone else as well. If you lived in Paradise, were under forty and knew your letters, you most probably had learned them from her. As Martha had, and both her parents. As Callie had too.

Martha paused and shifted the basket Curiosity had given her to carry. The smell of fresh cornbread and new butter made her stomach growl.

“Martha!” called Ben Savard. “Make tracks!”

It wasn’t safe to walk the mountain at dusk without a weapon. When darkness fell the big cats came out to hunt, and the first bears were about with empty bellies. Martha knew all that but somehow the danger didn’t feel real until she heard the tone of Ben’s voice. She picked up her pace and caught up to the others at the old schoolhouse.

For a moment it seemed that time had rolled backward yet again, because there were children sitting on the cabin porch or playing nearby. Then she recognized the Oxleys, who had so recently lost their home and mother both.

The children were telling stories to the unexpected visitors. Martha heard one of the older children politely offer tea and Ethan’s carefully worded refusal, always laced with easy good humor. He was very good with children. Good with everyone, really, able to put people at ease, though he himself never seemed to be.

Mr. Oxley came to the door, or Friend James, as they called him. A tall and painfully thin man, his cheeks so sunken he could not have many teeth. But when he smiled his whole face erupted into a landscape of wrinkles, and it turned out he did have teeth, though not so many of them as most.

They spent some minutes talking about the progress he was making rebuilding his own place near the river, how much help he had gotten and how thankful he was, and what a shame that Lily couldn’t join the party on such a fine spring evening. Hannah wanted to know how the children were getting on, who was doing the cooking, whether there was someone to take care of the littlest Oxleys and look to the endless list of chores a mother with five young children and a household must face every day.