Martha looked away for a moment. She could not ask John Mayfair what it was he wanted, not only because it was too forward a question and none of her business, but because she had an idea of what he might say, and she had no answers for him. Just a few months ago Martha might have spoken of love and fate and the need to follow one’s heart. She had been smitten with the very idea of love, and wanted nothing more than to have everyone else join her in that state. Now she knew better.

She said, “I am glad that Callie has a friend such as you, John Mayfair. I will try to be a better one.”

When she looked up again, Daniel was standing there. He was breathing hard, sweat rolling down his face even this far from the bonfire. He held out his hand palm up, and his fingers curled in invitation.

“You’re wanted at the dance,” John Mayfair said. “Please, don’t let me stop you.”

The bonfire made an undulating island of light in the darkened glen, and Martha let the women pull her into it. More than that, she was glad of it.

She had seen the Mohawk dance once or twice as a girl, when the whole school had been invited up to the Midwinter Ceremony at Lake in the Clouds. She remembered the excitement of those visits well, but few of the details; she didn’t know the names of the dances or what was required of her. None of that seemed to matter.

The women danced together, in a line or circle, interwoven with the men or separately, and the steps were easy enough to follow. Sometimes someone would call out yo’ and the other men would respond ha’ but the driving force, the animating force, was the water drum. She felt the pulse of it move up from the ground and through her feet, along the length of leg and backbone and into the very bones of her skull.

When the women finally retired to the trestles the men kept dancing. The Robin Dance, Annie told her, handing her a beaker of water. It was very cold but Martha was too thirsty to worry about her stomach or good manners; she gulped, and then Jennet filled it again for her. Jennet was so flushed with color and so clearly happy, in the light of the fire she might have been no more than twenty if not for the child she carried so unselfconsciously.

The drum’s rhythm was speeding up steadily. There was little talk now and less laughter, they were all so focused on the dancing. Because it was beautiful, there was no other word for the sight of men in their prime moving for the sake of movement. As a student Martha had been taught to observe line and proportion, but this—men in the flesh—no sculptor could equal it.

Martha watched Gabriel spin in place with his long hair flying around him, his feet moving so fast that a dust cloud reached his knees. She thought of her friends in Manhattan, of Marianne and Catherine and Luisa, whether any of them could watch this and see it for what it was, or if training and habit would blind them.

When she could resist not one moment longer, Martha turned to watch Daniel.

He wore his hair cropped short, but now a few damp curls fell forward over his brow. His whole face was streaked with sweat. His expression was not joyful; Martha didn’t know what she saw there, beyond deep concentration. At this moment it seemed his whole world was drum and rattle, and so for once she could watch him and he wouldn’t catch her at it.

All the Bonner men were big, so tall that finding one of them in a crowd was no difficulty. As tall as Daniel was, his younger brother was an inch or two bigger still, as was Blue-Jay. Both Gabriel and Blue-Jay were woodsmen, heavily muscled in chest and shoulder, back and leg. Daniel spent most of his day in the classroom, but it was hard to see any evidence of that. He was long and lithe and powerful in the way of the big cats who hunted in the forests.

His left arm was back in its sling. Martha forced herself to look at it directly. There was a lack of symmetry, certainly. The muscles of his good arm were more developed, but the left side was not withered, as she had expected. Martha realized how little she really knew about the nature of the injury.

Hannah had come to sit down beside her. She said, “You know he was in the militia in the last war?”

Martha nodded but didn’t look at Hannah. “Of course. Under Magistrate Bookman.”

For a while it seemed as if Hannah would say nothing more, but then what came next was as fluid as it was detailed.

“There is a spot in the shoulder where many nerves come together. That bundle of nerves is protected by muscle and by the collarbone. It’s very hard to reach on a healthy person, though I have known men who could do it. Dig in hard with two fingers to compress the nerves at the juncture, I mean. It’s a pain that can’t really be described. I think probably only a severe burn is worse.”

“And that’s what Daniel lives with?”

“It isn’t as bad as it once was, but I can’t tell you why. Whether the nerves are healing with time, or if he has just learned to shut it out of his mind, at least some of the time. Such things are possible.”

“How do you know the pain is less than it was?” Martha asked. “Does he talk of that?”

“No,” Hannah said. “He doesn’t need to. For the first year he wasn’t able to do much of anything, the pain was so crippling. But you see him now, able to go about his life and do most things. Most of the time,” she added.

“The pain comes and goes?”

She lifted her own shoulder in a shrug. “When he disappears for a day or two without warning, it means the pain has got the upper hand. It doesn’t happen often. He has learned to protect the arm and shoulder and not to overextend himself.”