Runs-from-Bears had begun to chant, and the men were answering.

“Might it continue to get better?” Martha asked, and this time Hannah turned toward her sharply.

“He is what he is,” she said. “If by some magic the damage was healed instantly, it would be very hard, maybe impossible, to bring the left arm up to strength. He knows that, and because he knows he flatly refuses to see surgeons who might be able to help at least ease the pain. There has only been one exception, something an old teacher of mine sent to try. A treatment that comes from China.”

“But it didn’t work,” Martha concluded for her.

Hannah looked at her, surprised. “That is yet to be seen. We haven’t tried it yet.” She stood. “The last dance,” she said. “You’ll need your shawl.”

“Watch me,” Annie told Martha. “It’s not hard.”

There was something new here, something about this last dance that was different, but no one seemed to think it necessary to explain it to her. But to retreat now would be silly, and more than that, Martha didn’t want to.

The water drum started up. They danced in two lines, men and women facing each other, half on one side of the water drum and half on the other. The pace was easy at first as they moved forward and then back, but soon enough the tempo began to increase with each pass. Someone let out a high yipping cry—Gabriel, Martha saw from the corner of her eye—as the women swept in a circle around the man opposite, shawls held in outstretched hands to give them wings.

Her shawl brushed against Daniel and then she was gone again, turning in time with the others. Breathless, she danced in place as the men came forward. Daniel’s gaze was on her face, but there was nothing frightening there. He was enjoying himself; he liked the dance. And this was nothing more than that, an evening’s entertainment in this circle of light and sound. To step outside that circle into the cold seemed an impossible thing, though her face and neck and back were damp with sweat. All of her body was damp, so that the sweep of the shawl as she turned brought a welcome relief.

In some part of her mind she tried to recall the last time she had danced, and while the details came to her easily enough—her gloved hand on Teddy’s arm, the brush of silk skirts against delicate slippers—she could not see her own face, or remember what she had been feeling.

But this, this she would never forget. She knew that as they swept forward for the last time, shawls held high and wide and pausing for a moment, for no more than a moment, while she looked into Daniel’s eyes and saw the question there before she revolved and lowered her arms to let her shawl fall onto his shoulders.

In the sudden echoing quiet all Martha could hear was the rush of her own harsh breath and the thump of her heart at the base of her throat. She could not have moved; she might have forgotten how to walk, but Daniel’s hand touched her elbow and steered her toward the house. There was a lot of quiet talk but little laughter. Somehow the mood had shifted. She wanted to know what was coming, but she didn’t want to know, not really.

The men carried the benches into the house and after some moving and shifting, the whole party was sitting in a half circle before the hearth. The great room was very warm now and Martha was glad of it. She was glad too that Daniel was sitting beside her, but his quiet disconcerted her. He might be in pain, if she had understood Hannah correctly. That he wouldn’t want to be asked, she knew even without being told.

He sat straight of back, his good hand rested on a knee. Martha could feel the heat coming off his skin. He smelled of healthy sweat and wood smoke. Suddenly his face turned to her and smiled as if he had just remembered who she was and why she was sitting here at all.

“Storytelling,” he said. And just at that moment Runs-from-Bears stood, a big man unfolding to his full height.

Daniel inclined his head toward her and translated.

“It’s a prayer. ‘Great Spirit who gave us the darkness in which to rest. In that darkness we send our words to you.’”

Runs-from-Bears turned and cast tobacco into the fire and the smell filled the air. Then he started to talk again.

“It’s an old story,” Daniel said. “How a raiding party came to Hidden Wolf. When He-Who-Remembers claimed both the Todd boys to replace the sons he had lost in battle.”

Martha had heard bits of this story over the years, many fancifully embroidered. Now she learned about how children were adopted into a longhouse, of training as a warrior and going into battles.

One story led to another.

They all took turns. Ben told of the journey from New Orleans to Paradise, where he had made his home with Hannah. Luke spoke of his grandmother Iona, and Gabriel of the first bear he killed on Hidden Wolf. Blue-Jay told a story Martha knew, about a time two great hogs had got stuck under the schoolhouse floor. The stories, long or short, were well told and the small audience was receptive. Martha wondered if Daniel would take a turn, but after a longer pause Jennet got up and told the story of how she left her home in Scotland to come and claim Luke as her husband.

“Fine and good,” said her good-sister Hannah. “But what of the fairy tree?”

“I’ve had my turn,” Jennet said. “What of Susanna?”

All heads turned to the young woman who sat beside Blue-Jay with her hands folded in her lap. She had a pretty smile, but she seemed reluctant. Martha could understand that very well. It had just occurred to her that she might be called on too.

“I’ve got another idea,” said Susanna. “I will sing for thee.”