“She didn’t say where?”

“She said Ethan would know where to find her, if you needed to talk to her.”

“Ethan,” Elizabeth echoed. And then: “Why don’t you tell your ma that the big front room is available for the Fochts now?”

Maggie’s eyes rounded in surprise. “You want them to stay?”

“What I want is beside the point,” Elizabeth said. “What I know is somewhat simpler. Jemima won’t leave Paradise voluntarily, and certainly not today.”

In the common room the discussion was still revolving around Jemima’s demands and Becca’s steadfast refusal, with Charlie alternating between looking sheepish and chagrined. No doubt it would have gone on all day in the same way if Maggie hadn’t announced the new vacancy.

Becca cleared her throat. “Well, then. I’ll see that it’s cleaned and aired straight away. If you’ll take a seat, it will be a half hour or so.”

She didn’t wait to get an answer from the Fochts before she turned and walked into the kitchen. Charlie followed her, glancing behind himself as if he still couldn’t believe it was Jemima Southern standing in the middle of the common room.

Elizabeth raised her voice just to that point that people would have to be quiet to hear it; an old schoolteacher’s trick.

“Now that this problem has been settled, may I ask everyone to leave so that Nathaniel and I can speak to Mr. and Mrs. Focht?”

From the corner of her eye she saw Jemima bite down on the impulse to say something cutting. In fact, everyone fell into an uneasy moment of silence, but then people began to move. They had been her students once, many of them, and they were still inclined to follow her instructions. And as much as they wanted to see Jemima dressed down and hear all the news there was to hear, they remembered her too well to relish what was to come. In a word, she frightened them.

As she does me, Elizabeth admitted to herself. Nathaniel squeezed her elbow and she was glad of him. More than that, she was happy to let him take the lead in this conversation.

When the room had emptied Jemima said, “Where are my daughters?”

“Hello to you too, ’Mima,” Nathaniel said. The use of her girlhood name struck almost visibly; two bright red spots appeared high on Jemima’s cheekbones.

“Ain’t you going to introduce us to your husband?”

One side of the stranger’s mouth curled up. “I am Hamish Focht,” he said. “Attorney-at-law.”

“And the boy? Your son, Mr. Focht?”

Jemima jerked as if stung. “This is my son, Nicholas Wilde. Named after his father.”

The boy raised his head and looked at them. Elizabeth was struck by his expression, which was not exactly empty, but perhaps best described as confused. Nothing of suspicion or caution or worry; a child sure of his place and people. The boy smiled, and the whole face was transformed, as bright as the summer sky. That smile turned an ordinary face into something otherworldly.

Elizabeth studied him and couldn’t decide if he favored the Wildes or not. Certainly his coloring was like Callie’s, but there were thousands of children between New-York City and Boston exactly like this: about nine years old, brown-haired, brown-eyed. She admitted to herself that she had hardly any memory of Nicholas Wilde’s face and could not judge who the boy favored. If anyone.

He said, “Hello.” Jemima’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, not to quiet him but simply in a protective gesture any mother must recognize. There was something about the boy, something Elizabeth couldn’t put her finger on. She would most likely never have the chance to talk to him alone, but she would have liked to do that. Very much.

“I know who you are,” Focht was saying to Nathaniel. “You claim guardianship rights over my stepdaughters Martha and Callie.”

“Where are my daughters?” Jemima said again. “I’d like to see them now. I’d like them to meet their brother.”

Elizabeth caught the twitch at the corner of Nathaniel’s mouth. He was as surprised as she was to hear Jemima claim Callie as her daughter. According to the law she had that right, of course, but why she should want it, that was the question. A demonstration of motherly concern was so out of character for Jemima as to be unimaginable. But then there was the boy. Could one child have had such an effect on her?

“I don’t know where they are, exactly,” Nathaniel said. “Elizabeth?”

She started out of her thoughts. “Nor do I. If they want to see you, Jemima, I’m sure they will come by.”

Jemima said, “It would be best for everyone concerned if you could convince them that they should do just that.” Her tone was chilly now. More of the old Jemima.

“We won’t be put off,” said her husband. “The law is on our side.”

Nathaniel shook his head in the way that meant he was sorry to see somebody make a fool of themselves.

“You’re a stranger here, Focht, but I guess your wife could tell you, I don’t scare so easy.”

“You mistake me, Mr. Bonner. I have absolutely no interest in you. I couldn’t be bothered to exert myself so far for such little reason.”

Oh, how he reminded Elizabeth of her uncle Merriweather. That twitch of a sneer, and the cool efficiency with which he could take apart an enemy’s arguments. Except of course Uncle Merriweather had never dealt with Nathaniel, who could remain—had remained—steady in the face of much worse.