She would burn their garrison to the ground with her own hands before she let them take Nathaniel to the gallows. She had done worse for his sake, in the heat of summer. She remembered the weight of a strange rifle in her hands. Vous et nul autre. Shuddering, she pushed the memory away.

Many-Doves was murmuring, a soft sound. Leave-taking had its own rhythm, a song sung too often in this place on the edge of the endless forests. Bears would be gone from her and Blue-Jay for a month, at least.

Elizabeth was suddenly overwhelmed by sadness, and fear of what lay ahead, and a great loneliness. Journeys end in lovers meeting. How Nathaniel had smiled at that. She wanted him, and he could not come to her. "Very well, then," she whispered to herself, alone in the dark. "I will come to you."

7

The Schuylers' Albany estate was awash in children. A group of boys played snow-snake in the pasture next to the house, in the garden little girls made snow angels, and at the gate where Galileo brought the sleigh to a stop sat two toddlers with fire-red cheeks, wrapped in such a collection of coats and shawls that they resembled apple dumplings. Elizabeth paused at the door, trying to gather both her courage and her energies. General Schuyler and his wife were the kind of friends who would welcome her in time of need, bound as they were to the Bonners over the last thirty years, and to Nathaniel in particular. Their kindnesses were many, but she worried that this unannounced visit might be too much for even them.

Curiosity read her mind. "They put up with your aunt Merriweather visitin' for weeks at a time," she said. "This little call ain't goin' to put them out of joint. It's cold, Elizabeth. Hurry up."

A maid with a baby on her hip answered her knock.

"May I help you?" She had a Dutch accent and a weary air about her. She seemed not at all surprised to find more guests at the door with infants in cradleboards on their backs. Elizabeth asked for the general, which brought a flicker of interest and surprise to the young woman's face.

"The general is in the city," she said, peering at Elizabeth more closely. "I'll get the missus."

"Another house full of women and children," grumbled Curiosity, pulling her mittens off in the warmth of the hall.

"Not quite," said Will Spencer from the sitting room, closing a book with a snap. "I believe I counted two of the grown sons and a son-in-law among the masses at table today. And there's myself, of course."

Elizabeth turned quickly, finding herself able to smile sincerely for the first time in a day. Will was little changed from the summer--the same slender form, dressed as elegantly as ever. "Cousin. It is very good to see you. Where is Amanda?"

"I fear my lady wife has been caught yet again between Mrs. Schuyler and my mother-in-law. They will be here in no time at all, rest assured. Come, Lizzy, let me help you. And Hannah, how good to see you again. Mrs. Freeman, there's a fire in the hearth here. I see that Mr. Freeman is busy with the team--is that Runs-from-Bears with him?"

Curiosity sniffed, but a grin escaped her as they followed Will into the sitting room.

"You've picked a difficult time to travel, cousin," said Will. "Soon the roads will be very bad with the thaw. Unless you were planning on a longer stay? You realize your aunt will try to keep you here. Lady Crofton takes a very dim view of traveling in such weather, and with infants."

Elizabeth grimaced. "I remember. But this visit will be a very short one." She disengaged Daniel from the second cradleboard and handed him to Hannah. "In fact, it's quite a relief to have you alone for a moment before the others come in--"

"Elizabeth!" Aunt Merriweather's voice echoed through the hall.

"--if you bear me any love, cousin, you will pack your bags and be ready to set off for Montréal with us first thing in the morning."

The smile faded from Will's face. "As important as all that?"

"More important," said Elizabeth, and turned to greet her aunt Augusta Merriweather, Lady Crofton.

She swept into the sitting room on a breeze of her own making, her widow's bombazine and crepe crackling with every step, the fringe on a black silk shawl fluttering behind. Aunt Merriweather was followed by her daughter Amanda, who colored prettily at this unexpected visit. Mrs. Schuyler and two of her married daughters made up the rest of the party. Other daughters and servants came and went in waves with trays of tea, sandwiches, and slabs of butter cake. Elizabeth was very glad of the tea and the chaos; the first was bracing, and the second saved the necessity of answering the most difficult questions immediately. And after two days' journey, she was very willing to sit quietly on Mrs. Schuyler's sofa before the hearth while the ladies conducted their examination of her children.

"Very pretty," Aunt declared at length. "Good constitutions and strong characters, but how could it be otherwise? Elizabeth, mark my words. This little girl will lead you on a fine chase, as you led me --and I shall laugh to see it! I fear she will have your hair, so excessively curly. You needn't scowl at me, Amanda, your cousin knows her hair is too curly, see how it insists on rioting about her face. Most intractable hair. Mathilde--you call her Lily? How curious. Lily has something of your mother in her, which can only be to her benefit. And what a fine strong little man, the image of his father. How alert he is! I fancy he will tell me to mind my manners soon. Look at this boy's eyes, as green as China tea. Not from our side of the family, certainly. Whatever are you swaddling them in? Oh, I see. How clever." The babies were passed one by one around the circle of ladies, admired soundly by each in turn, and then handed over to nursery maids who were dispatched with firm instructions for warm bathing.