"Some seem to think so."

Elizabeth smiled to herself. More than a week of muddy portages, cold rain, cramped living quarters, and poor food seemed of less concern to Curiosity than the fact that Grievous Mudge was a good storyteller. Elizabeth shifted a bit, and considered.

"You must miss Galileo a good deal."

Curiosity looked up, her dark eyes narrowed. "Of course I miss Galileo. Ain't I been wakin' up next to the man for some thirty year now? We been apart now and then, but it ain't ever easy. Miss my babies, too."

Elizabeth had to laugh, thinking of the size and width of Curiosity's son and of her grown daughters, the most competent of women. Then she shook her head apologetically.

"I am sorry. Please forgive me. I do appreciate you leaving your family behind to come with us, you know."

"I ain't looking for no apologies," Curiosity said briskly, running a hand along the swaddling clothes that had been hung to dry on a string across the cabin. "Came along of my own free will."

"Yes," said Elizabeth. "So you did. I will always be in your debt."

With a grunt Curiosity sat down on the edge of the bunk and, untangling Lily from Elizabeth's lap, began to change her.

"Seem to me there ain't any call for such talk between us. I know you don't like to be reminded, but you made my Polly a happy woman and I won't ever forget it."

"What did Elizabeth do for Polly?" asked Hannah, leaning in the open shutters on her elbows.

"Nothing," said Elizabeth. "At least, nothing to discuss right now. Is that fresh water you've got there?"

Curiosity raised a brow in Elizabeth's direction but addressed Hannah, who passed a bucket through the window.

"Your stepmama bought Benjamin and his brother free from the Gloves, is what she done, so as my Polly could marry a freed man. Got that Quaker cousin of hers from Baltimore to handle the money, but it come from her and Nathaniel. And look at her, blushing to hear the truth told plain."

"Not at all," said Elizabeth, somewhat less than truthfully. "It's just that Hannah's sleeve is covered with blood."

"It isn't mine," Hannah said. "Mr. Little took some salmon this morning, and I helped with the cleaning. We'll have a good dinner today."

"Is that so?" snorted Curiosity softly, tickling Lily under the chin until she got a smile. She traded her for Daniel, who yawned in her face. "Know as much about cookin' as they do about storytellin'. No tellin' what injury that Little might do to a good salmon."

"Oh, Curiosity," said Hannah brightly. "Mr. Little asked if you'd come along and have a look at Elijah's foot. It isn't healing the way he thought it would. I think it might need to be opened up."

"You see?" asked Curiosity, as if an infected foot told all that needed to be told about Mr. Little's merits as cook, doctor, and human being. "I'll be along as soon as I've wiped your little brother's hindside. And don't you start tending that foot without me, child. You hear?"

Hannah grinned, and disappeared into the sunshine.

"It's good to see her in high spirits," said Elizabeth. "We should reach Chambly tomorrow, and things will not be so cheery once we do."

Curiosity pressed her lips together firmly. "I expect Canada mud wash off just like any other," she said. "You want to come along, have a look at this foot?"

"I think not." Elizabeth pulled her clothing to rights. "You go ahead, and I'll take these two for some sun while it lasts."

She strapped the babies to her chest to go up on deck, where they mouthed their fists and stared wide-eyed at the great expanses of snapping white sail. There was a sailor at the helm, two mending rope near the aft mast, and another swabbing the main deck; she supposed the rest of the crew was below, crowded together around Curiosity and her patient. On the quarterdeck she saw that Will and Runs-from-Bears were in deep conversation, their backs to her. Elizabeth made no attempt to get their attention, glad of a few minutes of rare near-solitude in the open air.

The wind was high, whipping the water into cats'-paws. In the distance the mountains of the endless forests were still dusted with snow, dappled with shadow and early light. Elizabeth studied the east coast, trying to catch sight of some familiar landmark--she had traveled down that very shore in the previous summer by canoe--but it was a blur of cottonwood and maple, willow and black ash, showing only the vaguest tinge of new green here and there.

Overhead a crowd of ring-billed gulls screeched, pinwheeling with the wind. The babies blinked up at them thoughtfully, their round cheeks sharp pink in the fresh air.

A spit of land off a small bay capped by a tumble of boulders sparked some vague memory that she could not quite grasp. Nathaniel could put English, Mahican, and Kahnyen'kehâka names to every corner of the lake; perhaps he had told her a story about this place.

A sailor swung by, long arms roped with muscle. He had a face like a pickled walnut and a thin mouth bracketed by crusty corners; a carved pipe swayed there with every step he took. Elizabeth beckoned to him and he paused and touched his cap.

"Pardon me, but could you please tell me what that bay is called?" She pointed with her chin.

The bristled jaw worked. He spoke around the pipe in clipped Yankee rhythms. "That there's Button Bay, or so we calls it," he said.

"Button Bay?"

"Ayuh, it's a strange thing, missus. Walk along the shore there and you'll find that all the stones have got holes in 'em, you see, like buttons. Young'uns like to string 'em together." Eyes like polished pebbles fixed on the babies. "It'll be a while afore these two get up to such games. A lad and a maid, ain't that so?"