Blankets were stacked, along with all the warm clothing that could be spared. Ethan insisted that his new mantle be added to the pile, and the woolen stockings that Curiosity had made for him to take on his journey. Curiosity emptied her stores of everything sweet, sugars white and brown and maple, hard candy and gingerbread, dried apples and pears and cherries. Word had spread through the village and neighbors came with loaves of bread and dried meat and crocks of honey.

Sometime, very late, Curiosity took the little girls off to bed in spite of their protests. Gabriel disappeared and would not show himself until Curiosity gave up the idea of doing the same for him. Lily was glad to have the boy nearby; of all the family, Gabriel's pleasure at her sudden homecoming was unconditional, without unspoken questions or doubts.

Lily, working beside her mother, said very little. She did not trust her own voice; tears were a luxury that would have to wait until the work was done and the travelers were gone north.

Simon was going. Of course. She hadn't thought of it, and now there was nothing she could do to change that or even to delay it until they could speak to her parents of the arrangements between them. Not that there was any hurry, now. She felt faint at times, thinking of the things she would have to say, if only to her mother.

She would say them because she understood that to keep this to herself would build a wall that would always stand between them. She was frightened and ashamed to reveal the secrets she had kept, but they must be said.

For the first time since they came across Sawatis, Lily allowed herself to think of Nicholas Wilde and wondered what news there was; if he was even alive. Once or twice she felt Curiosity's sharp gaze on her, brimming with questions and worry. Lily forced herself to smile, and pinched her cheeks to give herself color, and turned her mind back to the work at hand.

In spite of everything she was thankful to be here, where she could reach out and touch her mother and talk to her about simple things. When he passed her Gabriel always stopped to wrap his arms around her waist and Lily swayed into his wiry embrace. Once he said, “Will Simon come back, sister?”

Before Lily could think how to answer, her mother spoke in her calm, even way. “I would suppose not,” she said. “His home is in Montreal.”

Jennet, who was near enough to hear this, cast Lily a questioning glance. Lily fixed her eyes on the chopping board and the knife, and refused to speak.

It was unfair to Simon, yes. She should speak up now and say: he will come back, because I have asked him to. He will come back, because there is unfinished business between us. But Lily needed time to think. Coward, she whispered to herself. Coward.

Yet another knock at the kitchen door, and then standing there in the firelight reflected off copper and brass, Nicholas Wilde. He was carrying two stout brown jugs, and he looked a hundred years old.

Next to Lily her mother stopped what she was doing, as did Curiosity and Many-Doves and Jennet and Hannah. No doubt the mice in the walls had gone still too.

He was not dead, nor was he in prison; here was proof, but of what? His innocence, his duplicity, his poor judgment, his good luck. Lily realized two things: he was looking at her in a way that asked certain questions, and their connection was no secret to anyone in this room. How that had come to pass, she could only guess; she would rather cut out her tongue than ask, just now.

“I've brought cider,” he said, his voice low and familiar and vaguely trembling. “I hope it might be some help.” And he touched his brow and backed out of the kitchen, never quite there to start with. Before the door closed he caught Lily's eye directly and without apology.

“Welcome home,” he said, and closed the door.

Hannah said, “You never got my letter about the hearing, did you? Your paths must have crossed, yours and the messenger.”

“No,” Lily said with a forced smile. “I didn't get it. But there's no time for village gossip just now.”

What a poor liar she was, and they all saw it on her face. But they were good women and none of them meant to shame her, and so they turned back to their work.

Lily felt her mother's gaze on her, warm and concerned and disappointed, in her mild way. If she looked up she would see the same thing in Curiosity's face. Lily would have preferred anger and shouted insults to disappointment. She blinked the tears from her eyes and made careful examination of an imaginary nick on her paring knife.

It was midnight before the women were finished, and then they sat, wrung dry and giddy with exhaustion, around the hearth.

“Where are the men?” said Jennet, as if she had just remembered that such creatures existed in the world.

“In the parlor,” said Sally.

Curiosity grunted. “No doubt with their dirty feet up on the good cushions.”

In his mother's lap Gabriel yawned. “They sent me away.” Too tired to show them the full measure of his resentment.

Elizabeth's long neck arched as she put her head back and blew a sigh at the rafters. “I cannot rouse myself to go ask questions, though I should.”

Many-Doves said, “Let them think they can plan what will come, if it comforts them.”

Jennet stretched a little and then looked around the circle. “I'm sorry to be so selfish,” she said, two spots of new color on her cheekbones. “But I canna wait any longer. What word do you bring from your brother Luke?”

Hannah saw Lily start up out of a near sleep, and blink in surprise. “Oh, my,” she said. “I meant to give it to you right away. I did promise him.” To Gabriel she said, “Would you get the parcel I left in the front hall?”