“Mrs. Bonner,” Simon said. “I don't mind answering the boy's question.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and groaned inwardly, but still she could almost feel the triumphant look that her youngest child shot at her.

Gabriel said, “Well, then, how did you get it?”

Lily's gaze was fixed on her fork, but her color had risen a few shades at least. Simon started to speak and she raised her face and shook her head at him sharply.

She said, “Gabriel. He did not fall, or run into a door or a tree or a fist. That's all you need to know.”

There was a moment's strained silence and then Curiosity said, “There's this letter, still, if you done poking at the man, Gabriel.”

That got the boy's attention as nothing else had. He ducked his head and allowed that he would like to hear it, pardon him please, and could somebody pass the ham, he was still some hungry.

When the bowls and platters had made another journey around the table Curiosity took the letter out of her bodice and unfolded it. From her apron pocket she took a pair of spectacles and put them on carefully, wiggling her nose like a rabbit until she was satisfied with the way they sat.

Elizabeth, who knew Curiosity as well as anyone, saw the slight tremble in her hands and sat up, interest giving way to fresh anxiety. She had put the letter down on the table and stood over it, her head at an angle, her whole posture putting Elizabeth in mind of a bird eyeing a worm whole, alert and alive and eager.

“‘Dear Curiosity,'” she began to read.

I find myself on the far side of the great lakes. As of yet I have still not found my nephew Samuel, who is called Throws-Hard by the Kahnyen'kehàka, or any of his children. However, I have spoken to an elderly sachem by the name of Elk-in-the-Snow, who has given me some reason to believe that I must continue this journey farther into Canada. It seems these old bones are not done yet with adventuring, but I do not complain. Indeed, I believe I owe my nephew Richard thanks for making me stretch both my legs and my mind.

Now for the rest of my news, of a surprising nature but a joyful one. In this place I have come across an old acquaintance of mine and someone much closer to you. After many days and nights of conversation I have permission to tell you that your son Almanzo is here, that he is well, and that he regrets to the bottom of his soul the pain he has caused you by his long silence.

He had cause. Not sufficient cause, he now has come to see, but to him it seemed so at the time. It has to do with the death of Hannah's husband, Strikes-the-Sky. More than that I cannot write down here. It is Almanzo's place to tell that story, for Hannah's sake, and for his own, and for yours.

I have told him of his father's death, and he is much shaken but now more determined to come home to you.

Thus this news: your son should be with you in Paradise a week or ten days after you receive this letter. It is time to butcher the fatted calf, Curiosity my dear.

Your true friend,

Cornelius Bump

“My God,” Daisy said, and she pressed her hands to her mouth. A great sob escaped anyway, and then a laugh, and then half the room was crying and laughing together. Chairs were pushed out of the way as people made their way to Curiosity, who had read the last part of the letter with tears streaming down her face.

“I'ma feed that boy up good,” she said between sobs. “And then I'ma beat him black and blue. Or maybe the other way around.”

Lily wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth. She caught her father's eye and saw many things there: happiness for Curiosity, whose son had been restored to her. Resignation and some relief at the news that confirmed, finally, that Strikes-the-Sky was dead. Confusion and worry and doubt too, all those things wound together.

Simon just looked somber, and a little confused. “It's a long story,” she told him. “I'll tell you sometime.”

“You can tell him this afternoon, daughter,” Nathaniel said. “If he's still planning to call on you.” It was more a question than a statement.

Simon said, “Aye, I am.”

It was the look the men exchanged that caused Lily to flush with embarrassment and irritation. She said, “I am going to the meetinghouse,” she said. “There is some work I must finish.”

“I'll call for you there at four,” Simon said. “And see you home.”

“Cobbler for supper,” Nathaniel said. “From the last of the dried apples.”

Elizabeth, who had been listening but staying out of the conversation, drew in a sharp breath and then turned away.

“Another long story,” Nathaniel told Simon. “But not one you'll ever hear.” He was grinning in the way that men sometimes grinned at each other, when there was a woman at the heart of the matter.

Lily bit her lip. She had promised herself that she would cause no trouble today, for Callie's sake and Martha's. But there was a limit to even the best of intentions, and she slipped out of the room before she found herself standing on the other side of it.

Inside the meetinghouse, with the woodstove stoked and her wet boots set in front of it and her hooded mantle draped over a chair to dry, Lily sat down to lose herself in work. The storm robbed most of the light out of the afternoon and so she soon had to stop and light the candles. Any other time she would have simply given up for the day and gone home, but she did not like the idea of climbing the mountain in the driving rain. She might have gone to see Joshua Hench at the smithy and borrow a horse, but with her poor luck she would most likely find herself mired before she got very far.