At that Nathaniel laughed. “You had just about everybody fooled, I'll give you that.”

“Gentlemen,” said Stiles slowly, looking hard at Nathaniel and then at Simon. “I see you are not interested in the transaction I propose. If you'll pardon me, I must finish my notes on tomorrow's sermon.”

With a little bow he turned away from them and disappeared back into the shadows.

“Well, goddamn the man,” said Nathaniel, mostly to himself.

Ballentyne grunted. “That's a job we'll have to handle on our own.”

While she did her chores and did them well and without complaint, Lily had always disliked housework. To her surprise she found that it wasn't quite so boring now that it was her own place she was looking after. There was a certain satisfaction in the progress she made, day by day.

My own home, she said sometimes when something particularly nasty had to be scraped off the floor. Mine and Simon's. All the things she had been sure she did not want: a husband, a cabin in Paradise, and now she could hardly keep from smiling.

And as soon as the war was over, they would go away. She would hold him to that promise, and herself too. But for now there were two rooms she would set to rights, and when they were weary of traveling, weary of Canada, they would have this place to come back to.

The first task Simon had taken on was the repair of the roof, and then he had cleaned the chimney and hearth, so that the storm that had come on so quick and fierce did not stop Lily from her afternoon's task, scrubbing down the cupboards that stood to either side of the hearth. Which meant she must first empty them out, no small thing at all, for it seemed that Jack MacGregor had been the kind of man who was loath to throw away even the smallest, most inconsequential bit of string.

Lily found muslin bags full of curled bits of stiffened fur and scraps of deer hide, a great tin of arrowheads that would please Gabriel, dusty piles of newspaper clippings that crumbled at a touch, a bundle of letters tied with string that she put aside to ask her mother about, bits of crockery, and tucked behind a bundle of rags, three perfect teacups and saucers of such translucent delicacy that she was almost afraid to touch them.

For a good while Lily studied a cup, holding it in her hands as she would an egg. The firelight played on the rich glazing and made the pattern of flowers and vines seem to glow, and for the life of her she could not imagine why Jack MacGregor, who had been a dour old trapper with no family and no friends, had kept such a treasure for himself. There was a story here, certainly. Curiosity was coming by this afternoon with linen, maybe she would know what to make of it.

Behind Lily the door opened with a squeak—the hinges still needed oiling, she kept forgetting to mention it to Simon—and she turned to show Curiosity the cup she held in her hands.

Justus Rising closed the door behind himself before Lily could quite collect her thoughts. He was dripping wet and his face was charged with high color. His eyes shone in the light of the candles she had lit against the darkening of the storm. They were red rimmed and Lily was reminded of a possum, a slow animal that could lash out quite unexpectedly when cornered.

She said, “Go away, Justus,” but the sound of her voice was lost in a lazy roll of thunder. Lily stood and put the cup down carefully on the table on its saucer. When the thunder had stopped she cleared her throat.

“Justus, leave here immediately. You are not welcome.”

The boy said nothing at all; he was all burning blue eyes and a gaping mouth. He came forward slowly then he held out a fist and uncurled his fingers. A half-dozen small coins rattled onto the table.

“Is that enough?”

Lily stepped backward and bumped into the cupboard. She might have asked him, Enough for what, or What do you mean, but she saw exactly what he wanted.

It was odd, how her mind could do so many things at once. One part of her was so shocked that she might have just let her knees fold beneath her. To be propositioned thus by a boy, by the preacher's nephew, it was beyond her mind's ability to cope. She wasn't angry, not quite yet, but it sat there like a stone in her belly, ready to be vomited up.

He's calling you a whore. Simon's voice came to her then, and she realized that she should have taken what he had to say more seriously. And where was Simon? She glanced at the window and saw only rain.

“He won't bother us just now,” said Justus Rising. “He's at the trading post talking to Jed McGarrity.”

“Go away,” Lily said mechanically. Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat again. “Go away immediately.”

“My money ain't good enough for you?” His high color had begun to fade but it came back in a rush. “How much did the nigger give you?”

No weapons within reach, none except her own mind. Lily forced her thoughts to order themselves, composed her face, and summoned up her mother's spirit.

“Justus Rising,” she said. “You have insulted me in the worst way possible. Take your money and leave here, and I will not tell my father about this.”

“Oh, like it's any surprise to him, that you spread your legs for coin.” The boy wiped his dripping nose with the back of his hand and spat into the corner. “I expect he was your first customer. Wouldn't that be the way, him half savage like he is? Don't play innocent with me, not with me, missy. I seen you in the woods, with that great Scot. He had you pinned to a tree with your legs wrapped around him, and he was riding you right rough, though I'll admit you looked to be enjoying it.”