To Jennet she said, “You will need furs to wear too, in the winter. We must talk to Many-Doves about your clothes.”

“But not beaver.” Jennet cast a last glance at a large form moving placidly through the deeper water on the lake side of the dam. And then, more thoughtfully: “Runs-from-Bears says the winter will be cold, with more snow than usual. As bad as the winter the twins were born. I remember you telling me about that when first you came to Carryck.”

“It was a very bad winter, yes. The river froze solid, which it seldom does.”

Jennet said, “I have so little experience of snow, real snow, I am almost looking forward to it.”

Hannah made a sound she hoped would be sufficient to end the conversation. But Jennet was not so easily discouraged.

“Gabriel says he'll teach me about snowshoes.”

In the tall grasses that framed the footpath rabbits were playing in the last of the light, and they scattered as the women passed by.

“You'll have little choice,” Hannah said. “Unless you spend the entire winter by the hearth.”

Jennet looked genuinely shocked at the idea. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because it's warm and safe,” Hannah said.

Her cousin let out a soft laugh. “Aye, and boring, forbye. Do you skate on the lake in winter?”

The question took Hannah by surprise. She felt herself flushing with it, all the way up her spine to the ends of her fingers.

“No,” she said, and heard her own voice cracking. “The ice is too rough and uncertain.”

“But if the winter is as bad as you say,” Jennet insisted. And then, more thoughtfully: “Maybe I could ask Mr. Hench to make me a pair of blades.”

They were silent for the rest of the walk to the Todds'. Hannah wondered at herself, that she could be wounded so easily and without any warning at all by something so simple as a discussion of the coming winter.

Tell her, Strikes-the-Sky said behind her. For a single moment Hannah knew with absolute certainty that if she turned around she would find him there, looking down at her, his expression impatient.

Tell her and free yourself, he said again.

Jennet was sniffing the air once more as they came closer to the Todds' place. “They've been making soap. Do you remember the Sunday we spent with my granny and old Gelleys the washerwoman?”

“It's been a long time since I've thought about that,” said Hannah. She cleared her throat and when she spoke her voice had transformed itself, taken on the comfortable creak of breathy old age. “‘Thirty year was I heid washerwoman, wi' three guid maids under me. Six days a week did we wash and press.'”

“I miss my granny.” Jennet's tone had softened and Hannah knew that she, too, was hearing a voice long gone.

“I remember many things from that afternoon,” Hannah said. “I remember the vicar coming to call. What ever became of him?”

Jennet's face lit up. “Och, did I never write to you about Willie Fisher? And such a lovely story it is too. He inherited some money from an uncle and he went to sea and became a pirate.”

Hannah stopped where she was and sent Jennet her severest expression, to which her cousin held up both hands.

“I swear on my good name, it's aye true. He bought a ship and named her Salvation and went off to the Spice Islands.”

“Jennet,” Hannah said with a smile. “How does that add up to piracy? It sounds to me as though he's gone off to be a missionary.”

The corner of Jennet's mouth twitched. “Aye, and are they not one and the same thing? Stealing souls from someone else's God to give to your own. Sometimes it seems to me that a war must soon break out in heaven itself, with such shameless poaching as goes on among the deities.”

Without realizing that she had intended to, Hannah hugged her cousin.

“And what did I do to deserve that?” Jennet asked, pleased.

“You made me laugh,” Hannah said. “It's a rare talent you've got, cousin.”

Jennet looked embarrassed, but pleased. “I hope I can be of more help to you than that,” she said. “Let's go see what work the doctor has for us.”

Richard said, “You'll need an assistant, but Ethan is gone to Johnstown and Curiosity to a birthing.” He sent Jennet a severe look from under a lowered brow, but the Earl of Carryck's youngest daughter had been fed a steady diet of such looks from men even more imposing than Richard Todd. She gave him a grin in return.

“Are you up to the job, Lady Jennet?”

Richard was the only person in Paradise who still called Jennet by her rightful title, and not out of respect but only to goad her. He was bedridden with nausea and in a great deal of pain today, but Hannah had the idea that he was enjoying himself.

Jennet said, “Och aye, dinna worry yer heid.”

To Richard Todd, Jennet always spoke Scots. The only reason for this, as far as Hannah could see, was to pay him back in aggravation. For his part Richard seemed determined to deny her that pleasure by steadfastly refusing to make any comment, no matter what language she used with him. And if she suddenly addressed him in Greek, Hannah thought, he would not raise a brow.

Now he just grunted, but his mouth jerked at the corner. Hannah bit back her own smile.

She said, “I could stop by the trading post and ask Anna to assist. Then Jennet could stay here and keep you company.”

For her troubles she got sharp looks from both of them: from Jennet because Richard Todd was one of the very few people in the village she would not spend time with unless compelled, and from Richard because he would resent being challenged until he was laid in his grave.