A mottled brown hen made a headlong dash for the narrowing space between two canoes just as there was another shout from Billy Kirby, and the men moved in from the other end.

They had it down to a science, all right. The man in the rear kept paddling while the one in front harvested. It was amazing to watch Billy Kirby at work: he could grab two fledglings in one fist and twist their necks so fast that all you saw was the heap of feathers as he tossed them over his shoulder into the empty middle of the canoe. All around him other men were hard at work, too, and the air filled with tender new feathers.

Some of the hens, better and faster swimmers, had made it out of the circle. Now, seeing their young attacked they rushed back, fairly lifting themselves out of the water in their fury. As they came within reach they were grabbed up, too, and dispatched without pause. In a matter of five minutes the canoes were filled with great fluttering mounds.

"At least it was over quickly," Elizabeth said on a hoarse, in—drawn breath.

But it wasn't, not yet. The first full boat had made it to the shore to be met by the women and children. As soon as it had been tipped up and emptied of its cargo, there was a high yodel of excitement, and the Cameron brothers jumped back in to paddle out again at full speed, ready for the next flushing.

"But they must have more than two hundred ducks," Elizabeth said, indignantly. "Isn't that enough?"

"They don't know the meaning of the word," Hawkeye murmured. And with a disgusted shake of his head and a nod to Nathaniel, they paddled for shore.

* * *

It was very hard to maintain a composed expression. Elizabeth forced herself to breathe in and out evenly; to answer in a normal tone of voice when she was spoken to. They found a spot to stand as far away from the bonfire and the growing mountain of dead birds as could be managed, and there she stayed, greeting her students and talking to their parents.

Against her will, her attention was drawn again and again to the spot on the shore where the women had begun the work of cleaning the birds. With the help of the oldest children, each carcass was headed, briefly bled, and then slit open without even a rudimentary plucking. The fledglings weren't good for anything except the breast meat, Anna explained to her.

Then why not let them grow into maturity? Elizabeth wanted to ask, but the sight of Anna's strong thumbs digging to separate the meat from the bone was more than she could take; she nodded and turned away as quickly as she could without giving offense.

Boats came and went, and the hill of inert bodies seemed to get larger in spite of the furious pace being set by the workers on the shore. Nathaniel and Hawkeye were talking quietly just behind her; Chingachgook had walked down the beach and stood watching silently, his blanket wrapped around him and his eyes fixed on some point on the water.

"Miz Elizabeth?"

Martha Southern stood off a few feet, her head lowered. She had her new baby strapped to her chest with a shawl, and the little button of a face peered out at Elizabeth with perfectly round eyes. Elizabeth had not seen Martha since her return.

"Moses is out on the water," she said, as if reading Elizabeth's thoughts.

"Is that your new son?" Elizabeth asked, glad of the distraction. She had heard the story of the child's birth from Falling—Day.

"Yas'm, this is our Jeremiah. Three months old."

"Congratulations, Martha. He looks a fine, healthy boy."

"Yas'm, that he is."

She paused, and then held out a chipped wooden bowl which had been hidden in the folds of her skirt.

"Would you like some meat? It's just off the fire."

Four tiny breasts; hardly enough for a single serving. Elizabeth felt a wave of nausea rising in her throat as surely as the tide. She looked around herself in desperation, but Nathaniel and Hawkeye had moved off to join Chingachgook and Axel. With a start, she realized that her father stood just a few feet away on the rise that looked over the lake, and that his attention was on her, all frowning concentration, his disappointment and disapproval radiating in warm waves. She swallowed hard, and wiped her brow.

"Are you all right, Miz Elizabeth? Don't you care for duck?"

She shook her head, and then sat abruptly on the sand. Martha came closer, her gentle, plain face creased in concern.

"Martha," Elizabeth said softly. "Thank you very much for your kind offer, but I'll have to ask you to take that away, now. The smell—" She swallowed hard again, and met the younger woman's gaze.

"I'm in a family way, you see."

The anxiety on her face was replaced suddenly by an understanding and empathy so sweet and welcome that Elizabeth's nausea ebbed a few steps in response.

"Oh, I see. That's good news, now ain't it? just a minute, let me put this down—" And she hurried off, only to return in just seconds with a chunk of plain bread.

"Bread always did help my stomach to settle," she explained, handing it over. Elizabeth murmured her thanks and took a small bite.

They were alone; the children were busy on the far side of the bonfire burning fingers and mouths as they plucked at the roasting meat, eating without thought or pause. The women were elbow—deep in blood and feathers. Anna made a comment and loud laughter rose over the lake in response. In the canoes the men were still at work, far up the shore. No sign of Moses Southern.

"Could I hold your baby? just for a moment?"

Without a word, Martha reached into the cradle made of her shawl and handed him over to Elizabeth. Then she settled down on the sand next to her with her arms slung around her knees.