"Richard gave them enough to talk about," Elizabeth amended. "I shudder to think what they must have heard of me."

"Well, now." He frowned. "I expect that your running off to marry me is only part of your reputation. They'll be thinking of Lingo, too."

She pulled up short. "What does anyone here know about that?"

Nathaniel put a hand out to take her elbow and came in closer.

"Elizabeth," he said calmly. "News like that has legs. It'll get up and walk itself across the territory in no time at all. I know, I know you don't like the idea, but if it's any comfort to you, nobody thinks badly of you. You found a real good way to make these men take you seriously—haven't you noticed?"

"I was hoping for respect," she said. "Not fear."

"They go together, around here."

"What the women must be saying—"

He pulled up, and turned her to him. "Did you look at Jane Morgan when I introduced her just now? Did you see her kerchief under a hat, in this heat?"

"I don't understand your point."

"This looks like a city to you, Boots, but this place has been in the middle of one war after another since the first Dutchman put up a hut and called it home. You see that fort over there on the island? That's there for a reason. Jane survived a scalping. I don't doubt she killed a man or two herself. I know my mother did. Women living in these parts learned how to handle weapons and they used them, or they didn't last long."

In the middle of the crowded street he put an arm around her and his cheek to her hair. "This ain't London, although it may stink as bad at times. Now will you stop fretting?"

"I'll try," she said against his shoulder.

"That'll do, Boots. I couldn't ask for any more than that."

* * *

Judge van der Poole had a goiter that rested on his bony neck like a perky second head, a fact which might have been easier to overlook if he did not have the habit of stroking it thoughtfully as he read the papers before him. His small red mouth pursed in thought, he petted and prodded the growth until Elizabeth had to look away to retain her composure.

He had received them in his home, most probably at Mr. Bennett's urging, Elizabeth thought. It was certainly more pleasant than the courthouse would have been. The thick walls and batten—shuttered windows made the house cool and dim; it smelled of smoked ham and beeswax and freshly pressed linen. The hearth was surrounded by ceramic tiles in a white and blue pattern that matched exactly the colors of the rugs on the brightly polished wood plank floors. It was a comfortable house without pretensions, in spite of the elevated position of the householder. Elizabeth found herself relaxing while Judge van der Poole read through the pile of papers before him at leisure.

When he finally spoke, it came as a surprise. "Mr. Bennett, I'm going to talk to Mrs. Bonner directly, if she will allow me."

"I think you'll find her very capable of dealing with your questions directly," Mr. Bennett murmured before Elizabeth could voice this sentiment herself.

Judge van der Poole paused to pat his goiter thoughtfully. "If we understand correctly, Mrs. Bonner," he began, peering at her from over the rims of his spectacles. "You are asking the court to dismiss the breach—of—promise suit brought against you by Dr. Richard Todd."

She allowed that this was true, and in response he went back to the paperwork, tilting his head to one side with his mouth tightly pursed.

"Most unusual, you realize. A very delicate business, this. First the defendant was not to be found, and now the plaintiff has gone missing. You have the support of some very prominent citizens, I note, but still, Dr. Todd has his rights. I think I must ask Mrs. Bonner to tell us her story from the beginning," he said. "Without her husband in the room. If he doesn't object." It was not a question.

Elizabeth felt Nathaniel's hand on her shoulder, the strong fingers pressing briefly. He spoke a few low words with Mr. Bennett, and then he left their fate to her.

* * *

There was a little boy in the next garden, building a fort out of bits of cast—off wood mortared together with mud and straw. Nathaniel sat down in the shade of an oak where he could watch him work. The shuttered windows of the van der Poole parlor were at his back; when the wind was right he could hear only the rise and fall of voices. She was doing most of the talking, in an easy tone.

It could go wrong; they knew that. The judge could order them to sell the mountain to Richard, or he could void both the deed of gift and the land transfer. No one would be able to lift a finger, not even Philip Schuyler. Richard would come back to Paradise to find that they had done his work for him: Hidden Wolf back in Middleton's hands; Richard determined to have it. Nathaniel would be back where he started, except he wouldn't. He would still have Elizabeth for his wife and nothing could change that.

Sometimes he tired of it, the whole long battle for one small corner of the forest when so much had been lost already by the Kahnyen’keháka.

The little boy's curls twirled around his head in the breeze. He glanced up at Nathaniel with eyes as green as the flickering leaves, tugged on a curl that fell over his forehead, and then frowned at his handiwork. With a sigh he got up and disappeared around a corner to come back with his fists full of kindling.

Nathaniel loosened the neck of his shirt another notch and made himself more comfortable against the broad back of the oak, glad of the breeze and the shade. A rider passed and hooves struck the cobblestones in a hollow rhythm. In the next garden the little boy began to hum over his work, tunelessly. Elizabeth's voice rose and fell in counterpoint, as familiar to him now as the sound of his own heartbeat. At odd moments there was the sound of the Hudson, not a quarter of a mile off, rushing south to the sea.