Chingachgook spoke up, his face creasing into a smile so thoroughly wrinkled that his eyes disappeared. "My daughter—in—law didn't like the English much."

"But she made an exception in your son's case," Elizabeth noted to him. Both men looked surprised at this, and then Hawkeye laughed, as if the idea of calling himself an Englishman was something that would never have occurred to him.

"Or are you Scots, too?" she amended. "I expect your name can be traced back to the Normans, in either case.

"I was born in these mountains.

"But your parents must have come from England?"

"I was given to understand they came from the far north of England," Hawkeye said slowly. "But I don't remember them. I'm a son of the Mahicans.

Elizabeth was suddenly aware of Chingachgook, and she realized her mistake. "Of course," she murmured.

"I never knew any other kin," Hawkeye continued. "I didn't have any English until I was ten, and I don't suppose I knew I was white, either. Still comes as a shock, sometimes."

Hawkeye dusted the carved frame with his shirtsleeve.

"How did you meet her?"

"Her da was a colonel assigned to Albany. She followed him to the Mohawk Valley. We helped her out of a fix or two, back in '57."

"That must have been the war with France."

Chingachgook had been silent, but he spoke up, his voice hoarse. "Most of our wars have been with the English or the French, or against them. We don't much have the energy to fight among ourselves anymore."

Elizabeth was beginning to see why these people would want to buy Hidden Wolf Mountain from her father. For all of their lives, and the lives of their parents and possibly their grandparents before them, they had known nothing but war and sorrow, and most of that at the hands of the English. A place of their own, the opportunity to live as they must, from the land, with a degree of security they had never known: it seemed very reasonable to her.

The door flew open with a bang, and two dogs galloped into the room, tongues lolling. Behind them, a young Indian materialized in a swirl of snow and cold air, blood trickling from a wound on his forehead. He stood in the door, legs spread, raised his rifle high, put back his head, and let out a whoop that echoed through the room and made Elizabeth jump.

"Otter!" Hawkeye strode across the room. "You'll scare Miz Elizabeth to death, she'll think you're after her scalp."

But Elizabeth had already collected herself and stood before the hearth with what she hoped was a calm air, although she could feel her heart racing. She had seen, almost immediately, that the high—pitched yip was one of satisfaction and pride.

"You got the moose!" Hannah had rushed in from the other room with Falling—Day and Many-Doves close behind.

Otter laughed and tugged at Hannah's braids. "Saw the tracks, did you? Nathaniel got him."

"Did you forget about your rifle and butt him with that hard head of yours?" asked Many-Doves .

Falling—Day made an attempt to examine Otter's wound, but he waved her away impatiently, muttering at her in Kahnyen’keháka. Then he caught sight of Elizabeth, and stopped suddenly. A guarded look passed over his face, to be replaced, slowly, by a more open and friendly one as Hawkeye made his introduction.

Otter crossed the room, speaking in a low voice to the dogs, who were sniffing at Elizabeth's skirts distrustfully. They fell into heap in front of the fire with a great show of sheepish yawns.

Otter's hand was chilled through, rough and not especially clean, but Elizabeth took it without hesitation and made a determined effort not to wipe it on her handkerchief once he had let it go. He was well grown; Elizabeth judged him as tall as Nathaniel, because she had to look up at him in the same way. His side hair was caught up in a plait secured with rawhide and studded with a single feather. Elizabeth remembered vaguely seeing drawings of young warriors, but Otter did not look at all like those representations: his head was not shaved in whole or part, and there was not a bit of paint on his face. He had the same deep bronze coloring as his sister and mother, but his dark eyes were much more animated, and less guarded.

Hannah tugged impatiently at Otter, pestering him for details of the hunt.

"You're the one Nathaniel is building the schoolhouse for," he said to Elizabeth, ignoring his niece. "Maybe you can teach this nosey one here some manners." And he laughed and dodged as Hannah swiped at his ear.

The adults stood laughing as Otter and Hannah wrestled. Their high spirits were infectious; Elizabeth began to feel more relaxed than she had since Hannah had come to fetch her. Then she looked up and saw Nathaniel standing across the room in the open door.

He smiled at her; her heart gave a sudden lurch, and then settled into a new rhythm.

* * *

Elizabeth found she had a ferocious appetite, and she concentrated on her food: there was the turkey, which had been roasted over the hearth, squash, onions and beans baked in molasses, and corn bread.

She was surprised to find that there was no pressure to converse at the table, and no awkward silences in the place of chatter. Otter told of trailing the moose through snowdrifts until it was exhausted enough to give up and stand still long enough to be shot. Elizabeth was very grateful that they did not expect her to talk; she knew that the thoughts that ran through her head like a chant were not things she could say out loud. Nathaniel sat across from her; she felt his eyes on her, although she could not meet his. Why do you watch me from the woods?