Who knew them best despise them most.

"A man after my Cora's own heart," Hawkeye noted with a half smile, even as he winked at Elizabeth solemnly. She wondered at the strangeness of this: did he regard her as an exception to the "idiot race" his wife had so despised, or did he not see the insult in it? Elizabeth thought he must be testing her, and so she only raised a brow in reply.

Then she realized that Many-Doves was staring at the book in Elizabeth's hands, and it came to her with a shock that she had been given Many-Doves ' place, and taken over a duty she held dear. Elizabeth leafed through the slim volume while she thought this through, and wondered how she might fix the slight without offending anyone else.

"This looks a likely poem," she said finally. "But I'm afraid the dialect is a bit beyond me. Do you know it?" she asked, extending the book toward Many-Doves .

Many-Doves accepted it with a glance at her mother. She cleared her throat and began not to read, but to sing in a clear voice:

Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary,

Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary,

Charlie Grigot tint his plaidie,

Kissin Theniel's bonie Mary.

In comin by the brig 0 Dye,

At Darlet we a blink did tarry;

As day was da wing in the sky,

We drank a health to bonie Mary.

Her een sac bright, her brow sac white,

her haffet locks as brown's a berry,

And ay they din pl wi a smile

The rosy cheeks o' bonie Mary.

We lap an dane'd the lee—lang day,

Till piper—lads were wae and weary;

But Charlie gat the spring to pay,

For kissin Theniel's bonie Mary.

* * *

Many-Doves was already turning the pages in a familiar way. She paused and began to sing again softly, of "Peggy's Charms," and then in rapid succession, a series of songs, each with more energy than the one before. Finally, with a grin at her mother, she launched into a tune that set Hannah to laughing. She jumped up and joined Many-Doves , dancing as she sang along:

I'm o'er young, I'm o'er young,

I'm o'er young to marry yet!

I'm o'er young, 'twad be a sin

To tak me frae my mammie yet.

Hallowmass is come and gane,

The nights are lang in winter, Sir,

And you and I in ae bed,

In trowth, I dare na venture, Sir!

Fu loud an shrill the frosty wind

Blaws thro the leafless timber, Sir;

But if ye come this gate again,

I'll aulder be gin simmer, Sir.

Elizabeth tried very hard not to be shocked, or show what an effort it was not to be, but Falling—Day put down her sewing to praise the girls, and Chingachgook spoke encouraging words. Nathaniel lifted up his daughter over his head as if she weighed nothing, and tossed her into the air while she screeched with laughter.

"I must say I didn't expect to find you fluent in Scots," Elizabeth said to Many-Doves . "But it's good fun that you are."

Hawkeye had been observing in silence, but he spoke up now and there was a bit of a hoarseness in his voice. "Cora never let the girls go to bed without some Scots to fall asleep by," he said. "They come by it honest."

Otter spoke up from the table where he had been pouring lead into bullet molds. "Many-Doves is good, it's true," he said. "But you should have heard Sings—from—Books. You would have thought she just got off the boat from Aberdeen."

"Sings—from—Books? Who is that?" Elizabeth asked, still laughing.

"Sarah," said Nathaniel. "Sarah was my wife." He let Hannah slide to the floor, leaned over her, whispered in her ear. With a few words and a curtsy to Elizabeth, she scooted away into the shadows.

* * *

Later that evening, Elizabeth climbed the ladder to the sleeping loft where the women slept. Many-Doves and Falling—Day followed her, and in quick motions they had undressed and slipped into the larger bed while Elizabeth still paused next to Hannah.

The child was curled under her covers, her head just a dark blur against the bedding. She never stirred when Elizabeth sat on the edge of the pallet to remove her shoes. Hannah had a damp, sweet smell about her, a little—girl smell. Elizabeth wondered if she looked very much like her mother. Like Sarah.

It was some time before she could put away the thought of Nathaniel's face when he had said her name. Finally, she slept deeply, and for the first time in a week, without dreaming.

Chapter 10

Anna Hauptmann usually didn't hold much with men who wouldn't work, but Julian Middleton had a charming way about him. He spent a good deal of his time in her trading post warming his hands before the hearth, so she supposed it was a good thing he made pleasant company.

"So she didn't come down again?" Jed McGarrity asked Julian.

Moses Southern frowned. "You didn't go after her? Left her up there with them indians?"

Julian sat before the hearth with his feet crossed on a barrel of molasses and the old tom in his lap. "Father thinks she's safe enough. And how would we get to her, anyway, with three feet of new snow on top of the old? Does it ever stop snowing in these mountains?"

The farmers exchanged glances.

"And I must say," Julian continued, when it was clear that they weren't going to make excuses for—or promises about—the weather. "I don't see what harm they could do her in such a short time."

"Don't tell me you're fool enough to think the Iroquois are no threat to a white woman," Moses barked. "There's plenty who had their women, and little girls too, stole away and never seen again. They have a way of 'doctrinatin' women, bringin' 'em over to their way, and they are good for nothing after that. Except to serve Indian bucks."