"True enough. My mother was well schooled, and she taught all of us."

"Well, then, your mother is no longer alive to teach your daughter, but I have things to offer her."

"I ain't disputing that, Boots."

"But you won't let her come."

She turned to him. "Why not?"

"Not because I fear what you'd teach her," Nathaniel said. "But because I'm afraid for her life."

Elizabeth's mouth fell open, and she stood there for a good long time just like that.

"You think . . . she's in danger?"

"I know she is," said Nathaniel. "We all are. Some in the village do fear us, and fear moves stupid men to recklessness."

"These are just children," protested Elizabeth.

"Oh, children ain't capable of meanness?" His tone bordered on bitterness.  "Liam Kirby is coming, ain't he, and Peter Dubonnet and Praise—Be Cunningham, and maybe Jemima Southern?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"Well, now. There's a whole world of hurt and trouble in those names. Those are the children of the men who most probably broke in, last November. The men who would be glad to see us starve. The ones who killed livestock they couldn't carry with them just for the pleasure of it. They make no bones in public about wanting us gone off the judge's lands, and they ain't about to lose any sleep over a little half—breed girl. Especially not now."

"Not now?"

"Now that folks know about us wanting to buy Hidden Wolf." He paused. "They think the whole Kahnyen’keháka nation is going to move in on them. And it don't help much that Falling—Day is Wolf clan—when they think of the Kahnyen’keháka of the Wolf they think of warriors who fight like lions, and move quick as birds: gone with your scalp before you got a good look at them."

Sarah's clan, thought Elizabeth. Her fingers were tingling as they warmed, and she rubbed her hands together.

"Is there any reason to fear the Wolf clan?" Elizabeth asked in an even tone.

There was something like regret on Nathaniel's face. "There ain't a hundred Kahnyen’keháka men of fighting age left in all of the territory," he said. "Most of them went to Canada and won't ever come back. There's only a few who tried to stay out of the war. And most of them have been beaten into the dust by liquor and humiliation."

Nathaniel's irritation and anger were suddenly deflated. Elizabeth wanted to ask a hundred questions, but she sensed that he had gone far beyond the things he had meant to say, and that the things he needed from her now were different.

"Well," she said simply. "I apologize for my outburst."

"As well you should," said Nathaniel, a bit calmer.

The fire crackled for a while without their talking.

"What about a trial?" Elizabeth asked. "To see if there is as much trouble as you anticipate?"

Exasperated, Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair. "You are stubborn, I'll say that for you."

"Now I'm stubborn," said Elizabeth, trying to smile. "just a little while ago you were admiring my . . . persistence."

"We could talk about what I admire about you," Nathaniel said softly, but with such a focused look that Elizabeth stepped back.

"Your daughter wants to come to my school."

Nathaniel's look cleared. "She'd have to go down to the village every day on her own."

Elizabeth nodded. "That is true. But she came down yesterday to fetch me."

"Good God," replied Nathaniel. "I don't know what to do with you. Listen, now. If Hannah comes to your school she'd be traveling the same paths every day at the same times. Does that say anything to you at all? Can't you see what trouble that might be?"

"Oh," Elizabeth said. "You're afraid somebody might—lie in wait for her?"

The dim light in the cabin came from a window facing the path where shutter had broken; Elizabeth looked about, realizing they were at an impasse and wondering where to go from here.

"Whose place is this?"

"Your father's."

She turned to him, her head inclined.

"Didn't they tell you? This was his first homestead on the patent. My father helped him build it."

All of her uneasiness forgotten, Elizabeth looked around herself with new amazement.

"Then my mother must have lived here."

"She did," said Nathaniel. "Until the judge built the house down by the lake. The one that burned and had to be rebuilt."

Here was another story that Elizabeth had never heard, but her curiosity was pushed aside by a sudden awareness of the opportunity before her. She clapped her hands together suddenly in delight. Nathaniel looked up from the fire, startled.

"I could teach school right here! Until the new school is ready. It's not very big, but there's enough room if we economize carefully with the benches. There's a hearth that works, and—" She looked out the window. "A privy? No. Well, that could be managed without too much trouble, could it not?"

Nathaniel was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smiling and shaking his head.

"It's a good solution," insisted Elizabeth, as though he had disagreed. "And best of all, Hannah would be closer to home."

Before Nathaniel could object, Elizabeth's face lit up one more degree.