"Father knows exactly what it would take to keep me here," she said. "But he is clearly unwilling to abide by the promises he made me before we came. Thus," she said, still not looking at her father, "I will go back to my aunt and uncle Merriweather. Life may not be as exciting there as it is here, but at least the restrictions which I must live with are not misrepresented."

The judge's mouth fell open in astonishment. "What I have done to deserve this contempt?" he asked. "Except worry for the welfare of my daughter?"

"Your worry is not for me," Elizabeth said, finally addressing her father directly. "Or, more accurately, it is only indirectly for me. If you were truly concerned for me, it would matter to you what I want for myself. But it is only what you want for me—from me—that concerns you."

She put her hands in her lap to steady them. The thrill of telling her true feelings without considering good manners or the propriety of what she had to say was intoxicating. With more calm than she felt, she met her father's horrified gaze.

"But I am arranging for your schoolhouse! At considerable expense, I might add, when cash is at a premium!"

"Only after I questioned your good word in front of your friend," Elizabeth said calmly. "And in the meantime I have no place to begin my work."

"There is not a spare bit of space in the village which would suit your purposes," the judge said. "Is that not true? Ask anyone. Ask—ask Curiosity!" He turned to the woman, who stood in front of the sideboard with her hands crossed in front of her.

"Isn't it true, Curiosity, that there's no suitable space for Miss Elizabeth's school at the moment?"

"Not in the village," she answered, with a nod. "But," she added, causing the judge to tense and turn toward her. "Of course, there's the old homestead. That might do."

Elizabeth's head snapped up in surprise. Curiosity looked back at her impassively.

"The old homestead!" Julian turned to his father, astonished. "What old homestead is that?"

"Up Hidden Wolf just before the strawberry glen," said Curiosity when the judge could do nothing more than sputter. "A cabin, just. But in good repair."

"My father clearly doesn't wish me to teach school," Elizabeth said. "Or he might have suggested the cabin before now."

The judge finally found his voice. "That's not true!" He was flushed, torn between outrage that Curiosity should betray him thus, and the need to pacify Elizabeth. "The cabin is too old and rough for Elizabeth's purposes, or I would have mentioned it."

"I see," Elizabeth said. "Are you saying that if the cabin meets my needs, and I am satisfied with it, you will give it to me until the schoolhouse is built?"

There was a silence as the judge struggled to find the right answer. He looked back and forth between his children, and then at Curiosity. "If that will keep you here," he said finally. "Yes."

"That, and one other thing," Elizabeth said, clasping her hands tightly together under the table.

The judge looked utterly beaten. Elizabeth almost took pity on him, and then she felt Curiosity's sharp eyes on her, and knew that she had to take advantage now.

"I will choose my own friends, and go my own way, on my own terms," she said. "Without interference from you. Of any kind."

Julian's ever—present grin had disappeared, and he glanced at his father uneasily, but the judge was focused on his daughter.

"What gives you such authority?" he asked, but in a weary tone.

"I give it to myself. I take it for myself." Elizabeth said. "Aren't you familiar with those words, Father? ‘It is necessary to the happiness of man that he be mentally faithful to himself.’"

The judge glanced up, a spark of his old temper in his eye. "I will give you what you want, on the condition that you stop quoting that frightful woman to me!"

Elizabeth's level gaze met her father's.

"I am very pleased to hear that we can come to an agreement. I would be very sorry to leave your household."

"Then the deal is done," the judge said, his voice hoarse, turning to his plate for solace.

"But—" Elizabeth continued, and he froze, his knuckles clutching white on his fork and knife.

"—that was not Mrs. Wollstonecraft."

"It wasn't?"

"No," said Elizabeth with a smile. "It was Tom Paine. The Rights of Man."

Chapter 12

"Miz Elizabeth, I think Washington could've made good use of your talents," wheezed Henry Smythe as he dropped a crate of books on the floor. "I'm sure you could have found some boots and blankets while we was freezin' on the Potomac back in '76." His tone was dry, but he smiled at her kindly, and Elizabeth understood that this was a compliment of the highest order.

"Well, then," she said, "perhaps you'd be willing to lend a hand with the firewood? We mustn't have your grandson's fingers too cold to hold a quill."

"It ain't cold in here now," observed Anna Hauptmann when Henry had closed the door behind him. She was hanging curtains and she looked over the cabin from her perch on the step stool. "Wouldn't have thought you could get so many bodies together in this little place."

Elizabeth looked around herself with a great deal of satisfaction. It was true: after just two weeks the cabin's transformation was almost complete. Jed McGarrity was making the final structural repairs with the help of his two boys. Isaac Cameron and his sons were putting the finishing touches on bookshelves and a blackboard while Charlie LeBlanc and two other men hammered boards into tables and benches. Martha Southern had come up to sweep the floors and cover them with an assortment of rag rugs.