"How many children are there in the village, aged fourteen or less?"

He thought for a moment. "I would say there are a dozen or more.Not all of them will come to school, though."

"And why not?"

"Some of them ain't free," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"Surely their parents can spare them for a few hours in the winter when there is little farm work," Elizabeth said. She looked around the table with growing irritation. "Surely the parents want their children to learn to read and write," she continued.

She felt Nathaniel's gaze intensify and she glanced up at him; on his face Elizabeth saw something unexpected: revelation, and some astonishment. She addressed him.

"Mr. Bonner," she began.

"Nathaniel," he corrected her once again.

She looked around the table once again.

"Surely the parents would like to have a school for their children?"

He nodded. "The parents might," he said. "But some of the owners ain't about to allow it."

"Come now, don't upset yourself," the judge said, pursing his lips. "I can't think of more than three slave children who would be of the right age anyway."

Richard Todd shifted uneasily in his seat as she drew herself up and turned her attention to her father, incredulous.

He anticipated her question. "Elizabeth, I have never owned slaves."

"But you allow men in the village to hold slaves?"

Agitated, the judge flushed."That is not something that I can determine personally," he said. "Because I own land does not mean I control the legislature. And beyond that, Elizabeth, you must know that some slave owners are fair—minded people, good people," he said feebly.

"How do you know that?" she demanded. "How can you know that? How can you find anything fair or good in slavery?"

Richard Todd spoke up. "Because your father knows me, and I have two slaves," he said. "But they have no children to send to your school," he added.

Elizabeth's face drained of color; she addressed her father without acknowledging Dr. Todd.

"I will approach each of the slave owners, then, and ask for permission."

"No slave owner in Paradise is going to send his slaves to your school, Elizabeth," Nathaniel said quietly. She turned to him, and saw that he did not mean to offend her, but that he also was unwilling to spare her the truth.

"And if he did, then he wouldn't send his own children."

She squared her shoulders. "Then I will offer to teach them individually. In their homes."

The men looked at each other.

"I must try, at any rate," Elizabeth said. "In my school, any child is welcome." She felt suddenly deflated, and very tired. "Now if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I beg your leave to retire."

"But Elizabeth," her father protested. "You have hardly eaten anything."

She stood, smoothing her skirt as she did so, sent her father one long but silent look, and took her leave of the party.

"Welcome to Paradise!" her brother called after her, and his laughter followed her up the stair.

Chapter 3

Nathaniel watched Elizabeth leave the room with conflicting emotions. She was not at all what he had anticipated.

He had expected her to be her father's daughter: oblivious and arrogant, with an outer but fragile coating of friendly condescension. Instead, he had found her to be alert and courteous, sensitive where her brother and father were insensitive, and keenly curious. She had wanted to hear what he had to say; she herself had things to say that surprised him. Nathaniel had expected a well—educated young Englishwoman of property to be haughty and distant; he saw little of that in her, either.

Nathaniel had expected a spinster who would sit in the corner by the fire reading and doing needlework, who would leave her warm spot only to venture among those she saw as less fortunate to bestow her gifts of learning and Christianity. There were others like that in this country who had done considerable damage, and Nathaniel had no patience with them. But he had not found her to be a missionary; instead, he acknowledged, she was woman of considerable strength of character, and admirable goals for herself rather than for others.

Finally, too honest with himself to avoid the issue, Nathaniel admitted with a grim smile that he had expected the judge's spinster daughter to be thin and plain and sour; that wasn't the case at all.

Nathaniel realized that he was staring at the door where Elizabeth had last stood and that her brother was watching him. He let his face relax and met Julian's chilly blue glare with complete equanimity. In the brother, at any rate, he had not been surprised; Julian was everything that Nathaniel had feared he would be.

Julian turned to Nathaniel as if he had heard the progression of his thoughts. "Listen," he said. "I am sorry about your shoulder. Must hurt like the devil. But it was an accident, after all. Now, what are we going to do about you?"

The judge looked up, still clearly disconcerted by Elizabeth's departure. "What do you mean?"

"What do we owe this man for his ... inconvenience?" Julian asked his father. "Is there some set price to pay him so that he can be on his way?"

The judge looked between his son and Nathaniel blankly and then his face cleared. "Nathaniel of course. I mean to offer you employment; you are skilled with numbers and you could keep my books for me, couldn't you? You would be well recompensed. I couldn't offer you lodging in the house, however—"