Dag tilted his head as if in thanks, incidentally emphasizing his permission to speak without interruptions from juniors. “I of course under-take to care for and protect Fawn for as long as I live. But it’s a plain fact that I don’t lead a safe life.” A slight, emphatic tick of his wrist cuff on the table edge was no accident, Fawn thought. “For now, I would have her leave her marriage portion here, intact, but defined—written out square in the family book and in the clerk’s record, witnessed just as is right. No man knows the hour of his shari—of his end. But if ever Fawn has to come back here, I would have it be as a real widow, not a grass one.” He tilted his head just enough toward Fawn that only she saw his slight wink, and she was as cheered by the wink as chilled by the words, so that her heart seemed to spin unanchored. “She—and her children, if any—would then have something to fall back on wholly separate from my fate.”

Mama, face scrunched up in concentration, nodded thoughtfully at this.

“In the hope that such a day would be long from now or never, it would have to be attested by Fletch and Clover as well. Can’t help thinking that Clover would be just as glad to put off paying out that due-share, with all the work she’ll have here starting up.”

Fletch, opening his mouth, shut it abruptly, as it finally dawned that not only would he not be required to disgorge any family resources right away, but also that Fawn would be out of the house when he brought his new bride home. And only by the slightest brightening of Dag’s eyes did Fawn realize that Dag had hit Fletch precisely where he was aiming, and knew it.

A blessed silence fell just long enough to finish consuming pie. Fawn was reattaching Dag’s hook before Whit wiped his lips, and said in brotherly bewilderment, “But why ever would you want to marry Fawn in the first place?”

The tone of his voice alone threw Fawn back into a pit of unwelcome memories of youthful mockery. As if she were the most unlikely candidate for courtship in the whole of West Blue and for a hundred miles beyond in any direction, as if she were a cross between a village idiot and a freak of nature. What was that stupid phrase that had worked so well, repeatedly, to rile her up? Hey, Runt! You must have been drinking ugly juice this morning! And how those words had made her feel like it.

“Need I say?” asked Dag calmly.

“Yes!” said Fletch, in his stern I-am-so-paternal voice that made Fawn long to kick him even more than she longed to kick Whit, and even made Papa cock a bemused eyebrow at him.