Cate took my free hand and held it to her cheek. “It’s a terrible thing,” she said, and I thought she was talking about my father. “That I have only just met you.”

I smiled at her. “All this time you were up there, not far at all. But you’re not so old, and that leg will heal, and we’ll have plenty of time.” But I heard the doubt in my voice.

“Perhaps,” she said. “If I am to get well, it will be for Larkin and you both.”

Which was when the flame decided to flare in my chest, as it had on the morning when Quiet was born. And the voice decided to speak to me again, so sure and strong that I didn’t doubt it for a moment.

And I listened to that voice, which was as clear as my mother’s as she opened the door and said, “Will you have some balsam tea, Mrs. Cleary?”

And I said, “We will.”

And then to Cate, I said, “You will.” Though I wasn’t talking about tea.

Cate looked at me curiously. And began to smile. “You know what to do, don’t you.” It wasn’t really a question.

I nodded. “I do,” I said.

And I did.

Chapter Sixty-Five

I took Quiet to Samuel. “Will you give him back to Maisie?”

“Okay.” He looked Quiet over carefully. “Did the hag do something to him?”

“Yes, she turned him into a goat, can’t you tell?”

He made a face. “Don’t be foolish, Ellie.”

I looked around. “Where’s Esther?”

My mother said, “She went with Larkin, partway back up-mountain.” She sounded sorry about it. “He was upset. She thought he might want the company.”

I tried not to care. Which wasn’t too difficult, since I had other things to care about. But it wasn’t easy, regardless.

When I turned to go back to my father, my mother gave me a worried look. “Are you all right, Ellie?”

“I’m fine,” I said, the flame in my chest roaring.

I went into the bedroom and shut the door gently.

I went to Cate.

When I put out my arm, she took it without question and let me help her around the bed to lie down next to my father so I could check her leg.

She didn’t say a word when I pulled off her leggings and carefully unwrapped the bandages.

The wound was still as swollen and angry as it had been, despite the honey. Maybe even worse than before.

“I think we should send Mr. Peterson for the doctor now,” I said, wrapping the wound again. “So he’ll get here in time if the honey doesn’t work.”

We both knew what I meant by “in time.”

“And if the honey works? And he comes here for no good reason?”