“That ought to do you for a bit.” He pushed the lid back in place. “And hold on,” he said, turning toward his cabin. “There’s tallow as well.”

He took a step and called, “Molly!” and then, “Molly!” again, even as she came out on the porch in an apron, her hands white with flour.

“Good morning,” she said to us, smiling. “And how is your mother?”

“She’s well.”

“And your father?”

I paused, remembering that hand as it twitched. “The same.”

She nodded briskly. “I’ll get the tallow.” She stepped just through the door to fetch a lump of deer tallow tied up in an old kerchief. “Rendered and ready,” she said, bringing it to where we stood in the yard, the pouch of meat slung between us, dripping a little blood onto the ground.

That was a trail we did not dare leave along the path, so I blotted the belly of the sling against the ground, Samuel getting my gist and lowering his end, too, while Mrs. Peterson tucked the tallow into a fold at the top.

“That ought to make you a fair bit of soap,” she said. “Or candle, if you like.”

We nodded our thanks, said it, too, and then our goodbyes.

“Tell your mother to come along next time,” she said. “I could do with a visit.”

“She’ll be up in a bit with some potatoes.”

“And I’ll be back soon to visit Scotch,” Samuel said.

And off we went back down the mountain, the meat swinging between us in its hammock, Samuel’s end mostly dragging on the ground, leaving a trail of blood despite our best efforts.

Chapter Eleven

It’s not easy to gather stink, but I decided I would go out before dark and do just that.

Supper almost changed my mind, it was so good and made me so sleepy, the venison a lovely change from soup.

I wanted to say to my mother, as she seared it in a black pan, “If that smell doesn’t wake Daddy up, nothing good ever will.”

But I knew I would soon be raising her dander again, so in the meantime I was the girl she wanted me to be. I helped with the meal, thanked her for it, and cleaned up afterward, my voice quiet, my smile steady, until I thought perhaps she and even Esther had forgiven me for dousing my father that morning, though I knew they still blamed me for much more.

“I’ll take supper to Maisie,” I said when the kitchen was clean and the lanterns lit.

“And then we’ll make soap,” she said.