She came and stood in front of me, bent down a little to look into my eyes, and took me by the shoulders. “You will not go near those people again, Ellie. I need you here. I don’t need you hurt, too. I don’t need Samuel following you into mischief. And I most certainly don’t need a hag coming into my home to cast spells on your father.”

“I told you,” Esther said, returning to her breakfast. “That’s what a hag is, Samuel. A witch.”

“She’s not,” I said, shaking my head. “She’s better than that doctor who did nothing at all.”

“Because there’s nothing to be done!” my mother said, letting go of my shoulders.

“I brought Daddy some willow bark tea. Which won’t hurt him at all. Not a bit.”

“And won’t help him either, Ellie. Now, that’s all I’m going to say about it. And that’s all I want to hear.”

She handed me my jacket. “Go do your chores. And if I find out that you’ve been back up to see her . . . I don’t know what I’ll do.”

As I went out the door, I thought about all the ways my mother might punish me if I disobeyed her again. But I couldn’t think of a single one that was worse than giving up on what I’d started.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The cows were eager to be milked, so I obliged them, soothed by the music we made in the process—the rhythm of the milk hitting the metal pail and then the wet hush, hush of its froth building.

All the while, I thought about my mother and my father, Cate and Larkin, his mother. All of it building toward something, though I knew not what.

I felt . . . tangled. Snarled up. Caught. Which made it hard to breathe. Hard to think straight. Hard to know where to turn next.

But chores helped.

They were simple. Straightforward. The same every day.

So I put the cows out to roam, carried the milk to the cabin, left it just inside the door, and went on with my chores.

The dogs came next. I mucked out their nest of straw, laid in fresh bedding, put Maisie out into the yard for a while.

The puppies cried for her, but I said, “She’ll be back soon.” When I picked Quiet up, he promptly peed down my arm.

“You little scamp,” I said, putting him back in the straw.

I took off my jacket and put it aside for washing. Beyond wanting to be clean and dry, I knew that few things attract predators more quickly than a baby’s scent.

While I worked in the kitchen garden, getting it ready for seeds, loving the feel of sun on my bare arms, I imagined Cate, her face pink with fever, her leg swollen and purple, Captan by her side.