Gabriel stiffened. “What—Whatever the cause of her birth, the child cannot be condemned or held guilty,” he said. “She holds the light of Christ within her, just as all men do, but—”

“But thee is unwilling to acknowledge Christ in her—or me, I suppose!”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched hard and he struggled for a moment, clearly seeking to control his exigent emotions.

“Thee interrupted me just now,” he said evenly. “I said I will keep Patience and Prudence with me. They will be happy, safe, and well cared for. But I will give thee a sum of money with which to maintain yourself and the—child.”

“Her name is Chastity,” Silvia said, just as evenly. “And thee knows why, though she never will, God willing.” She took an audible breath and breathed out a slow, dragon-like plume of white. “I shall most certainly keep her—and her sisters as well. I will not speak ill of thee to them; they deserve to think that their father loved them.” There was just the slightest emphasis on “think.”

“Thee has no right to take them from me,” Gabriel said. He didn’t sound angry now; only matter-of-fact. “Children belong to their father; it’s the law.”

“The law,” Silvia repeated, with contempt. “Whose law? Thine? The King’s? The Congress’s?” For the first time, she looked about her, over the spreading dark fields and the leafless trees, the houses in the distance, hazed with smoke. “Did thee not tell me that the Mohawk have a different view of marriage? Well, then.” She set her gaze on him again, eyes hard as stone. “I shall speak with thy master, and we will see.”

WITH THAT ULTIMATUM, Silvia turned and walked determinedly toward the house. Gabriel Hardman pursued her, his crutch thumping in his anxiety to catch her up, but if she heard his importunities at all, they had no effect.

Finding herself alone, Rachel shook herself violently, trying to dislodge her memory of the last few minutes, so as to let her feelings settle in some way. She went into the privy, and despite its dankly malodorous nature, she dropped the latch and felt a welcome sense of privacy and quiet surround her. The gentle workings of her own body eased her, too, with their quiet reassurance. Her brother, Denny, had told her once that Jews—a race much given to prayer—had special brief prayers to be recited on private occasions such as this, thanking the Creator for the untroubled working of bladder and bowels. That had made her laugh at first, but she thought now that there was good sense in it.

The tingling of her slowly re-engorging breasts made her aware of other workings, and she gave quick thanks for her child as she came out into the biting air.

“And for wee Chastity and her sisters, too,” she added aloud, realizing suddenly that the terrible scene she had just witnessed between the Hardmans was certain to draw three innocent children into its vortex. “Lord, they don’t even know about their father yet!”