The man came further into the cabin, making no noise at all. So this must be one of the Cherokee that her aunt had mentioned as living in the holler. As Anna’s heart slowly stopped racing, she looked up at his grave face. He appeared to be older than Aunt Jinny by the gray threading his black hair, but she couldn’t tell how much older.

And a second man, who could have been the twin of the first at a much younger age, came in behind him. He was holding two dead rabbits by their hind legs. “We got rabbits t’trade fer honey, Miz Jinny,” the younger man said.

“Two rabbits? Seems fair,” Jinny agreed. “I figgered y’all was about due t’ trade fer some, tha’s why I been expectin’ y’all. Anna, this here is Old Raven an’ Young Raven. I told y’all ’bout ’em. They lives futher up th’ Holler.”

Anna told herself not to be a goose. Aunt Jinny wouldn’t leave her cabin door open all the time if there was the slightest chance of danger. And now she was embarrassed for thinking what she had about them. They were both striking men, with their strong features and long black hair. But what was most astonishing about them was their economical way of moving. They didn’t fidget, or shift their weight from foot to foot. They remained absolutely still until the moment they moved, and when they moved, they did so silently and precisely. Young Raven was dressed like his father, with the addition of a bone choker at his throat, and his shirt was a deeper shade of brown. Both of them wore their shirts over their dungarees instead of tucked in, and had leather belts around their waists that supported a variety of pouches and sheathed knives. Both of them carried rifles slung over their shoulders.

Young Raven took the rabbits to Aunt Jinny, who laid a flour-sack towel over what she was doing to prevent anything from being disturbed. But Old Raven examined Anna closely, uncomfortably closely actually, as if he was looking for something. Aunt Jinny put the rabbits up for the moment, reached to the shelf that held some of her sweets and jams, and passed the younger Cherokee a sealed pot of honey, then exchanged a look with the older man.

And there was a bit of unspoken communication in that moment that Anna would not have seen if she had not been paying attention. Old Raven slightly raised his right eyebrow. Aunt Jinny cocked her head in Anna’s direction and gave a slight shrug. Old Raven pursed his lips a little, then nodded so very little it might not have happened at all. And Aunt Jinny smiled, ever so faintly.

And then it was over, making Anna wonder what on earth they had just said to each other. It was about her, she thought—but what did it mean?

But there was no time to think about it. Aunt Jinny invited the men to sit down at the table and poured them some of her tea, and offered cornbread, both of which were accepted. While they sipped and nibbled in silence that was very much a contrast to Mrs. Holcroft’s chatter, her aunt deftly skinned and quartered the rabbits, and added them to the soup pot. “’Scuse me while I go stretch these here hides,” she said then, and before Anna could say anything, she was out the door.