“Verily, verily I say unto you, he that entereth not by the door but climbeth up some other way, the same is a thief and a robber.” His voice was deep and smooth, almost like thick, brushed fur. She knew his words were from the Bible, but she was so astonished by the music of them that she sat there openmouthed, unable to protest that whatever he might be, she was no thief.

“Never fear, little miss. My heart assures me that you’re neither a thief nor a robber.”

“No,” she said, and then louder to show her authority, “I’m mistress here.”

“Ah,” he said, “we meet at last. You must be Miss Lydia Worthen, my hostess. Forgive my intrusion.”

“How do you know my name, ey?” She had meant to ask his, or at least what he was doing in her house, but, as before, he’d gotten the better of her with his fancy talk and quick mind.

“Brother Stevens,” he said. “He felt you would be understanding.” He glanced at her, and for the first time since he had spied her at the window his expression seemed uncertain. “I hope he was not mistaken.” He smiled apologetically. “Here, do come down from there and share a cup of tea with me. You’ve had a long journey, I’d imagine, and a rude shock, finding your home occupied by a stranger.”

What else was she to do? She took the hand he held out to her, surprised by its roughness, as his skin looked like satin in the dim light.

He helped her to the floor. She followed as he led her to the rocker, and then she sat perched on the edge of the chair as he handed her a cup of birch tea. Why hadn’t she spied smoke, coming up the road? But the man’s fire was tiny, so perhaps there was none to see. The cabin was cold, though warmer than the outdoors. The man poured himself a cup and pulled up a stool on the other side of the fireplace to sit down facing her.

“You’ve come from the village,” he said.

She nodded. The man could hardly be a runaway slave. He talked like a congregational preacher. But he was in hiding, that was plain.

“I should introduce myself,” he said, reading her mind. “I’m Ezekial Abernathy, or was so called formerly. I was on the way northward when the snow delayed me last November.”

Then he was a fugitive.

“I was conveyed to Brother Stevens’s farm, where I stayed until it became clear that someone was watching their farm. That was when young Luke spirited me here. He thought your log pile at the door would discourage curiosity.”

“We done it to keep out wild critters.”