Sally was standing over him. “Ethan says he’s going to take me away one day. Make me a real lady. He said he’d give me pearls, and a ring for my finger. A gold one. A proper ring, not like this one.” She reached out her newly beringed finger and stroked Starbuck’s hand, sending a jolt like lightning straight to his heart. She lowered her voice into something scarce above a conspiratorial whisper. “Would you do that for me, preacherman?”

“I’d be happy to teach you to read, Mrs. Decker.” Starbuck felt light-headed. He knew he should move his hand from beneath that stroking finger, but he did not want to, he could not. He was captured by her. He stared at the ring. The letters cut into the silver were worn, but just legible. Je t’aime, they said. It was a cheap French ring for lovers, of no great value except to the man whose love had worn it.

“You know what the ring says, preacherman?” Sally asked him.

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

He looked up into her eyes and immediately had to look down again. The lust was like a pain in him.

“What does it say, mister?”

“It’s French.”

“But what does it say?” Her finger was still on his hand, pressing lightly.

“It says ‘I love you.’” He could not look at her.

She laughed very softly and drew her touch down his hand, tracing the line of his longest finger. “Would you give me pearls? Like Ethan says he will?” She was mocking him.

“I would try.” He should not have said it, he was not even sure he had meant to say it, he just heard himself speaking, and there was such a sadness in his voice.

“You know something, preacherman?”

“What?” He looked up at her.

“You’ve got eyes just like my pa.”

“I do?”

Her finger still rested on his hand. “I ain’t real married, am I?” She was no longer teasing, but was suddenly wistful. Starbuck said nothing and she looked hurt. “Would you really help me?” she asked, and there was a genuine note of despair in her voice. She had abandoned her flirtation and had spoken like an unhappy child.

“Yes,” Starbuck said, even though he knew he should not have promised such help.

“I can’t stay up here,” Sally said. “I just want to be away from here.”

“If I can help you, I will,” Starbuck said, and knew he was promising more than he could deliver, and that the promise came from foolishness, yet even so he wanted her to trust him. “I promise you I will help,” he said, and he moved his hand to take hold of hers, but then she jerked her fingers away as the cabin door opened.

“As you’re here, girl,” Truslow said, “then make us some supper. There’s a fowl in the pot.”