“That,” observed the irrepressible Abigail, “was spectacular!”

“How old are you again?” Scully teased, looking back at the child with raised eyebrows. “Thirty-five? Forty?”

Abigail was delighted. “I’m six!” she crowed.

The mules required some coaxing and coercing before they were willing to go on, and Scully climbed down from the sleigh to attend to them, having thrust the reins into Evangeline’s hands. All the while, he kept up a light-hearted banter with Abigail, who might have been to a circus instead of facing a very cruel death in an untamed wilderness. It was some comfort, at least, knowing the child was too young to have any real idea of the horrors that might befall them all.

Evangeline, on the other hand, wanted very much to cry. The release would have been a welcome one, after all the traveling, the doing without, the constant effort to keep up a brave front, but of course she did not dare indulge herself; if she gave in to tears, Abigail would be terribly frightened, and Scully might think she was one of those women who whimper and mewl at the first sign of adversity. His opinion mattered to her, since the two of them would be passing the winter in relatively close proximity.

They stopped at noon, beside a frozen creek, to rest the mules and eat some of the provisions June-bug had packed for them early that morning. Scully used the butt of his shotgun to break through the glistening sheet of ice covering the water, then unhitched the animals and led them down the slippery bank to drink.

“Mama,” Abigail whispered, tugging at the back of Evangeline’s cloak. “Mama!”

Evangeline realized she’d been caught up in watching Scully navigate the stream bank and blushed a little. “Yes?” she asked.

“I have to twiddle,” Abigail confided.

It was no surprise; the child’s bladder was probably bursting. “So do I,” Evangeline confessed. “Come with me.” She climbed down from the sleigh and reached out to lift her daughter to the ground. The hardened snow was knee-deep, and it crackled and splintered beneath their feet as they walked. They found shelter behind a clump of brush, relieved themselves, and made their laborious way back to the sleigh.

Scully was waiting, and the mules were back in harness, though they didn’t seem particularly happy about it. With a smile, Scully lifted Abigail back to her seat, doing a creditable job of wrapping her in the bearskins. Evangeline was still trying to climb up again when she felt Scully’s hands on her waist. With a swift, innocuous motion, he hoisted her off the ground and into the sleigh.

Within a moment or so, they were under way again, with the sun descending apace. Evangeline was beyond cold, but she would have let her fingers and toes drop off before complaining. Scully had to be as uncomfortable as she was, and he hadn’t said a word.

They had covered some distance when he stopped the sleigh and turned to her. “We’ll be home before sunset,” he said. “I’ll get a fire going right away. In the meantime, why don’t you bundle up with the little girl? You could keep each other warm.”