“Well, then,” he said. “Good night again.”

“Good night,” Evangeline managed to say. She crawled into bed beside Abigail as soon as he was gone, fully expecting to stare up at the ceiling for most of the night. Instead, she slept soundly, though she dreamed of ravening wolves, circling the cabin. Awaiting their chance.

She awakened in the deeper gloom of predawn, heard Scully moving quietly about the cabin. She smelled fresh coffee and felt the reaching warmth of the cookstove, but she did not rise. Better to lie still, under the heavy quilts, and let him go about his leaving in peace.

When the door closed solidly behind him, she squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, feeling his absence like a blow. Perhaps twenty minutes later, she heard the mules in their harnesses, heard the sleigh scraping over the snow as he drove past the side of the house.

Don’t go, she thought, but that was all the weakness she allowed herself. Knowing that the door was necessarily unlatched, she got up and lowered the bolt into place. The floor was so cold that it burned the soles of her bare feet as she scurried back to bed. Standing on the mattress, she opened the shutter overhead, then lay down again.

She didn’t sleep, but simply lay there, trying to warm up to the idea of marrying Big John Keating, waiting as the day assembled itself around the cabin from bits of sound and light and color. It was the scent of Scully’s coffee, wafting from the direction of the stove, that finally roused her from beneath the quilts. Hastily, dancing on the icy floor, she peeled off the nightgown and scrambled into her serviceable, work-a-day calico, then sat down to pull on stockings and shoes. Finally, after building up both fires, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sliced bread from yesterday’s batch to toast in the oven.

One by one, she opened the remaining shutters covering the windows, letting in the light. The night before, she’d expected snow, but the day was clear and bright, though even the sunshine seemed brittle, in that frightful cold.

Presently, Abigail awakened and got herself dressed, and immediately asked where Scully had gone. Evangeline had planned to broach the subject with some care but, typically, her daughter had not allowed her that luxury.

“He had to take the sleigh and mules back to Springwater. And fetch his horse home, of course.”

Abigail pondered the announcement seriously for a few moments. “Who will look after us?” she asked, after a few moments.

Evangeline was seated near the fire, finishing her coffee. She set the cup aside and summoned her daughter to her with a crooked finger, lifting the small, flannel-swathed figure onto her lap. “We’ll look after ourselves,” she whispered. “I think we’re quite capable, don’t you?”

“We did travel all the way from Pennsylvania alone,” Abigail mused, her small, perfect brow furrowed in thought.

“Indeed we did,” Evangeline replied.

“Will Scully be back today?” The question was carefully put, but the importance of the answer, from Abigail’s viewpoint, was plain.