“He’s home, Mama! And he brought the polka-dot horse!”

At Abigail’s gleeful announcement, Evangeline spun around so quickly that she nearly dropped the soup ladle. She set it down and, before she caught herself, smoothed her hair and her skirts. She’d had a hot bath, after coming in from the barn, and put on her best dress, a flattering green woolen, though of course she’d done none of that to impress Scully. No, it was just simple good grooming.

So why did she feel as though her heart were bouncing back and forth between her lungs?

“Naturally he brought the horse,” she said, a little impatiently. “For heaven’s sake, Abigail, get down off that bedstead right now. You’ll fall and chip a tooth.”

Reluctantly, Abigail lowered herself to the mattress, where she stood in stocking feet, but her eyes were shining and her face was radiant. She was on the verge of bouncing, Evangeline could tell, but knew better than to try it. “I’ll bet Scully’d let me take a ride on that horse with him, if I asked nicely.”

She was probably right, but the idea was of no comfort to Evangeline. As far as she was concerned, horses were unpredictable creatures, oversized and skittish and therefore dangerous. “Abigail, get off the bed,” she said, a bit snappishly.

“Can I go outside and help Scully put the ’paloosa away?”

“No,” Evangeline said, but this time she tried not to speak so crisply. “It’s getting dark and it’s cold. And don’t say you’ve got to twiddle, young lady, because you just went half an hour ago.”

Abigail sat down on the edge of the mattress, feet dangling, head lowered. She looked so forlorn that Evangeline almost relented and took the little imp out to the barn herself. She was, in her own way, as eager for a closer look at Scully as her daughter was.

The kitten climbed, spraddle-legged and awkward, into the child’s lap, mewling in a pitiful bid for attention. Abigail petted it distractedly, stealing the occasional sidelong glance at Evangeline. Evangeline held her ground, and glanced once at Big John’s likeness, just to remind herself of the general situation.

After what could surely have passed for an eternity, they heard the sound of Scully on the little porch outside the door, stomping the snow off his boots. He came in, carrying a colorful metal box under his arm and a mess of fish in one hand, and nodded a greeting to Evangeline and then to Abigail.

“Scully, Scully!” the little girl shrieked, as though she’d expected someone else, someone far less welcome than he. She propelled herself off the side of the bed and sent the poor kitten scrambling for cover underneath. “There was an Indian here yesterday, and Mama gave him a blanket and a chicken and some eggs and a jar of milk!”

He laid both the fish and the box on the table, which Evangeline had scrubbed and set for supper, lifting Abigail with one arm and staring at her mother. “What?”