“Oh,” Abigail said, but she sounded puzzled.

“Speaking of bed,” Evangeline said pointedly, “it’s high time you brushed your teeth and washed your face and went to sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll do some lessons and I’ll show you how to cast on stitches. You can knit a scarf.”

Abigail looked nonplussed. “I’d rather ride the mare,” she said. “Knitting is for girls.”

“Abigail,” Evangeline told her daughter, in patient tones, “you are a girl. Remember? It’s just fine for you to ride horses and even to shoot, if Scully will teach you, but being female is something to be proud of, and I won’t have you dismissing your femininity as though it weren’t.”

Although she was only six, Abigail could be uncomfortably insightful and downright recalcitrant into the bargain. “I heard you talking with Miss English once,” she said, “when she came to our house for tea. You said dogs, mules and fence-posts had more say-so in the world than women do.”

Evangeline sighed. She’d said that, all right, and she’d meant every word. Rachel had agreed. Still, it made her uncomfortable to know she’d been overheard. “Sometimes when adults talk,” she said carefully, “they sort of exaggerate things. To make a point.”

“You were exaggerating?” Abigail echoed.

God forgive me for lying, Evangeline thought. “Yes, darling,” she said aloud.

Abigail looked pensive, but she allowed the topic to drop and went off to get ready for bed, as instructed. After hearing her daughter’s prayers—Abigail asked God to help Scully get well and to make certain Mr. Murdoch reached the Springwater station safely—and tucking her in, Evangeline went back to her sewing. Needlework had always calmed her mind, and she worked far longer than was probably advisable, putting the project away in the trunk only when it occurred to her that the supply of kerosene for the lanterns, while adequate, was not unlimited.

Except for the absence of Mr. Murdoch, that day set the pattern for the ones to follow. Snow fell, and melted again. The animals required tending, water had to be carried in from the springs. Scully was recovering nicely from his injury, and he went out to hunt most days, sometimes returning with a rabbit or a brace of grouse, sometimes empty-handed.

Evangeline cooked and cleaned, things she was perfectly happy doing, and gave Abigail the lessons in reading and arithmetic that Rachel English had helped her to plan, before their departure from Pennsylvania. She read and sewed, milked the cow and fed the chickens and gathered the eggs. And she was content.

All too soon, November was upon them, dressed in a mantle of glittering white. They had seen neither wolves nor Indians, and Evangeline had almost convinced herself that they never would. Almost, but not quite. She still didn’t like to let Abigail out of her sight unless Scully was somewhere close by, to keep an eye on her.

One frosty morning, when the work was done and the ground was temporarily bare and they were all tired of spending most of their time inside, Scully suggested that they take a horseback ride, all three of them.