Jacob took his time answering; Scully had his coat clear off and hung up, along with his hat, before the man got out a single word. He indicated Abigail’s presence with an almost imperceptible nod of his head. “I’ve come to have a word with you and Evangeline,” he said. “Old Calvin T. Murdoch passed our way a week or so back, and you know how he runs on at the mouth.”

Evangeline and Scully exchanged a look, hers accusing, his sheepish and more than a mite stubborn. Scully thrust a hand through his hair and approached the hearth, drawing up the wooden crate he’d brought in some time before, for Abigail to sit on at the table.

Evangeline poured coffee, refilling Jacob’s cup and handing Scully a steaming mug as well. It was laced with cream and sugar, the way he liked it.

Abigail hovered nearby, fascinated by the simple fact of a visitor. It wouldn’t have mattered to the child, Evangeline suspected, who Jacob was. Anyone who came from “away” was interesting.

Jacob seemed to understand this, and he included Abigail in the conversation between himself and Scully. There was news from Springwater; the stages were getting through again, had been for some time now, and he’d heard tell that more families would be moving in, soon as the weather turned, settling close around the stagecoach station for safety and society.

“Will there be a school?” Abigail inquired hopefully, her eyes wide in the flickering light of the fire. She was balanced on one foot like a little crane and leaning against Scully’s side, tucked within the loose curve of his arm.

“I reckon there will be, one day,” Jacob allowed. “That would be a far piece to travel from here, though, wouldn’t it? You’d probably have to live away from home.”

Abigail nodded, looking disenchanted. “What about a church? Will there be a church?”

“There’s talk of that, yes,” Jacob said. He set his Bible aside carefully and took up the saddlebags Scully had carried in for him, raising one of the leather flaps and rummaging inside for a few moments. He brought out a carving, crude but still plainly a horse, and held it out to Abigail. “Here,” he said. “I made that for you. Old Murdoch told me that you’re real fond of these critters.”

At the mention of the peddler’s name, Evangeline and Scully looked at each other again, their gazes colliding and then careening apart. In the interim, Abigail said an exuberant thank-you and planted a kiss on Jacob’s dour cheek.

“You talked with Murdoch, then,” Scully said carefully.

“That I did,” Jacob answered, as Abigail rushed off to scramble under the bed, where Hortense was undoubtedly concealed, in order to introduce the cat and the wooden horse. The older man’s voice, already low, dropped another notch. “He said you told him you were married. To each other.”

Evangeline swallowed. She owed no explanations to Jacob McCaffrey, but she liked and respected him. She valued his good opinion, and that of his wife. She flung an urging, angry look at Scully, who had the grace to flush a little, though it might just have been a trick of the firelight.