Evangeline wiped her cheeks with both hands as she left the little, slant-roofed room, moments after Scully had gone. Damn him, she thought, for all he’d made her feel, kissing her that way. Just by being who he was. Damn him.

Abigail was sitting on the hearth rug, playing with Scully’s checker set. Hortense faced her across the board, staring at the red and black pieces as if contemplating her next move. “Is Scully mad with us?” Abigail asked.

Evangeline stopped and met her daughter’s gaze, rummaged up a dusty, tattered smile left behind during some happier time. “No, darling,” she said, and sniffled. “It’s nothing like that.”

Abigail got up, came to Evangeline, and put both arms around her waist, burying her face in her mother’s right hip. Only when she felt the small body shuddering did she realize that the child was weeping. No, sobbing.

She sat down in one of the rickety chairs at the table and drew Abigail onto her lap. “There, now, sweetheart,” she said softly. “You needn’t be afraid of that wolf anymore—”

Abigail raised a tear-streaked face to Evangeline. “I don’t want Big John to come back,” she cried, in a small, strangled voice. “Scully’s going away then, and we’ll never see him again!”

Evangeline rocked her daughter gently on her lap, as she’d done when she was smaller, frightened after a bad dream. This time, though, she couldn’t say that everything would be all right, even though it was probably true enough. She would have choked on the words, because Scully’s leaving was not all right, not for her and not for Abigail. It was going to leave a hole in both their lives, and there was no getting around that. The time had come for hard truths. “I’m afraid that’s just what’s going to happen,” she said. “I’ll miss Scully too. Very much, in fact. But he’s right to leave. You’ll understand it all better when you grow up.”

“You always say that,” Abigail accused, stiffening a little. She was a wiry little thing, as strong and nimble as an otter. Evangeline would be eternally grateful for that, even though it tied in with the stubbornness that might just be Abigail’s greatest failing in life. “You always tell me that I’ll understand things when I grow up. But I’m not going to understand this. Not ever.” She spoke as if she’d made up her mind on the matter, Evangeline thought ruefully, and she probably had. “Scully kissed you, Mama. I saw!”

It was a small cabin; she shouldn’t have been so surprised, but she was. And she was mortified, as well. Suppose Abigail told Big John about the kiss, when he came home in the spring? Suppose she mentioned the night Scully shared their bed, because of the peddler’s visit?

“Abigail,” she said firmly. Maybe a little desperately. “Listen to me. Scully and I didn’t mean for that to happen. I was scared after meeting up with that wolf, that’s all, and Scully was trying to comfort me. The kiss was an accident.”