He shook his head.

She persisted. “I heard you.”

He exploded. “N-N-NO.”

“What?”

“NO. The m-moon is not full yet.”

WHEN Cleopha came in she said, “Jesus Lord!” Then she said, “You tricked him. I don’t know that you did right. Maybe he wasn’t ready to start talking.”

IN THE spring they all worked to build a house for Mary and her children, and on a day when they were dragging boards from the mill at the outlet of Silver Lake, Simon stiffened and pulled his gun from his shoulder.

A lone figure walked determinedly, if in a wavering way, across a field toward them.

“An Indian,” Simon said.

It was Hiokatoo. It was as if he had risen from the earth, the tall grass parting to reveal him the way it parted when a bird flew up at dusk.

Hiokatoo’s hand fit into hers just as before, just as if nothing had happened. Before Mary could tell him Simon’s story, he said, “Why does that man talk all the time?”

MONTHS later a day went by and Simon had not come to see them. Mary and Hiokatoo went to the old cabin to see if he was ill and found both Cleopha and her brother sorting through their possessions.

“What is this? Simon, you didn’t come to see us today.”

And Cleopha answered, “He was too sad.”

“Too sad?”

Simon looked to one side.

Cleopha continued, “We are getting ready to leave.”

“Leave?”

“We just,” Cleopha said, “talked and we just thought there might be places we haven’t seen that would suit us better.”

“Which places?” Mary said with such sharpness that her husband looked at her.

“We don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” She stepped close to Simon. “Simon? Which places?” Mary turned to Cleopha. “Cleopha. You don’t know where you’re going?”

“Somewhere further north.”

“But,” Mary said, “this is a good place.”

“Well, yes, this is a good place—”

“Well, then—” She felt her husband put his arm around her in a gesture of gentle remonstrance, and she knew she must be sounding shrill. But she persisted.

“Simon?”

He turned around but looked at the floor and said nothing.

“He’s afraid,” Cleopha said.

“Afraid?”

“He’s afraid we are upsetting you.”

Mary sighed and considered.

Simon looked at her.

“I know,” she said, “that you want to go now. You don’t want to live in one place all your life. You’re free. I understand. Here in the north you are free.”

“If you do not do what your heart desires in America,” I said to Simon, “what is the use of its being a free country?”

“GOOD-BYE, Miss Mary.” Simon had never called her that before. “We’re leaving now.”

And he looked briefly in Hiokatoo’s direction before he gazed at Mary in a way that dared her to ignore what he was about to say. “You always have advice for the rest of us. But you haven’t spoken of yourself lately, of owning your own land. Why? Because your husband has returned? If you told him your dream, I think he would understand and even join with you to get what you want. ‘If you do not do what your heart desires in America, what is the use of its being a free country?’ You yourself have said it.”