“That’s a fair question,” she said, “but this might not be a fair time to ask it. Give him and his friends a week, why don’t you, to peek about and see what they may see.”

Eisenhart gave his sai a look that was half humorous and half irritated. “Do I tell’ee how to run your kitchen, woman? When to cook and when to wash?”

“Only four times a week,” said she. Then, seeing Roland rise from the rocker next to her husband’s: “Nay, sit still, I beg you. I’ve been in a chair this last hour, peeling sharproot with Edna, yon’s auntie.” She nodded in Benny’s direction. “It’s good to be on my feet.” She watched, smiling, as the boys swung out into the pile of hay and landed, laughing, while Oy danced and barked. “Vaughn and I have never had to face the full horror of it before, Roland. We had six, all twins, but all grown in the time between. So we may not have all the understanding needed to make such a decision as you ask.”

“Being lucky doesn’t make a man stupid,” Eisenhart said. “Quite the contrary, is what I think. Cool eyes see clear.”

“Perhaps,” she said, watching the boys run back into the barn. They were bumping shoulders and laughing, each trying to get to the ladder first. “Perhaps, aye. But the heart must call for its rights, too, and a man or woman who doesn’t listen is a fool. Sometimes ’tis best to swing on the rope, even if it’s too dark to see if the hay’s there or not.”

Roland reached out and touched her hand. “I couldn’t have said better myself.”

She gave him a small, distracted smile. It was only a moment before she returned her attention to the boys, but it was long enough for Roland to see that she was frightened. Terrified, in fact.

“Ben, Jake!” she called. “Enough! Time to wash and then come in! There’s pie for those can eat it, and cream to go on top!”

Benny came to the open bay. “My Da’ says we can sleep in my tent over on the bluff, sai, if it’s all right with you.”

Margaret Eisenhart looked at her husband. Eisenhart nodded. “All right,” she said, “tent it is and give you joy of it, but come in now if you’d have pie. Last warning! And wash first, mind’ee! Hands and faces!”

“Aye, say thankya,” Benny said. “Can Oy have pie?”

Margaret Eisenhart thudded the pad of her left hand against her brow, as if she had a headache. The right, Roland was interested to note, stayed beneath her apron. “Aye,” she said, “pie for the bumbler, too, as I’m sure he’s Arthur Eld in disguise and will reward me with jewels and gold and the healing touch.”