“I don’t know what any of that meant,” Emala said.
“Maybe I’ll finish my tale later. We have a lot of work to do.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Emala said to Samuel. “You’ve hurt his feelings.”
Everyone got busy. Nate stripped to the waist and went in among the trees with his ax. Today they needed logs to use as ceiling beams. The logs had to be not only big but strong enough to support the weight of a heavy snowfall.
McNair tagged along, muttering to himself.
“Something the matter?”
“I am feeling old and grumpy.”
“Maybe you should have told them about the time you rode an elk. It’s more believable.”
“I did, consarn you. On a dare.” Shakespeare rubbed his white beard. “I was young and stupid in those days.”
“I saw another rattlesnake this morning,” Nate said.
“Imagine that. In the wilderness, no less.”
“Have you come across any since the hunt?”
Shakespeare shook his head. “I don’t make it a point to look. I’m not as fond of them as you are.”
A stand of oaks drew Nate’s interest. Several were more than thick enough. He patted a trunk. “What do you think?”
“That there isn’t enough respect in this world for those with white hair.”
“I meant the trees.”
“Oh.” Shakespeare walked around it. “Nice and straight. And oak is stronger than pine.”
“Let’s do it.”
Shakespeare nodded and chose another.
Nate settled into a rhythm, swinging smoothly and powerfully. Chips flew with each bite of his ax blade. When the oak gave a lurch and there was a loud
A few minutes later the tree Shakespeare had picked came crashing down. He walked over, his brow glistening with a sheen of sweat. “That felt good.”
“See,” Nate said. “You’re not as old as you keep saying.”
“Because I can chop down a tree?”
“You never once stopped to rest. Many men would have.”
“I have never been puny,” Shakespeare said. He gazed about them at the untamed wilds. “You can’t be and survive out here.”
“Neither puny nor careless,” Nate said.
Evelyn appeared, carrying a pitcher and two glasses. She was wearing one of her best dresses and a bonnet Nate had never laid eyes on before. He had seen her sewing something a few days ago and now he knew what. “That’s new,” he said, nodding.
“Yes,” Evelyn said absently.
Shakespeare studied it. “I’ve never seen you in a bonnet, young one. It becomes you.”
“I’m not so young anymore,” Evelyn replied in the same absent tone, “and I was hoping it would.”
“You act down in the dumps,” Shakespeare remarked.
Evelyn gave a toss of her head and smiled. “Sorry. It’s just that Dega isn’t here today.”
Nate and Shakespeare exchanged covert glances.
“Not here?” Nate said.
“No. He’s off with his pa, hunting. His sister says he wanted to come but Waku promised you he would do the hunting and Dega had to go with him.”
“It’s rough having a stomach,” Shakespeare said.
Evelyn blinked and then grinned. “You say the strangest things, do you know that?”
Nate said, “You’ll get to see Dega later probably.”
“I hope so.” Evelyn gave each of them a glass. “I brought blackberry juice. Ma made it as a surprise.”
“Daisies and nags rolled into one,” Shakespeare said.
“Excuse me?”
“Women,” Shakespeare said.
“That’s awful. Not all women nag, I am sure.”
“Girl, you’re, what, sixteen? You’ve lived long enough to know that females will be females and males will be males and never the twain shall meet.”
Shakespeare chuckled. “Well, except under the blan—”
Nate nudged him with an elbow, hard.
“Except what?” Evelyn asked.
“Except in the heart, where it counts the most,” Shakespeare said, and rubbed his side. “If it wasn’t for love we’d likely kill each other off.”
“Love,” Evelyn said dreamily.
Nate wagged his glass. “Are you going to pour or do we do it ourselves? I’m right thirsty.”
“Sorry, Pa.”
Shakespeare waited his turn, took a long sip, and smacked his lips in satisfaction. “Delicious. Tell your ma if I wasn’t married to my personal nag and she wasn’t hitched to this lunkhead next to me, I’d dang well propose to her.”
“I’ll tell my ma no such thing,” Evelyn said. “You’re terrible.”
Shakespeare drank more juice and said, “Marriage isn’t a bed of roses, fair maiden. You’d do well to remember that.”
“But you believe in love. You just said so.”
Shakespeare smiled and said kindly, “Yes, precious. I believe in love as much as I believe in anything.”
“Me, too. I think about it a lot.”
Shakespeare took another sip and looked at a pair of finches that flew past and then at the sky and then at his moccasins and then he said, “Have anyone in particular in mind when you think about love?”
“Who? Me?”
“I wasn’t talking to Horatio, here. I already know he loves Winona. The wisest choice he ever made in his whole life.” Shakespeare raised his glass and stared at her over the rim. “How about you?”
“I’m too young to be in love.”
“Really?”
Nate bit his lower lip to keep from laughing.
“And even if I was, I wouldn’t talk about it,” Evelyn said defensively. “Love is personal and private.”
“Do tell.”
“It’s true. When we talk about it, we spoil it.”
“I never knew that.”
“Unless it’s with the one we love. Then it’s all right to talk about it. Sort of like heart to heart.”
“I will be sure to mention that to Blue Water Woman. We have been making a spectacle of ourselves talking about our love in public.”
“You’re teasing, aren’t you?”
“Perish forbid,” Shakespeare said, and launched into a quote. “With love’s light wings did I o’er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out, for what love can do, that dares love attempt.”
“What are you saying? That it is all right to talk about our special love with just about anybody?”
“There is talking and there is talking. But you are right, princess. There are things we talk about with those we love that we wouldn’t say to total strangers.”
“Are you teasing again?”
“Never about the shrine we hold most dear. That is, if we are talking about the same shrines.”
“I’m so confused,” Evelyn said.
Nate drained his glass and handed it to her. “Tell your mother we’ll be trimming a while. And don’t ever come
