“Come in! Come in!” Ned shouted. “Am I glad to see you!”

“I can’t stay,” Wussausmon said, gliding towards him on his snowshoes. “But I was going downstream and thought I would come to say good-bye.”

Ned splashed water on the straw as his hand shook. “Good-bye? Won’t you step inside and get warm?”

“No, I’m warm as it is. But I would not go past your house, Nippe Sannup, without a greeting.”

“Don’t go,” Ned said quickly. “You can eat with me? I have some succotash on the fire.”

Wussausmon dived into a pocket under his cape and brought out a strip of dried meat. “Try this,” he suggested.

He held it out to Ned and Ned nibbled the end. The rich warm taste of dried moose tongue filled his mouth. “That’s good,” he said ruefully. “Better than my succotash!”

Generously, Wussausmon tore off a strip. “Put it in the succotash,” he said. “It will flavor the whole pot. And don’t forget to give thanks.”

“But where are you going in such a hurry?” Ned asked. “Oh—Wussausmon, are you going to Montaup?”

“There are many gathering there,” Wussausmon said. “You told them? You warned your people?”

“I did. But it didn’t do any good,” Ned said, looking away from the direct dark gaze and staring instead at the bare black trunks of the trees and the white stripes of snow on their bark, at the delicate lines of ice on every twig. “I am sorry, I said everything that I could—but they are determined that King Philip—Massasoit—shall answer to them. They know of the gatherings, they know he is stockpiling weapons. I told them it all but they’re not going to make peace; they’re going to summon him to answer.”

“I will have to warn them,” Wussausmon said. “I will go to Plymouth myself. As the Massasoit’s translator I must be believed. I will tell them that he must have his rights under their own law. I know the law, I can read it. I will have to make them listen to me.”

“They’re frightened, they won’t listen,” Ned said, and at once cursed himself for telling an Indian that the white men were frightened. “Lord, I shouldn’t have said that to you. Wussausmon, we have been friends, we cannot be on the brink of being enemies. Mrs. Rose—the minister’s housekeeper—she’s talking about leaving here altogether, going back to Boston.”

“Will you go with her?”

Ned looked from the frosted trees to the great river flowing under the thick ice, the forest on the other side, and the snowcap on his little house where the chimney sent a single stream of smoke into the translucent sky. “How can I? How can I leave here? This is my home!”

A dark smile crossed Wussausmon’s face. “Ah, do you feel it now? That you belong to the land and it belongs to you? That you cannot leave?”

“Almost,” Ned said tentatively.

“I shall look for you here when I come by again, if I ever come by again,” Wussausmon told him. “But Mrs. Rose is right: none of you are safe here.”

“I wear Quiet Squirrel’s moccasins every day,” Ned objected. “My roof is thatched with the reeds she traded me. Are you saying that I am in danger from her now?”

“All of us who have been living between the worlds will have to choose,” Wussausmon said. “You’re on the very edge here, Nippe Sannup, between water and land, between tribal lands and English village, between one world and another. You will have to choose.”

“And you?” Ned asked his friend. “Between the praying town with your wife and children and the warpath at Montaup. Will you have to choose too?”

Wussausmon turned to his friend, his face impassive but his eyes bright with tears. “I will have to betray someone,” he said quietly. “I am Squanto.”

JANUARY 1671, LONDON

In the new year Livia tried to create a habit with her fiancé that she would dine with him every Sunday, after church, and then every other day throughout the week. But he was often dining out, and sometimes at business, and even when she did arrive at dinnertime to find him at home, Lady Eliot was always there too. Sometimes, Livia would swear the older woman had been about to leave the house, but as soon as Livia arrived, she shed her cape, and said she would stay for dinner. Sometimes, even worse, Livia was certain she had seen a glance between Sir James and his aunt that had prompted the older lady to stay.

“We have to have a chaperone, for your good name,” he told her one day towards the end of January.

“We don’t need one. We will be married in two weeks.” She came a little closer to him so that he could smell the perfume of roses in her dark hair. “I am baptized and confirmed, the banns are being called, why should we not be together?”

He stepped back and felt the edge of his desk against the back of his thighs blocking his retreat, as his betrothed came forward until she slipped into his arms and pressed herself against his body.

“We don’t need a chaperone,” she whispered. “For we are friends and lovers, and betrothed to marry, our wedding within weeks, and we have been everything to each other. Tell her to go out, and let us be together!”

“That can’t happen again,” he said; but she could feel his arousal. “Not until our wedding day.”

“Send her away for tonight, and let me dine with the man I love alone,” she whispered.

“I can’t,” James said. “In all honor, I should not be alone with you, Livia. It is for your good name, as much as my own.”

She looked up at him, her eyes inviting. “Do you want me so much? Should I be afraid of your passion?”

The way she spoke to him, the tremble of her voice on the word “afraid,” made him cool abruptly. There was something calculating about her, the lilt of her accent sounded suddenly affected. “No indeed,” he said, stepping away from her and putting the desk between them. “I would be ashamed to make a lady afraid. The incident, when I forgot myself, was, as you know, an accident that I will not repeat.”

She turned to the window for a moment to hide her frustration, then she turned back to him with the sweetest smile. “Ah, I know. And you must forgive me. I just long for the time when we can honorably and truly love one another. When I can give myself to you,” she whispered. “When we can give your great name an heir.”

A tap on the door saved him from answering her and Lady Eliot threw the door open. “Look who’s coming to dinner!” Lady Eliot said, taking in the room in one swift glance. “Dear George. George Pakenham.”

Livia stepped forward, her hand held out for him to kiss. “Ah! How glad I am to see you again!” she said, as if she were genuinely delighted. “And not one word about my beautiful things, this time, for they are all the property of Sir James. And he won’t hear a word against them!”

She turned a laughing face back to James, who was silent behind his desk.

“How come?” Sir George said, kissing Livia’s hand.

There was a moment’s pause. “Oh, did you not know? We are to be married!” Livia announced. “Aren’t we, caro marito?”