To Jason Bolt, she was always "the Romanian".

     Her true name was Roxana Lalescu, and though Romanian by birth she was in fact as much German, having spent half her life in Hanover. The resulting blend of accents had a piquancy Jason could never put into words, but Candy Pruitt's younger brother did—"like a lemon drop," he said, which Jason thought fit it, and her, perfectly, although it ignored her big heart-shaped face, with black hair curling carelessly around it, and her huge deep-set eyes the color of—well, of mud—moist rich soil shining with the promise of fecundity.

     Pretty girl, thought the captain who ferried her across the Sound. He could not say the same for her traveling companion, a small nutlike woman named Mrs. Siska, who gave orders as freely and with as much certainty of being obeyed as though she owned the boat herself. She had an accent too—Polish, the captain judged.

     The third and largest member of the party did not speak. He seemed to be a bodyguard and general factotum, and he was called McDermid. His head was shaven, and his coat sleeves did not quite reach to his wrists. He watched Miss Lalescu intently, and if any member of the crew approached her, he stepped up and motioned them away with a tilt of his head. But then she was precious cargo—a famous pianist, come to perform the inaugural recital in Seattle's brand-new opera house. Her name was blazoned on a banner that hung over the doors and proclaimed the gala event to passers-by. But few of the residents could have needed the reminder; it had been the talk of the town for weeks.

     After depositing their bags at Lottie's, the three went direct to the opera house. "You must begin practice at once," Mrs. Siska told her protege. "We have not much time." She was right: the recital was only five days away. They found the building unlocked, and McDermid held the door open for the others.

     Miss Lalescu did not notice. She was looking around at the verdant hills with a rapturous expression, and taking in deep breaths of air which was like spring water. Mrs. Siska called sharply to her. "Sorry!" she said, returning to the moment, and gazed up at the facade of the building, to which she had paid little attention till now. "This house—it is big for such a town, yeah?"

     "You would be surprised," said the older woman. "Many of the western towns have great buildings of this type. The country grows."

     "Yeah," said the pianist, rather dreamily, "it is big. And the people are so free." She glanced around but found little confirmation in the street: the town had yet to wake up.

     "And empty from the top to the toe," Mrs. Siska grunted. "Philistines."

     Miss Lalescu smiled. "Surely not all."

     "We shall see," said Mrs. Siska. "Come, we begin."

     After a last look round, Miss Lalescu submitted to her duty with an appearance of mild regret. While her fingertips introduced themselves to the keys of the opera house piano—which had been donated by one of Seattle's first families—Jason Bolt's fingers were getting themselves wound up in the ends of his string tie. He was trying to make a bow but was fidgeting too much to do it with his usual grace. Finally his brother Joshua, who had been up and dressed for a half hour, took over. "What's your hurry?" he asked.

     Jason reminded him whom they were to meet that morning: officers of the French navy, who were coming to follow through on their government's order of two hundred spars for its men-o'-war. The captain would confirm the terms of the agreement and—it was hoped—give authorization to proceed. He would remain for a week, the period agreed upon for the completion of the job, and carry the lumber back with him.

     "Don't want to be late for our first meeting," said Jason. "Look rude."

     "Jason," said Joshua, evening the bow, "they're Frenchmen. How would they kn—"

     "Who's Frenchmen?" asked Jeremy, coming in with an armload of firewood. Joshua told him. "Today?" he asked. Jason had not felt it necessary to include him in the welcoming committee. "Will they be here long?"

     "Week," said Joshua. "If the job takes any longer, we rebate a third of the payment."

     "Huh! Who made that deal?" Jason paused in buttoning his jacket. Joshua looked down, smiling. Jeremy quickly back-paddled. "I mean, that—that sounds f—f—"

     "Sounds a stiff penalty," said Jason, "I know. But Aaron Stempel says there's no cause—"

     "Oh, well, if Aaron Stempel says...." Joshua glanced at Jeremy with a grin. Jason scowled.

     Jeremy missed it. "Week, huh?" he said. He looked as if he were doing sums in his head.

     His brothers looked at each other. "Expect the brides'll be in a state," said Joshua carelessly. "All those Frenchmen...."

     "Frenchman's got nothin' on us," said Jeremy.

     "Reckon the brides won't agree," said Joshua. "They'll be hangin' around the mill all day, fightin' for attention." Jeremy looked sober. "Yes, sir, nothin' like a Frenchman to set a girl's heart—"

     "See you in town," Jeremy said, and left suddenly.

     Joshua stared after him. "Isn't Candy kinda partial to Frenchmen?" he asked.

     Jason looked reprovingly at him. "You're a wicked boy," he said, "and will pay the price of your transgressions one day. But please—not till the job's done." Joshua laughed as Jason pushed him out the door.

     Jeremy was not happy when reached Seattle and found Joshua's prediction already seeing fulfillment. The barque Bravoure was mooring off the mill pier, and a line of brides had gathered at the foot of the pier to watch, among them Candy Pruitt and Biddie Cloom. They had not been the first; Biddie had hoped to be, but Candy had held her back lest they look too eager. But she had not held her back long.

     The sailors in their red and white stripes and red pompons looked colorful enough, but it was the officers, in their black tricornes with white cockades, long blue coats with gleaming gold buttons and epaulettes, red waistcoats and trousers, who truly cut a figure. The brides gossiped and giggled and preened.

     "Aren't they dashing, though?" said Biddie.

     "If you like that type," said Candy offhandedly.

     "And I do like that type," said Biddie. "Don't you?"

     Candy hesitated, then nodded guiltily, and the two of them giggled.

     On deck, two of "that type" were returning the gazes of the wide-eyed, rosy-cheeked maidens on shore and doing some appraising of their own. "We will make a pleasant stay here, non?" said Captain Brunet to his mate, Lieutenant Chauvard. "A woman for each night."

     Chauvard had not Brunet's carved nose and chin, and his officer's waistcoat and trousers did not taper so perfectly, but a woman who looked closely at the pair of them would have found his eyes and lips the more agreeable, especially at the corners. "These women are not of that kind," he said. "They have the steel armor to guard their virtue."

     "You think so?" said Brunet. "Tell me, then, which is of the strongest steel?"

     Chauvard scrutinized them one at a time. "That one," he said finally. The brides, aware that they were being talked about, began to blush and sashay.

     Brunet studied his choice for a few seconds. "Eh bien," he said, "I wager you she will surrender to me in a week—une semaine."

     "But what will you wager?"

     "For une semaine, une semaine—thirty francs."

     "D'accord."

     Jeremy came up to Candy and put his arm around her. He looked where she was looking. "They look pretty funny in those tight britches, don't they?" he said. Candy made a vague noise.

     "Ah," said Chauvard, "this woman is taken. We must choose another."

     "Him?" Brunet regarded Jeremy with something like a sneer. He was pleased to see that Jeremy was shorter than he was. "This will give it the zest. Oui—I shall enjoy this." His eyes moved to Candy. Jeremy could not tell at that distance what lay in that look, but he was sure it was nothing good.

     Aaron was waiting on the pier, where Jeremy joined him. Joshua arrived a moment later, alone. Anticipating Aaron, Jeremy asked where Jason was. "Opera house," said Joshua. "He'll be along in a minute." As they had passed the opera house, a shimmering stream of Mozart had floated out to their ears; Jason would not let Joshua stay and listen, but had stepped in long enough to greet the newcomers.

     He found Miss Lalescu on stage, absorbed in her playing; no one else was to be seen. He started to leave, then looked at her again. He saw nothing out of the ordinary except a very pretty girl. But he stayed. When she came to the end of the movement, he stood. She looked out. "Sorry!" she said. "I did not see you."

     Jason came down to her. "I'm the one who should apologize," he said, "for the intrusion. I heard the music. Sounded mighty pretty," he quickly added.

     Miss Lalescu smiled a little. "Are you sure you would not like this better?" She played the first few measures of "Bonnie Doon".

     Jason brightened. "Ah, Burns, now." He stopped, a little bashfully. "S'pose it's not very fancy—"

     "It is music," she said, "it is good." The lilt of her voice enchanted him.

     "You're Miss Lalescu," he said. "I'm Jason Bolt."

     She made a quizzical face. "Bolt? Like—" Making a fist, she imitated a hammer.

     "Yes," he said, "like that."

     "Bolt. It is a strong name." She made a mock-growl and laughed. He laughed too. "And Jason—I like this name also. He was a voyager, yeah?"

     Jason nodded. "He sailed to distant shores to find something he didn't have at home." His eyes stared into hers: two deep brown pools—

     "May I help you?" said a woman's voice close at hand.

     Jason looked down to see Mrs. Siska. She introduced herself and McDermid, behind her. "A fellow Scot," said Jason, extending his hand. McDermid stared at him impassively.

     "He is a deaf mute," said Mrs. Siska.

And a churl, Jason thought. "Then he can't hear...."

     "No. Yet I wonder. I see him watch her as she plays—and I wonder." Jason could not help giving him a second look. "You must excuse us," said Mrs. Siska, when he showed no sign of leaving. "Roxana must practice." She guided him up the aisle.

     His eyes kept returning to Roxana. "She'll be the first to play here," he said. "It'll make a grand beginning." They were at the lobby doors now. "Got all you need?" he asked. "Lodgings satisfactory?"

     "We are of course accustomed to larger rooms. But we make do. It is the musician's life. Now, please—" McDermid was holding the door for him.

     "I'll look in later." He was still looking at Roxana.

     "I hope," said Roxana.

     "Goodbye," he said.

     "Goodbye, Mr. Bolt," Mrs. Siska said firmly, and McDermid crowded him out the doors. As he left, he heard Roxana resume her playing. He smiled. She was playing "Bonnie Doon".

     The music had changed back to Mozart by the time he reached the street. It got fainter and fainter as he walked briskly to the dock, and finally it faded altogether.

     The meeting was underway when he arrived. "High time," said Aaron. He had stammered out a greeting in traveler's French but, never having been much of a traveler, had shortly been obliged to revert to English. He had introduced two of his three colleagues, the Bolt brothers.

     "Jeremy," Brunet said, in preference to shaking hands. "But this is surely a name for a boy."

     "Yeah? What's yours?" asked Jeremy, unable to think of anything cleverer.

     Brunet hesitated. Chauvard answered for him. "Jean-Marie."

     Jeremy smiled. "I'll stick with Jeremy."

     Aaron reviewed the terms of the agreement, and both sides declared themselves satisfied. That was the point at which Jason appeared. "He's in charge of the lumber camp," Aaron told the Frenchmen. "He'll pick out the trees for you personally."

     That assurance, which Jason thought a little fulsome, brought an unexpected response. "But this will not do," said Brunet. "I must inspect them all and choose which I prefer."

     "Looks to me like you already did," Jeremy muttered, not thinking of the trees.

     "We have hundreds of acres," said Joshua. "Could take weeks."

     "I am under strict orders."

     "Jean-Marie," said Chauvard, "I know of no—"

     "I begin today. Twelve o'clock sharp."

     Jason had been silent, keeping his temper. Now he spoke. "That's not the way we do things."

     "Then you must change your way," said Brunet.

     Aaron stopped Jason from answering. "Won't hurt to extend a little courtesy," he said. "As long as it's understood that if you cause any delay, our deadline will be extended by that much."

     "Je suis d'accord," said Brunet. "Now, let us inspect this mill, make sure it is satisfactory."

     "Never had any complaints," said Aaron.

     "But we are not your ordinary rabble. We are the French navy."

     "Ordinary—" Aaron began.

     Jason clapped him on the shoulder. "Aaron, now," he said, with considerable satisfaction, "a little courtesy." Aaron shook his arm off and made a grumbling noise as they headed to the mill.

     If Jeremy had sensed a threat to Seattle's manhood, it was not long in becoming manifest. Chauvard shortly broke away from the party, leaving his captain to point and poke into every corner of the mill room, and he set out on a walking tour of the waterfront, deliberately passing for review before a dozen pairs of eyes that, every time he met them, were demurely dropped, then raised, then dropped again.

     His attention fell at last on Biddie. She looked around and, seeing that there could be no mistake, tried to set her face in an expression of nonchalance, which came out looking rather pained. As the lieutenant approached, the agony became severe.

     "Mademoiselle?" he said, touching his tricorne.

     "Yes?" said Biddie, but he could not have heard it.

     "Pardon my boldness, but I am a stranger in your country. If you would be disposed to show me the sights, I would be most charmed."

     Biddie blushed eight shades of red. "Charmed all to pieces myself, I'm sure." He offered his arm, and she grabbed it. "Let's begin at the horse trough."

     As they started off, her name was called, and she turned to see Corky hastening toward them. "Hey Biddie!" he said. "Ya wanna—"

     "Excuse me, Mr. Corcoran," she said airily, "you may not have observed that I am in company with a gentleman. Shall we go?" she asked Chauvard. He begged Corky's pardon and submitted to be led off. Corky looked after them for a moment, then threw his hat into the dirt and stepped on it. Two of his fellow loggers walked up, looking glum, and one of them picked up the hat. They nodded over at the pier, where their girls had paired off with two of Chauvard's men. They were not the only ones.

     "Boys," said Corky, "looks like we got trouble."

     Jeremy, having foreseen that likelihood, was keeping Brunet in his sights in an effort to prevent it, but luck, or a greater power, was not with him. When Brunet finished his business with Aaron, he headed toward the landing where Candy was waiting. Jeremy and his brothers were kept behind by Aaron, who insisted on going over once more the terms of their joint contract with the French. So Brunet passed out of Jeremy's sight for a short time, which unfortunately was long enough.

     "Excusez moi," he said as he approached Candy, "you are the premiere jeune fille—how do I say?—the first of the ladies, non? The leader?" Candy was too modest to answer at once. "Oui," he said, "I see it is so. The others make way for you. Like a queen." Candy started to protest but found the words slow in coming, in fact found thoughts slow in coming. "But I forget," said Brunet, "you do not have queens in your country."

     That was just too silly. "You don't have them in yours either," said Candy. "I do know a little history."

     Brunet looked melancholy. "Ah, oui, le guillotine. An unfortunate invention. I think we do away with the queens too soon. For some women"—he stared into Candy's eyes with a sincerity that was profoundly false—"were born to be queen." Candy opened her mouth. "But I am too forward," he said.

     That was what she had been thinking—one of the things she had been thinking—but for some reason she found herself replying, "Not at all."

     "Where may a man find food and drink here?"

     "That would be Lottie's. Shall I show you the way?"

     "I would be most proud." He offered his arm.

     So Jeremy, at last emerging from the mill, saw the two of them strolling away together, as well as other girls similarly partnered. "Don't fret," said Joshua, coming up beside him and clapping him on the back, "those Frenchmen have nothing on us." He walked away laughing. Jeremy's face showed no trace of amusement. Not that he doubted Candy for a minute, he just wasn't sure what to do. That Frenchman had gotten to him.

     It was Joshua's turn to be vexed when Jason failed to show up for his appointment with Brunet at noon. The captain was offended, or made out to be. "Can you not show me these woods?" he asked Joshua. "Or are you not a man, that you must ask permission of your brother?"

     "'course I can show you," said Joshua hotly. He led Brunet up all the paths within ten miles. He did not trouble to point out that the parts he was showing were but a small fraction of the whole, or that not all the trees there were of the first quality. But Brunet, as it turned out, had a good eye for timber. The stands he picked were invariably the same ones Joshua would have picked himself. He flagged each trunk with a strip of red cloth. But as the afternoon wore on and the sun disappeared early, the way it did in the hills, Brunet became less discriminating. His legs and feet had started to ache. "We do not march so much in the navy as they do in the army," he explained.

     Joshua advised bathing them in Epsom salts. "Won't be so sore," he said, then added to himself, Wish they could do the same for me. Jason, where the blazes are you?

     Jason, after the meeting at the mill, had hung around town performing one needless errand after another and thinking frequently of the opera house. When enough time had passed so he could pop in again without its looking too peculiar, he did so, and since Roxana was still practicing took a seat near the back so as not to disturb her, and ended up staying most of the afternoon.

     Mrs. Siska was at the front. McDermid, standing at the side, caught her eye and nodded toward Jason. She shook her head. "I do not wish to offend so prominent a citizen of the town," she said, obviously speaking to herself. "Perhaps he will tire of her." But she did not sound hopeful.

     Late in the day Roxana came to a stop. Jason took it that she was finished and rose, applauding. "That was grand, just grand," he said. He walked down to them.

     Mrs. Siska winced, and Roxana herself frowned. "Not so good, I think." She looked to Mrs. Siska. "Too weak, yeah?"

     Mrs. Siska nodded energetically. "It must be definitive—dah-dah-dah-dah—so." She mimed it with her hands, and Roxana followed her example. "That is better," Mrs. Siska affirmed.

     "You see?" Roxana said to Jason.

     He shrugged. "It all sounds grand to me."

     "Grand," she repeated, pointing to the piano, "of course." After a moment he got the joke, and they laughed. She stood and came down from the stage. It was the first time Jason had seen her on her feet; he had not realized how tall she was.

     "Gettin' toward evening," he said. "I wonder if I could take you out to supper." Then, a second later, "All of you. Mrs. Siska and—" He looked at McDermid. "Does he eat?" he whispered.

     Roxana appeared to consider the matter seriously. "I have seen him eat," she whispered back. "If he sleeps—this I do not know. I think—" She leaned forward and spoke softly into his ear. "I think she rubs the lamp for him." Jason stared blankly. "But maybe you do not have this story."

     After a moment he exploded with laughter. "Yes," he said, "we have this story." Roxana smiled. "Does he always travel with you?"

     "This one—only from Kansas. But always there is a McDermid." She looked sad for a moment, then turned to Mrs. Siska, who was watching them sternly. "Guess what?" she said. "Herr Bolt asks us to supper. Please, can we go? I have not eaten since morning."

     "Go," said Mrs. Siska. "We shall take supper later." Jason started to plead with her, somewhat unconvincingly. "No, no," she said. "Go, talk with her, tell her about the people here—the audience." She seemed almost friendly. But as they left she added to herself, "And may you both hear all there is to hear, and be done with it."

     "Your cafe," Roxana asked, on the way to Lottie's, "does it serve gevetch?"

      "Gevetch?" He looked blank again. "Maybe," he ventured, but only to be polite.

      "Gevetch," said Roxana, as Lottie's man deposited a bowl of steaming chowder before her.

     Jason was astonished. "Is it good?" he asked, staring at it doubtfully.

     "It is— gevetch." She watched as another steaming bowl was set before Jason. "What is that?"

     "Mulligan stew."

     "May I taste?" He lifted his spoon to her mouth. She blew on it, closed her lips around it and swallowed. "What is in it?"

     "Easier to tell you what isn't in it." She laughed. "Lemme try yours."

     She fed him a spoonful. "Good, yeah?"

     Jason considered. "It is— gevetch." They both laughed.

     What all they talked about, Jason could never remember afterwards, but he knew while it was being said that it was not enough, that all she might ever say to him would never be enough. Aaron watched them from the bar for a while, then left, looking somber.

     "These women, these brides," Roxana was saying, after Jason had told her the story (his favorite story), "they followed you to this place? Just to see the green trees?"

     "That's about the size of it," he admitted.

     "The size of the trees?"

     "No, no, I mean—yes. Yes, they followed me."

     "Like Moses. Through the Red Sea."

     "No Red Sea," said Jason, sounding regretful. "Some mudholes."

     "I have seen these." She lifted a leg to show the caking on her boot. "But the mud does not part for you. So you are not Moses."

     "No," he said, "not Moses. No saint." He stared at her seriously. "But I believe you may be my good angel."

     Her face fell. "Ah. It is the music." Jason looked puzzled. "Men hear music and they think of angels. In Germany they see angels everywhere." She took his hand. "Please do not make me your angel. If I am your angel, how shall I laugh?"

     Jason laid his other hand over hers. "Any angel of mine will certainly laugh."

     Roxana reflected. "I do not laugh with Mrs. Siska. Or my family. Once I laughed with my brother. Then he went to fight in the war." Jason stared to speak. "No. He did not die. But he no longer laughs." She smiled. "I laugh with you, Herr Bolt. So maybe you are my good angel too." She leaned closer to him. Their lips parted.

     A shadow fell over them. "See," Roxana whispered, "she sends her genie for me."

     "Sit down!" Jason said to McDermid with heartiness. "Have some gevetch."

     Roxana could hardly restrain her laughter. "I must go," she said, rising.

     Jason rose too. "Shall I see you tomorrow?"

     "I think, yes," she said. "Good night." Jason made to follow, but McDermid blocked the way until she was up the stairs, then went up after her.

     "Y' know," said Jason, "I could come to hate that fella." But he did not feel hateful. His head felt as light as if he had just drunk a jug of hard cider. His cheeks were sore from grinning. He had only ever met one other woman with whom he'd had such a whale of a good time, and that one had been Lottie. Perhaps he could persuade this one to stay too.

     His mind was still on her the next day as Joshua showed him and Jeremy the trees he had marked. "Brunet asked about the south slope, but I steered him away from there. Too much hauling for such a short—" He saw that Jason was laughing to himself, obviously not over the south slope. "Did you hear me?"

     Jason turned, startled. "South slope. Sounds fine."

     "No," said Joshua.

     Jeremy quickly stepped in. "Where'd you want us to start cutting?"

     Jason waved vaguely. "Why not right here?" They were near the top of the hill.

     Joshua and Jeremy looked at each other. "Uh, Jason," said Jeremy, "we have to clear out the bottom first so these'll have somewhere to fall."

     Jason smiled. "So they will."

     Joshua had had. "Damn it, brother," he yelled, "get your mind on your work! You're no use to anyone like this."

     The men were quiet. Jason turned slowly. He spoke in a low voice, but there was no mistaking the fire in it. "The day I need you to tell me my duties will be the day our bulls start spoutin' Greek. And I'd take orders from them a darn sight sooner'n you. You mind your place, little brother."

     Jeremy stepped between them. "Jason, what—what Joshua means—"

     "I will," said Joshua, "when I stop having to fill yours."

     "Josh," said Jeremy, "what Jason means—"

     "Know something?" Jason said. "You're right. No sense my bein' here at all." He walked off. Joshua called after him, but he did not turn back. The men looked at one another.

     "Never saw him like this," said Jeremy. "You, yeah." Joshua glared at him. "No offense," he said hastily.

     "You're dead right," said Joshua. "This beats the Dutch." He pondered it for a moment. "Come on then," he called to the crew, "let's get started." He turned to Jeremy. "Go after Jason, see if you can fetch him back." Jeremy began to object. "I know, but we have to try. He won't listen to me. And we need him." And not me? Jeremy thought. But he did not press it. He was anxious to go to town anyhow.

     On the way to the opera house, Jason met Aaron. He sighed. This was turning into a trying morning. "Going to see that musician again?" Aaron asked.

     "That's none of your affair."

     "It is if it eats into my pocket," Aaron shot back. Jason bristled. "Come on," Aaron continued, in a friendlier tone, "you're too old to moon about like this. You're acting like one of your brothers."

     "My brothers may do as they please," said Jason, "and I do as I please. And I don't trim my beard to suit your fancy, Mr. Stempel. I'd bear that in mind if I was you." He walked on.

     "And if I were you," Aaron called after him, "I'd start doin' some hard prayin'. Because if the town can't depend on you to see this job through, Heaven's our only hope." He left, shaking his head. His words had penetrated, but Jason pushed them to the rear of his mind. Time to think about that later. For the present—

     For the present, he realized slowly, the doors to the opera house were locked. But they were always kept open. Was something amiss? Listening, he heard Roxana playing inside. That was all right then. They must have been locked by accident. He began looking for a way in. By the time Jeremy showed up, he had found it, and was out of sight. Jeremy had been too preoccupied with his own insecurities to notice what Jason had been up to, and so he had not thought to try the opera house until last. Failing in his search, he went looking for Candy. He had no luck at that either. Usually he could rely on Biddie for information, but she also was out. "With a Frenchman," the bride at the door confirmed, giggling.

     That had been the wrong thing to say. "What about Candy?" he said. "Is she out with a Frenchman too?" The hapless girl was at a loss how to answer. "Never mind," said Jeremy, "I already know."

     He searched a little longer and finally deposited himself in the shade of the coopersmith's, from which he could watch the dormitory. While waiting, he saw other girls out walking with their blue-coated consorts, and each new sighting raised his displeasure to a higher pitch till when Candy finally ambled into sight, sharing a bag of bon-bons with Brunet (who always kept such things in his sea-chest in case of need), he was ready to burst. And he did.

     He stepped into their path, surprising them in a pose which could have been defended as innocent—Brunet was only helping the bonbon into her mouth—but made Candy feel more guilty than she would have liked. "What do you think you're doin'?" Jeremy demanded. "What? Tell me!" She was too flustered to answer. "You're making a spectacle of yourself in front of all our friends, our neighbors—" That was an exaggeration; most of them were at work. "Don't you have any pride?" He regarded her with what looked like disgust but was really injured vanity. "You know how this makes me look?"

     "You!" She could only be pushed so far. "It's all about you, isn't it?"

     "Monsieur," Brunet said smoothly, "you mistake."

     "Shut up."

     "You have no right to tell me what to do!" said Candy.

     "Don't I? Don't we have an understanding?"

     "Evidently not," Brunet said into his waistcoat.

     "I'll say it once more," said Jeremy, not looking at him, "shut up."

     Candy stamped her foot. "How dare you speak to him that way?"

     "How dare I?"

Brunet smiled at her. "Do not concern yourself, mon cheri," he said. "It is only the mouse attempting to play the man."

     "That's it," said Jeremy, rounding on him.

     Corky and his two companions from the day before, who had stolen into town after Jeremy, and for a similar reason, had been watching the exchange and now came to Jeremy's side. "Come on," said Corky, "if there's a fight I want in on it." Seeing them, Brunet's men left their ladies to stand by their captain.

     "What's the matter?" Jeremy goaded Brunet. "Women in your country won't have anything to do with you, so you come over here and steal ours?"

     "Steal ours!" Corky echoed. Jeremy looked around in surprise. He had not known he had gained a following.

     "No one's stealing anyone," said Candy. "Jeremy, look what you're starting!"

     She was standing between the lines that were now forming, and Jeremy feared for her safety. "Stay out of the way," he ordered.

     "Please," said Brunet, with outstretched hands, "I abhor fighting."

     "Yeah," said Jeremy, "that's why you joined the service."

     One logger stumbled and fell against one of the sailors, who raised a fist to defend himself, then jumped back skittishly, as the logger did the same. They had nearly rammed into Candy. Jeremy grabbed her at once and shoved her aside. "I warned you!" he said.

     Candy, not having seen the threat, misunderstood. "Don't you manhandle me, Jeremy Bolt!" she said, and slapped him. Jeremy was dismayed.

     "Ah, but you have the way with women," said Brunet.

     Candy stormed off. "Candy!" shouted Jeremy. "Mon cheri!" shouted Brunet.

     Jeremy blocked him. "Stay away from her," he said, "you—you snail-eater!"

"Snail-eaters!" the others repeated.

     "Whyn't you go back where you came from?" said Corky.

     "It will be a pleasure, believe me. I did not know these woods were full of savages."

     "Hey, who you callin' a savage?"

     "You, you tiny great ape."

     Jeremy, always sensitive to remarks about height, was incensed by this and in his rage, as still occasionally happened, reverted to a habit he had long since thrown off. "You c—c—can't—"

     "Voici, mes amis!" Brunet cried. "This one has not only the name of a boy, he stammers like a boy." He imitated Jeremy, "C—c—c—," and laughed. "Learn to speak, little one. Then perhaps you will be able to keep your woman."

     Robert the Bruce or Wallace would have recruited Jeremy on the spot for the ferocity those taunts aroused in him. That Brunet survived at all was probably due to the speed with which Aaron and Joshua broke up the fray. They had been standing a half block away, Joshua having come to town in pursuit of Jeremy in pursuit of Jason, but having immediately encountered Aaron, who would not let him escape without hearing his complaint. "What does your brother think he's doing?"

     "Explain love," said Joshua.

     "He's in love with her?"

     Joshua had not reflected on it before. "No," he said finally, "I don't think he is. He'd be able to manage that."

     "Well, somebody better manage it or we'll lose our shirts. And every other article—"

     That was when the fight broke out.

     "And if these Frenchmen aren't out of town soon," Aaron concluded, "we won't have a town left!"

     Jason was blissfully unaware of the disturbance or of being the object of his brothers' search. In fact, by now he was out of town altogether and back on the mountain. He checked briefly on the progress of the job; it seemed to be going very well without him, or his brothers. He wondered briefly at their absence but did not trouble over it, assuming they were around somewhere. Then he thought of his secret appointment.

     Having found the opera house closed, he had made a circuit of it to find an alternate means of entry. This had presented itself in the form of a low roof at the back, from which one could climb onto the main roof and reach a trap door, which was always unlatched (as Candy's brother could have told him, having thoroughly explored the building before it was ever completed). Through it Jason lowered himself onto one of the beams in the fly gallery and slid along it, legs astraddle, to the end, then swung around to grab the end of one of the battens to which scenic drops were sometimes tied. Clutching the batten, he jumped off the beam and hung in space for a moment, his intention being to jump down from there to the catwalk that ran along the wall. But he failed to notice that the batten was not tied fast, and to his astonishment it went plummeting down toward the stage, taking him with it. By luck, it stopped a few yards short of the floor. The thwack of the ropes caused Roxana to look up. She saw him dangle in the air for a moment, then fall, to land a few feet away from her. "Mein Gott!" she said. Then her alarm gave way to merriment. "Where did you—"

     "Up there," said Jason, picking himself up.

     She looked aloft, still not understanding. "Then you are an angel."

     "The doors were locked," he said apologetically.

     "Ah, yes. Mrs. Siska—"

     On cue came the strident voice. "How did you get in?" Mrs. Siska demanded. "You must leave at once." She marched to the front, with McDermid behind her. "Those doors were locked on purpose."

     "Surely—"

     "Do you wish her to play badly?" Roxana looked at her hands in her lap. "Do you wish your neighbors to say, tscha, such a poor show, what is the good of an opera house? Of course not. You must leave her to do what she must do. And do not try to see her until her recital is done."

     Roxana caught Jason's eye. Without meaning to, he found himself sharing a furtive smile with her. "Of course," he said. But he did not move. McDermid began mounting the steps.

     Roxana quickly rose and took Jason's arm. "Thank you," she said, "my good angel." Then she whispered in his ear, "Lovers' Roost at one." That puzzled him at first—he took it for a general declaration of fact, and was thinking They do?—then the true import of the phrase penetrated. He was surprised and pleased. He made no further ado about going, and Roxana sat down again. "You see, I am good," she told Mrs. Siska. "I return to practice. All is well."

     "How'd you know about Lovers' Roost?" was his first question when she arrived. The Roost was a natural terrace on a spur of Bridal Veil Mountain, which once no doubt had been as dense with foliage as its surroundings, but which long use had reshaped into something resembling a formal garden, with lawns and winding paths amid the bushes.

     "One of your brides," said Roxana, "Miss Biddie, tells me this is where they meet their men in secret." She smiled. "As I do, yeah?"

     Jason led her up the path toward the mountainside. "I hope you don't imagine—the brides are very proper girls."

     She laughed. "Herr Bolt, in Germany the men and women do exactly the same as you do here. This is not one of your American inventions."

     "No, we just think of it that way because we're so good at it."

     Roxana considered. "This may be so. But in my homeland maybe we do even better." She looked pertly at him. Jason opened his mouth, but for once the words did not come. She laughed and looked away. Then her smile lessened. "My homeland," she repeated.

     "Romania?"

     "Now, Romania—before, Wallachia. And when I go to study the piano, it is Germany—now, German Empire." The last word was tinged with scorn. "So many changes. Some day, I think, my homeland will change again. The Turk will be—done out?"

     "Ousted."

     "Outed?"

     "No, ousted."

     She screwed up her face. "This cannot be." They both laughed.

     They had left the Roost and were now climbing into the woods. "You went to study," said Jason, "and now you practice. Seems like you're always practicing."

     She nodded. "Practice when I sleep." Shutting her eyes, she mimed an arpeggio. "But to cut the trees—you must practice this also, yeah?"

     "No, you just pick up an ax and whack away."

     She stopped. "Whack. Oust. These words were not in my English studies."

     "Nor mine." Jason halted. "Here we are."

     "Where?"

     Jason indicated. "The tree."

     "But they are all trees!" she said, laughing.

     "Ah, but this is the tallest of all. Haven't taken a yardstick to it, you understand, but I calculate it stands fifteen, twenty yards above the rest."

     Roxana looked up, squinting. "How can you say?"

     "Climbed it once," he said casually.

     "To the top?"

     "Nearly."

     "You are brave."

     "Stubborn. Somebody bet me I couldn't."

     "Ah. This is also why you went for the brides, yeah?"

     "Pretty near."

     Roxana moved closer to him. "And why you talk to me? Because Mrs. Siska says you must not?"

     Jason grinned. "Might be."

     "So, if someone tells you you cannot do a thing....This is what a criminal does!"

     "Ah," Jason said softly, "but they haven't caught me yet."

     Roxana looked past him, and her face sank. "I am afraid they have." Jason turned to see Mrs. Siska and McDermid coming up the path at the foot of the hill. Mrs. Siska shouted for Roxana to come down.

     Jason put his hand on the trunk. "This won't change," he said. "It'll still be here when all our tomorrows are yesterdays. When you think of Seattle, think of this tree, and of me."

     "I will think of the tree," she said tenderly, "and of you." She stepped up and kissed him on the lips. Mrs. Siska called again, more angrily this time. "My jailer summons me," said Roxana. She climbed down to join Mrs. Siska. Jason tried to follow, but again McDermid blocked the way. His eyes stared coolly into Jason's.

     "I'll see you again!" Jason shouted after Roxana.

     Mrs. Siska stepped in front of her. "No, Mr. Bolt," she said, "you will not. If you try, it will be the worse for her."

     "She's a free woman."

     "She is not," Mrs. Siska said gravely, "but this you will not understand." She led Roxana away.

     "It was a pleasure!" Jason shouted to her.

     Roxana looked back. "For me too. This, not so much a pleasure. But it is—a need." She went on.

     Jason nodded sadly. "For me too."

     In the tent that night, two of the three Bolts lay awake, and that meant the third did, as well. "Knowin' she's here, but not being able to see her, talk to her—I feel like I'm out on the salt flats in sight of water, but it's got an iron fence round it, so for me it might as well be dust." Jeremy reminded him he wasn't alone. "Difference is," said Jason, "you know she'll be here tomorrow." And the job? Joshua was thinking. What about the job?

     It would have made one of the brothers happier to know that Candy did not sleep well either. Her turbulent night left her susceptible to pangs of distress all the following day, and Aaron discovered her behind the livery stable with a moist face and handkerchief. Always embarrassed by such displays, he would have passed on and pretended he had not seen, but she spotted him first. "Anything—er—" he began.

     "Jeremy and I aren't speaking."

     "Again?" he said, without thinking.

     "Yes, again!" she said crossly. "It was just an innocent little walk, and he completely misunderstood. An innocent little walk," she repeated, a shade too emphatically. "Can't a girl take an innocent little walk without—?" She blew her nose. "Well, can't she?"

     Aaron looked uncomfortable. "Wouldn't you be better off talking to Jason about this sort of—"

     "Who can find him?"

Aaron conceded the point. "This misunderstanding," he said, "it wouldn't have anything to do with that Frenchman?" Candy nodded. "I see." He pondered for a few moments. "You know," he said quietly, "love—although I'm pretty sure Jason would take issue with me on this—love is—well—a business." Candy looked at him sharply. "Never mind the storybook frills," he went on, not noticing her reaction, "at bottom it comes down to a few fundamental questions. Is there any profit in it? Am I getting my fair share? Can I trust my partner? Am I living up to my end of the bargain? And the answers better come back yes—especially the last one. Because you've made a contract—even if was only a look of common understanding. And a contract is a sacred thing. Like it or not, you have a responsibility to hold up your end. Otherwise, the whole fabric of society—"

     Candy was not interested in the larger issue, and anyway she didn't see what sewing had to do with it. "You think I'm not doing that?" she demanded, in what Aaron, with more experience, would have recognized as a risky tone.

     "I go by what I see," he said, heedless. "And the whole town's seen—"

     Candy sprang to her feet. "So you're just like Jeremy—ready to believe the worst! Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Stempel—" She searched for something to tell him. "I—I—I'm not the woman you take me for!" She stamped off. Aaron looked after her dumbly. Maybe I've been too hard on Jason, he thought. These women take a lot out of a man.

     Biddie had not seen Corky since the day of the fight, which she had not witnessed but had heard about. After that, Joshua had herded up Corky and the others and driven them back to camp, where he was keeping them under close watch until the job was finished. Remembering her treatment of Corky, Biddie cringed with guilt. She had been a gallivanter, and her mother always said there was nothing worse than a gallivanter; her sister was a gallivanter—and she hated her sister. She would have to confess all to that noble Frenchman.

     "Mon-see-yoor Chauvard," she began, "seel-voos-plate—oh, to heck with it." She took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I haven't been entirely frank with you. You see—" She hesitated. He offered a look of sympathy that had fortified and solaced many women. "My heart is already pledged to another," she said sorrowfully, more sorrowfully than he could know. "Well, not pledged exactly," she amended, "but I cannot allow you to live in false hope. We can never be more than good friends. I hope you can forgive me."

     Chauvard appeared overcome. "Mon cheri!" he cried, clutching her hand with a fervor that made her jump. "You are that rare creature—an honest woman!" He kissed her hand energetically. "It shall be as you say," he declared with an air of sacrifice, "but know that you have earned my eternal admiration and affection." He kissed her hand again. "Adieu."

     Biddie had not expected the conversation to end so soon. "Well, a-dee-oo yourself," she said, and took a step, then had second thoughts and turned back. "A-dee-oo," she said again. She took another step, then turned back again. "A-dee-oo." She hung for a moment between desire and duty. "Oh, a-dee-oo, a-dee-oo, a-dee-oo," she said, "darn it!" Chauvard laughed as she ran off. But her confession had genuinely touched him, and left him feeling a little shame-faced. He determined to have a word with Brunet.

     The gallant captain was not hard to find. He had come across Candy on the wharf, staring forlornly out to sea. Jeremy had not been back, Joshua having confined him to camp along with the men, and whereas Jeremy would normally have bucked under such an order, at present he was too despondent to care. "Your young man," Brunet said caringly, "he has abandoned you?"

     "No," Candy said firmly. "Not exactly abandoned."

     "He must be a very strong character." Candy supposed he was. "That he can bear to leave such a woman for so much as a moment." He reached up and brushed the remnant of a tear from her cheek. "Forgive me for asking at this time, but this piano recital—you will go, non? It will be very splendid."

     "I have no one to go with," Candy said miserably.

     "Oh, but, mademoiselle," said Brunet with infinite tenderness, "you do." She looked up in grateful surprise. He took her hand. "If you will allow me the very great honor." She nodded, in a daze. "And supper after."

     "Oh, but—"

     "I insist."

     "Well—"

     "Then it is agreed. Tres bien. I call for you at seven sharp. Do not be late." He drew closer. "It will be—magnifique."

     As he walked away, well pleased with himself, he was met by his lieutenant, who had been listening to the exchange. "I wish to cancel the wager," Chauvard said.

     Brunet laughed. "Because you see I shall win."

     Chauvard took out his purse and removed three ten-franc notes. "Here," he said, "let us say you have won."

     Brunet stopped. "What is this, mon frere?"

     Chauvard regarded him severely. "This is not well. You play with this girl. You have no liking for her—non, not even a fancy for the sport of a night. You seek only to prove yourself. I will not be your accomplice."

     Brunet stared back coldly. "All is fair in the love and the war—this is the saying, non? Let the wager stand." He walked off. Chauvard looked over at Candy, still standing at water's edge. He wished he could open her eyes.

     Brunet made his way up the mountain, purposing to continue—and, he hoped, conclude—his selection of trees for the ships' timbers. By the time he got to the camp, his feet were aching again. Joshua was happy to see that, figuring that it would shorten the task, and so it did. They had just flagged the last tree of what seemed like thousands when Jason appeared, God knew from where. "This is the last one," Joshua announced, "and we're a third done with the—"

     "What do you think you're doin'?" Jason growled. He yanked the flag away.

     "I'm telling you. The Captain's picked out the trees he wants—"

     "Pick again. This one's not for sale." It was Roxana's tree.

     "But we've been up to the timber line and back—"

     Jason glared at him. "I won't say it twice." He left. Joshua knew there was no arguing with that tone, or that look. He apologized to Brunet.

     Surprisingly, the captain smiled. "This is about a woman, I think."

     "How do you know?"

     Brunet shook his head. "In France we understand such things. He will die before he surrenders this tree." He sighed. "I choose another—tomorrow." Before leaving he reminded Joshua of the deadline, which had been prolonged by only the few hours it had taken to select the first batch of trees, and of the penalty should they fail to meet it.

     "They'll be delivered on time," said Joshua. "I guarantee it."

     "Can you do so?" Joshua looked uncertain. Brunet shrugged. "Bien, it is no matter to me. But your Monsieur Stempel—I think it is of great matter to him."

     Late in the day Joshua paid a visit to Mrs. Siska at the opera house. At first McDermid would not let him in. Then the lady herself appeared and, hearing who he was, showed him into the lobby, the pristine newness of which was made to seem almost ethereal by the notes of a Schubert sonata that drifted out from the auditorium. It might have lightened Mrs. Siska's heart too, for she did not look as forbidding now as when Joshua had glimpsed her in town; otherwise he would never have dared to say what he did to her. "You have to let Miss Lalescu see my brother," he said.

     "Have to?" She widened her eyes. "No, young man, I do not have to do anything of the kind."

     "It's only for a couple of days. Are you that jealous that you—"

     "So, that is what you believe." She smiled to herself. "That I am a wicked woman who hides Roxana away from the young men because I wish to keep her to myself." Joshua saw at once that it could not be so. She studied him. "Forgive me, but I think this is what you have wished yourself, is it not? To keep her from your brother?"

     Joshua could not imagine how she had guessed. "I thought I did," he said, "but it's worse now. He thinks of nothing else."

     "It is as I feared." Her manner relaxed. "Come, sit." She sat by him. "It is not that I would keep Roxana from falling in love and getting married. One day this will happen. But it must be with the right man."

     "As you decide."

     She shook her head. "It will be as her lover decides." Then, at Joshua's look of surprise, "Yes, she has a lover." Joshua glanced at McDermid. For the first time Mrs. Siska laughed. "Good heavens, no! Come." She took him to the theatre doors and opened one of them to reveal Roxana at the piano. "That is her lover," she said. "Does she love your brother as much as that?"

     "He can make her love him," said Joshua.

     "Yes," she said, "I fear he can. That is what I fear most."

     "Is he so terrible?"

     She stared solemnly at him. "It would be the end of her."

     "She wouldn't have to give up her music."

     "But she would," Mrs. Siska declared. "Come, I will show you." She led him down to the stage. After giving Roxana permission to leave off, she climbed the steps and sat at the piano herself. She ordered Joshua to sit, and then to move a few rows behind and to the left. She played from the score Roxana had been using. Joshua was unsure what was expected of him. "Very nice," he said when she had finished.

     "You think so?" she said. She waved Roxana back. "Play as I just did," she said. Roxana looked puzzled. "I mean, the piece." Roxana did so, and Joshua listened. With the first bars, his face underwent a transformation that his brothers would not have believed, if they could have understood it. "You hear," said Mrs. Siska. "I see you do. Continue!" she ordered Roxana, who had stopped. She motioned to Joshua to join her, and together they walked up the aisle.

     "I never imagined—" Joshua began, then stopped.

     "Say it!" she said. "It does not offend me. You never imagined there could be such a difference between competence and beauty." They were at the back, out of Roxana's hearing. "Can your brother hear the difference? I do not think he can. To him it might all be a player piano." Joshua smiled, but ruefully, because he knew she was right. "And her gift," Mrs. Siska went on, "her birthright, he would take away from her a little at a time, never knowing. She plays for him—'Very nice,' he says. And next time he says the same, but this time it is not so nice, and next time still less. But always to him it is 'very nice'. And in the end it is gone."

     "But surely she can hear for herself?"

     "No," said Mrs. Siska. "Or—sometimes. She must have people who can help her to hear. You could perhaps. Your brother...." She shook her head.

     "But she makes him happy," Joshua said helplessly. "I never saw him so happy."

     "It is so for her also, I think. But it is the happiness of the impossible. In the end it blows away, like smoke. And what is real is lost."

     "He won't give her up. Not as long as she's here."