“Well … aye. It did. It—it feels sae nice, ma’am,” she whispered, leaning a little toward me as though imparting an important secret.

I rubbed a knuckle hard across my lips.

“Um, yes. Quite. But—”

The Beardsleys had washed the sheets at her direction, and there were no incriminating traces left by the time her father returned, two days later. The gallberries had done their work, and while she was still weak and tired, she told Mr. Wemyss only that she had had a mild attack.

Meanwhile, she met with Jo at every opportunity, in the deep summer grass behind the dairy shed, in the fresh straw in the stable—and when it rained, now and then on the porch of the Beardsleys’ cabin.

“I wouldna do it inside, for the stink o’ the hides,” she explained. “But we put an old quilt on the porch, so as I shouldna have splinters in my backside, and the rain comin’ down just a foot away …” She looked wistfully through the open door, where the rain had softened into a steady whisper, the needles trembling on the pine trees as it fell.

“And what about Kezzie? Where was he, while all this was going on?” I asked.

“Ah. Well, Kezzie,” she said, taking a deep breath.

They had made love in the stable, and Jo had left her lying on her cloak in the straw, watching as he rose and dressed himself. Then he had kissed her and turned to the door. Seeing that he had forgotten his canteen, she called softly after him.

“And he didna answer, nor turn round,” she said. “And it came to me sudden, as he didna hear me.”

“Oh, I see,” I said softly. “You, um, couldn’t tell the difference?”

She gave me a direct blue look.

“I can now,” she said.

In the beginning, though, sex was so new—and the brothers both sufficiently inexperienced—that she hadn’t noticed any differences.

“How long … ?” I asked. “I mean, do you have any idea when they, er … ?”

“Not for certain,” she admitted. “But if I was to guess about it, I think the first time it was Jo—no, I ken for sure that was Jo, for I saw his thumb—but the second time, it was likely Kezzie. They share, ken?”

They did share—everything. And so it was the most natural thing in the world—to all three of them, evidently—that Jo should wish his brother to share in this new marvel.

“I ken it seems … strange,” she said, shrugging a little. “And I suppose I ought to have said something, or done something—but I couldna think what. And really”—she raised her eyes to me, helpless—“it didna seem wrong at all. They’re different, aye, but at the same time, they’re sae close to each other … well, it’s just as if I was touching the one lad, and talking to him—only he’s got the twa bodies.”

“Twa bodies,” I said, a little bleakly. “Well, yes. There’s just the difficulty, you see, the two bodies part.” I eyed her closely. Despite the history of malaria and her fine-boned build, she had definitely filled out; she had a plump little bosom swelling over the edge of her bodice, and, while she was sitting on it so I couldn’t tell for sure, very likely a bottom to match. The only real wonder was that it had taken her three months to fall pregnant.

As though reading my mind, she said, “I took the seeds, aye? The ones you and Miss Bree take. I had a store put by, from when I was betrothed to Manfred; Miss Bree gave me them. I meant to gather more, but I didna always remember, and—” She shrugged again, putting her hands across her belly.

“Whereupon you proceeded to say nothing,” I observed. “Did your father find out by accident?”

“No, I told him,” she said. “I thought I best had, before I began to show. Jo and Kezzie came with me.”

This explained Mr. Wemyss’s resort to strong drink, all right. Perhaps we should have brought the jug back with us.

“Your poor father,” I said again, but abstractedly. “Had the three of you worked out any sort of plan?”

“Well, no,” she admitted. “I hadna told the lads I was in a family way ’til this morning, either. They seemed taken back a bit,” she added, biting her lip again.

“I daresay.” I glanced outside; it was still raining, but the downpour had slackened momentarily, dimpling the puddles on the path. I rubbed a hand over my face, feeling suddenly rather tired.

“Which one will you choose?” I asked.

She gave me a sudden, startled look, the blood draining from her cheeks.

“You can’t have them both, you know,” I said gently. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“Why?” she said, trying for boldness—but her voice trembled. “It’s no harming anyone. And it’s no one’s business but ours.”

I began to feel the need of a stiff drink myself.

“Hoho,” I said. “Try telling your father that. Or Mr. Fraser. In a big city, perhaps you could get away with it. But here? Everything that happens is everybody’s business, and you know it. Hiram Crombie would stone you for fornication as soon as look at you, if he found out about it.” Without waiting for a reply, I got to my feet.

“Now, then. We’ll go back to the house and see whether they’re both still alive. Mr. Fraser may have taken matters into his own hands, and solved the problem for you.”



THE TWINS WERE STILL ALIVE, but didn’t look as though they were particularly glad of the fact. They sat shoulder to shoulder in the center of Jamie’s study, pressed together as though trying to reunite into a single being.

Their heads jerked toward the door in unison, looks of alarm and concern mingling with joy at seeing Lizzie. I had her by the arm, but when she saw the twins, she pulled loose and hurried to them with a small exclamation, putting an arm about each boy’s neck to draw him to her bosom.

I saw that one of the boys had a fresh black eye, just beginning to puff and swell; I supposed it must be Kezzie, though I didn’t know whether this was Jamie’s notion of fairness, or merely a convenient means of ensuring that he could tell which twin was which while talking to them.

Mr. Wemyss was also alive, though he didn’t look any more pleased about it than the Beardsleys. He was red-eyed, pale, and still slightly green about the gills, but was at least upright and reasonably sober, seated beside Jamie’s table. There was a cup of chicory coffee in front of him—I could smell it—but it seemed so far untouched.

Lizzie knelt on the floor, still clinging to the boys, the three heads drawn together like the lobes of a clover leaf as they murmured to one another.

“Are ye hurt?” she was saying, and “Are ye all right?” they were asking, an absolute tangle of hands and arms meanwhile searching, patting, stroking, and embracing. They reminded me of nothing so much as a tenderly solicitous octopus.

I glanced at Jamie, who was viewing this behavior with a jaundiced eye. Mr. Wemyss emitted a low moan, and buried his head in his hands.

Jamie cleared his throat with a low Scottish noise of infinite menace, and the proceedings in the middle of the room stopped as though hit with some sort of paralyzing death ray. Very slowly, Lizzie turned her head to look at him, chin held high, her arms still locked protectively about the Beardsleys’ necks.

“Sit down, lass,” Jamie said with relative mildness, nodding toward an empty stool.

Lizzie rose, and turned, her eyes still fixed on him. She made no move to take the offered stool, though. Instead, she walked deliberately round behind the twins and stood between them, putting her hands upon their shoulders.

“I’ll stand, sir,” she said, her voice high and thin with fear, but filled with determination. Like clockwork, each twin reached up and grasped the hand upon his shoulder, their faces assuming similar expressions of mingled apprehension and steadfastness.

Jamie wisely decided not to make an issue of it, instead nodding to me in an offhand way. I took the stool myself, surprisingly glad to sit down.

“The lads and I have been talking wi’ your father,” he said, addressing Lizzie. “I take it it’s true, what ye told your Da? Ye are with child, and ye dinna ken which is the father?”