Dewdrops glistened on the grass, as diamonds under the sun, when my darling and I stepped outside the next day. In the post-storm clarity, the world was glowing with fresh vibrancy - I couldn't breathe the sharp air deeply enough. Everything was new.

I paused on the doorstep and tipped my head back, bathing my face in the sunlight. A blue-winged magpie hopped left and right on a branch above me, and it tilted its head to watch me through one gleaming eye. Deeming me uninteresting, the bird ruffled its feathers with its beak.

When I turned away, I found Connor watching me, standing halfway down the path, and there was such tenderness in his expression that I smiled. "What?"

His mouth curved into a gentle smile. "You are so beautiful."

If I was beautiful, how much more lovely was he? What could be more beautiful than him? I took his reaching hand and he pulled me to his side, and his skin was warm in the sun. Looking at him required me to tilt my head back, and I gladly did so, for he was more beautiful than the moon. I took him in: the slope of his forehead, the curve of his nose, his sharp cheekbones, his watchful eyes.

He was looking at me, too, and when our eyes met, we started to laugh. Maybe it was the fresh air and the water sparkling on the grass, or maybe it was nerves; something made us fold into one another with merry affection. After so many months, we were finally doing this. We were stepping out, presenting ourselves not as Connor and as Cassandra, but as Connor and Cassandra.

It was as it was meant to be, I felt. In our lives together, there had been no other option but love, no other way to live.

I thought, then, of Adam and Eve - created for the other, did that make them soulmates of a sort? I reflected on that - the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept: and He took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof; and the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made He a woman, and brought her unto the man - and Connor laughed softly when I told him this, and asked if I was implying that I was one of his ribs.

Our hands did not separate as we walked down the dirt path into the homestead village. I pointed at the bright clusters of daffodils that speckled the grass. His thumb brushed gentle circles over the scars on the side of my hand. We crossed over the sun-dappled bridge, and the river running under it was clear and fresh; was this really the same river that Thomas had floated down?

How the village had grown in the years since Connor and I had saved Lance! We had a church pastored by Father Timothy, and the Mile's End inn courtesy of Oliver and Corinne. The forge was owned by the blacksmith David Walston, who we suspected had his eye on Ellen, the tailor. And, of course, there was Lyle White, Warren and Prudence, Terry and Godfrey, Robert Faulkner, Myriam, Norris - and then there were the children. . .

As we walked now through this homestead, we did not set a destination: we were satisfied to merely walk together, palm to palm, with the sun on our shoulders and a gentle breeze at our backs. I stopped by the grassy bank beside the dirt path and bent, still holding darling Connor's hand, and picked one of the bright buttercups.

I held it up for him to see, and felt myself smiling widely. "Do you remember what I told you about these?"

His eyes were soft, and he took the flower with delicate fingers. "How could I forget?" he murmured, holding the flower under my chin. I went still as he tucked the flower behind my ear, as he brushed the tenderest kiss against my cheek. My cheeks heated up and I looked away bashfully.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Warren pacing restlessly outside Lyle White's door, fretting with the straw hat he used to shade his bald head. I frowned, and when I moved towards him, Connor did too.

"Warren?" I said. "Is everything all right?"

Warren was breathless. "It's Prudence," he said, and a spike of fear went through me. "She went into labour in the early hours," he continued, voice taut with the barely-restrained panic of a first-time parent. "I don't know how long she will be. I don't know if she is okay."

My hand detached from Connor's, and though Warren's eyes were drawn to the movement, he was too stressed to comment. I placed a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Let me talk to Lyle," I said.

Warren's nod was minute, and as I approached the door, his lips became bloodless. "I can't look," he groaned, and, pressing a hand over his eyes, proceeded to stagger backwards away from the door, the object of his acute horror. Connor guided him away from the door when I opened it.

Lyle's surgery was usually a peaceful place; I had grown accustomed, thanks to my visits, to the various herbs and powders lining the shelves: purple roughbark and foxglove and mandrake and wolfsbane and hellebore; various green leaves: sassafras, thorn apple, wormwood, haselwort; jars of opium and fragrant incense. Dark, glossy berries drooped on the thin twigs of a plant absorbing the light in the window - deadly nightshade.

Prudence herself was on the bed, her breaths laboured. Yellow flowers - lady's bedstraw, I noted - were scattered on the floor next to her: they had been stuffed into the mattress. Lyle was stirring a steaming cup, peering through the spectacles on the end of his nose. He looked up when he heard the door open, and his eyes were very large through the lenses.

"Cass," he said, still mixing fervently. "It's not really a good time."

My voice was soft. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He looked stressed: Prudence wasn't due for another two weeks. After a moment of deliberation, Lyle thrust the steaming cup at me. "You can mix this."

The cup was warm, and there were various leaves and other bits floating in the water, and the steam wafting up smelled pungent and bitter. I frowned. "What's in this?"

He didn't respond for a few moments while he checked on Prudence. "Oak bark. Lady's bedstraw. Roughbark. Camphor. Elfdock. Castor oil. A little bit of nightshade. False hellebore. Some honey to reduce the bitterness."

Mostly sedatives to treat the pain. I used my elbow to open the door, afraid to stop stirring. Time was precious, and we did not have a lot of it.

Immediately, Warren's anxious face turned towards me, and in that instant, his dark eyes were as wide and terrified as a sheep. Connor had remained with him, watching over the older man with gentle concern. Warren reached a hand out to me, and, seeing the cup in my hands, began to tremble. "Is she okay?" he asked in a choked voice.

"She's fine," I soothed him. "This is to help the pain."

The tense panic fled from his body. "Oh, thank God," he breathed. "I can't stand to think of her in pain."

There came a low groan from Prudence behind me, and Lyle called to me in a tight voice. I saw Warren's face go pale, and I could do nothing but give him a reassuring smile before I shut the door and was once more ensconced in Lyle's surgery.

Lyle was folding towels and placing them beside the bed. "Did I see Connor out there with Warren?"

"Yes." I gave the cup to Prudence and she drank from it, and pulled a face at it. "We took a walk today because the sun is so lovely," I continued. The next words both excited and terrified me. "We wished to announce our courtship."

The doctor flashed me wide smile. "Congratulations. I am delighted for the pair of you."

Prudence started to say something that turned to a sharp groan as she gripped her round belly. I looked to Lyle for assurance, and he said calmly to me, "Have you any experience with childbirth?" When I shook my head, he smiled. "Would you like to learn?"

His tone implied that this was not an offer, but a request for help: he needed an extra pair of hands. Though the idea of being present and helping Lyle during the birth terrified me, I was sure it would be useful to me in the future. I thought of the day Ryan was born, and how neither Nadia nor I knew what to do.

I nodded. "Okay. Tell me what to do."

*

The air in Lyle's surgery was close and warm, and I opened the window to allow the cooling air in. Finally, the room was silent - as Lyle cleaned the area around the bed, I smiled at Prudence, who was gazing at the baby in her arms, gazing with such love that I was struck with a pang of sadness. It was a baby boy. His first cries had brought Prudence to tears.

Lyle sent me outside to fetch Warren; the man rose instantly to his feet (for he had been sitting against the wall next to Connor) when I opened the door. His eyes were wide, for he had heard through the walls the entire process. Before he could say anything, give a voice to the worry inside him, I smiled. "Come in," I said, and opened the door wider. "It's a boy."

The first time Warren set eyes on his son, he was silent with awe, brushing a reverent finger against the little cheeks. Connor hung back in the doorway; I joined him there, unwilling to break the reverie of the scene before us - two people meeting their son for the first time. Neither Connor nor I had had a moment like this in our lives: both of our parents were apart by the time both of us were born. I saw a certain wistfulness in Connor's dark eyes, a sadness that could not be explained.

Shielded by our bodies, I laced my fingers with his. "It's so beautiful," I murmured, "watching a family come together. This is all they've wanted for so long."

"How did it go?" he asked me, careful not to disturb the hushed room.

I thought for a moment. "It was difficult," I said. "My respect for Lyle has really increased. I don't want to go through that myself any time soon."

Connor chuckled softly. At that moment, both Warren and Prudence, who had been talking quietly, looked our way. Warren beckoned us closer, now unable to contain his smile. His straw hat lay forgotten at the foot of the bed. "Come."

Neither Connor nor I had met a baby since Ryan was small, and seeing their son now brought back all of my memories of my brother. I wondered, then, how he was doing in his boarding school.

"Does he have a name yet?" I asked.

Prudence and Warren looked at one another, and Warren beckoned Prudence to speak with a gentle nod of his head. "Cass," she said. "Do you remember when you advised me to name the baby after you and Connor?"

Oh heavens. I had meant that as a joke. When I nodded, she continued. "We did actually take that somewhat seriously. You both have nice names, but we thought naming him Connor might be a bit too on-the-nose. So. . . we named him Hunter."

I watched the realisation settle into Connor's beautiful face, watched his eyes widen as the full magnitude of the name sank in. No words formed - what words were good enough? - and I found this to be one of the rare times when I couldn't fully decipher the emotions in his face. There was joy, but there was also sadness - and both of these combined like butter and sugar, creating something wholly new and wistful.

"I am honoured," he said, looking first at Prudence, and then Warren. His voice did not betray his emotion, but his fidgeting hands did. "Thank you."

"Thank you." Warren was earnest. "Were it not for you, Prudence and I would not be here. Little Hunter would not be here." The man looked at his baby, and the gentleness that overtook his lined face made my heart ache.

I began to back away, and bowed my head in farewell. "We will leave you to enjoy this peace."

The couple bid us a heartfelt (and tearful) good-bye, and when we stepped outside, I took a deep breath of the open air; I had not realised just how close the air in the surgery had become until I left it.

It had been morning when we set out earlier today, and now the sun was high in the sky. I gave Connor a sheepish look. "I'm sorry for taking up our walking time."

"Nonsense." He pulled my wrist to stop me from walking ahead. "You did a beautiful thing, and I am so proud of you." His hands cupped my jaw as he leaned down to kiss me.

How funny it was that I had to stretch up on my toes and he had to lean down just so we could kiss - but we made it work, and there was something so comforting about the way he towered over me, like I was protected in his shadow. What an odd couple we made: the tall native American and the small English girl. Everything about us was a contrast - but maybe that was why we worked.

I found myself smiling against him when I pictured how we must look to others, and he pulled back, curious. "What?"

His eyes saw everything lovely, and everything wretched, in me - and he did not look away. "I think it's so wonderful that we can do this so openly. This homestead is our little haven where love is free to grow."

He, too, began to smile. "It is as it should be." When we stepped away from one another, a line formed between his brows - the only frown that would mark his face today. "Your buttercup is gone."

I touched my hair and found it to be true. With a falsely-annoyed tsk, Connor turned and searched the vibrant grassy banks, and returned moments later with two of the yellow flowers. "Now we can match," he said, and I heard the quiet joy in his voice as he placed one of the flowers in my hair. I took the second from him and stretched up on my toes so I could return the favour. 

Now that we were both pretty princesses, we joined hands once more and began a meandering walk, finding that the destination was not as important as the adventure we partook in. Neither of us spoke, for we were both content to simply absorb the other's company and listen to the birds overhead.

Our adventure brought us to the fields surrounding Warren's farm, wide and green and speckled with sheep. I gasped at the lambs that bounded through the grass, and giggled at their flopping pink ears. 

I let go of Connor's hand so I could climb over the fence, and as soon as I was in the field, a lamb came running over to me, bleating loudly, and tried to bite my fingers. I laughed and scratched its little head, and its tail began to wag as it sucked on my finger, thinking it to be food. Another lamb followed the first, and this one headbutted my arm in a rather violent search for food, which made me laugh more.

I heard a strangled yelp behind me, and turned just in time to see Connor flip Norris over his shoulder; the miner landed heavily on his back and groaned. Evidently, he had come up behind Connor and touched him, and Connor had reacted instinctively. 

This did not, however, diminish Norris' good spirits. "My friend!" he wheezed. 

Upon recognising Norris, Connor's expression became irritated. "Norris, what are you doing?"

"She said yes!" Norris beamed up at Connor, his joy quite unlike any I had seen before. 

Connor's face cleared. "Myriam?" 

As Norris accepted Connor's hand up, he cried, "We are getting married!" 

I didn't know whether to laugh or dance about. The two lambs  butted my hands again, and I picked one up, and it squirmed desperately in my arms until I let it go. I heard a laugh, and Myriam emerged from the trees, a smile splitting her pale face. Norris had run here and she had walked, I assumed. 

She joined Norris at his side and chided him lightly. "I told you not to touch him."

Connor was smiling as he placed a hand on Norris' arm, and said, in joyous disbelief, "Is it true?"

Myriam laughed again, a sound not unlike a chiming bell. "Yes!"

I climbed back over the fence so I could join the trio and make it a quartet. "Congratulations." I beamed. 

Myriam turned to me with equal felicity. "I believe the same can be said for you - we have heard tell of your courtship." She eyed the buttercups in our hair with mischief. 

I sighed, though I was not annoyed. "Word travels fast."

"We heard it from Terry, who saw you leaving Dr. White's," she said, and we both laughed - of everyone on the homestead, Terry was the biggest gossip. 

Even Connor rolled his eyes, but there was no misgiving behind the gesture. "Of course he would tell everybody."

That made all of us laugh. When I looked up, I saw Father Timothy approach - evidently, he had followed after Norris and Myriam - and he joined in the good-natured laughter. "So," he said when there came a gap in the conversation, "now that you've been told, might I have a word? We have much work to do."

I had rarely seen Connor shining so brightly. "Of course. What would you have us do?"

Timothy adjusted the black rimmed hat that covered his thinning hair. "Accompany me to the inn - I have business there."

Thus, with a final farewell to Norris and Myriam, Connor and I followed Timothy up the dirt path that wound through the forest, and, after a few moments, the pastor got straight down to business. "Norris is a stickler when it comes to tradition. Myriam knows not where her father is - and they were hopeful that you–" this he addressed to Connor– "might act his part in the ceremony."

Connor was silent, though he met my eyes. "I am not familiar with colonial wedding customs."

I clarified for him: "It means you'll walk with Myriam during the ceremony, and give her to Norris as her father would."

I watched his face become soft - twice, now, in one day, the people of this homestead had pierced his heart and injected it with love. "I would be honoured," he said. 

Timothy nodded enthusiastically. "Wonderful! Right, on to other business: our weddings are complex beasts, and require many hands working together to execute them. We'll need Warren and Prudence to provide food - taking into account, of course, the birth of their son this morning - Ellen to make them appropriate clothes, and Big Dave to smith wedding bands, and me to conduct the service, and Oliver and Corinne to host a banquet. . ."

Connor's eyes were wide. "That is a lot."

Giving Connor's arm a hearty clap, Timothy held open the Mile's End door for us. "We'll start here."

There were many tables inside the cosy inn, some of which were occupied by sailors from the port, or weary travellers on their way to the hinterland. Corinne was cleaning a glass behind the bar, and looked up as the three of us entered. "Well, if it isn't the talk of the town!" She came out from behind the counter to wrap me in a hearty hug. "Congratulations, my dear. We were all wondering when it would happen. Connor's such a quiet lad, so private, and you're so bright - it was only a matter of time!" 

Timothy tipped his hat to her. "We come bearing even more good news - a wedding approaches."

She gasped loudly, and beheld Connor and me with more delight than I thought possible. "Engaged already? Oh, this is so exciting. Congratula–"

Connor winced. "I apologise, Corinne, but it is Norris and Myriam who are getting married."

It took a moment to sink in, but then the older woman nodded sagely. "Yes, I suppose that makes more sense. Well, I am thrilled for them! My, two happy couples in one day - it's a wonder any of us can breathe through all of this love in the air!"

Timothy took her aside so he could speak to her about the wedding; I understood that our work - that is, mine and Connor's - was finished here. With that in mind, I smiled up at him. "It's official."

His voice was soft and dreamlike. "Yes, it is."

I would be fooling myself if I thought nothing could spoil this day, however - for we still had another large problem to deal with. "What will we say to Achilles?"

Connor grimaced. "I do not know. I suppose it is best if we tell him now."

I agreed, though I did not want to. Like tearing off a bandage, it was best done swiftly. We bid farewell to Timothy and Corinne, who waved us cheerfully off, and we set out for the manor. The old man would be angry, that much I knew - after all, almost everything made him angry these days - and I could not help the nerves that squirmed in my stomach. Neither of us spoke; each of us were, in our own ways, trying to muster the courage to break the news to Achilles.