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composed and her eyes on the pile of darning in her lap. Still Allan wasn’t fooled.
    “I know what you’re thinking, mo leannan . You want me to say yes to Maggie.”
    A smile curved Harriet’s mouth as she raised her gaze to Allan. “Only if you think it wise.”
    “If I think it wise!” He shook his head. “I’ve already given my opinion on the subject. But I warrant yours is different.”
    “Not necessarily,” Harriet allowed. “If truth be told, I’d like to see Maggie settled with a husband of her own in the homestead next to ours, same as you would, I reckon.”
    “In time,” Allan answered, and Harriet suppressed a smile.
    “Aye, in time. I’m not wanting to see her settled too soon, Allan MacDougall. She is only sixteen.”
    “My thoughts exactly.” Allan raised his eyebrows. “So it seems we’re agreed on the subject?”
    Harriet paused, knowing she needed to choose her words carefully. “We might be agreed, Allan, but I know every child has to choose her—or his—own path, whether it takes her as far as Boston... or Red River.”
    Allan frowned as he gazed into the fire. Harriet didn’t speak, knowing he needed to reflect on her words. Twenty years ago he had been in Maggie’s position, chafing against his father’s firm hand and longing to make more of his life. In an act of both defiance and rebellion he’d left his father’s farm to set out on his own, and made his way as a fur trapper, paddling his canoe down the many rivers of Upper Canada, all the way to the Red River in Rupert’s Land. Harriet, by the hand of Providence, had been reunited with him there, and they had returned to the family homestead on Prince Edward Island.
    “It’s not the same,” Allan said at last, still frowning.
    Harriet completed a stitch before answering. She knew her husband well enough to know she would have to handle this conversation with both gentleness and wisdom. “How is it different?”
    “She’s a lass, for one thing,” Allan answered. “I’ll warrant you wouldn’t have even thought of going to Red River on your own.”
    “You know very well I didn’t,” Harriet replied with a smile. “I was the companion for Katherine Donald, because both of us knew we couldn’t travel as a woman alone. However,” she continued before Allan could interrupt, claiming his point proved, “Maggie isn’t proposing to travel to a savage, untamed land, and neither will she be alone. She’ll be a companion to her aunt and namesake, just as I was a companion to Katherine.” Harriet paused, letting Allan reluctantly digest and accept this, before finishing, “If you are concerned about her ship journey, I am sure we can arrange a chaperone. Someone from Charlottetown is likely to be making such a voyage.”
    Allan scowled at her, but Harriet could tell it was more for show, and perhaps pride, than anything else. “For someone who’d like to see her settled in the stead next to ours, you’ve spent a fair amount of time considering how our Maggie can get herself to Boston,” he observed, a hint of sharpness in his tone.
    “I want to see her happy,” Harriet said simply. “And I hope and pray that if she satisfies that urge for adventure that all young people seem to have, she’ll return to us wanting to settle here of her own choice.” She spoke gently, knowing Allan would take her point. He could force Maggie to stay, but he couldn’t make her like it. In the end such a bending of her will would surely lead to discontent and resentment, just as it had with Allan and his father.
    Allan was silent for a long moment, staring into the fire, his brow furrowed. The only sound was the settling of logs in the grate, and a few embers scattered across the worn hearth before graying into ash.
    “I suppose there’s no harm in writing her,” Allan finally said with a sigh. “Margaret.”
    Harriet resumed her sewing, completing several stitches before she spoke. “I’ll compose a letter on the