Elisabeth returned to Haderslev. Fall set in with cold, rainy weather and short days. There was little to cheer her up, and she became, in her own words, "a pale, anemic, sorrowful girl to look at." In the evening she tried to busy herself with sewing, but her thoughts wandered. One night, when she was particularly restless, she remembered a conversation she had had with Baumann shortly before his death. He had gently admonished her to marry after his death, even if she did not love the man; it was better to be with a man who truly loved her than to be alone, he had said. Thinking back, Elisabeth wondered if Baumann had not obliquely been suggesting that she marry Riis. At the time Elisabeth had brushed the idea aside, not wanting to contemplate the possibility of Baumann's death. Baumann did not know Riis; Elisabeth had never talked about him. But Baumann had read the congratulatory letter Riis had sent Elisabeth upon their engagement and had surely understood that he loved Elisabeth.
On one of the piers, we find a collection of cracked-open crayfish shells, likely the remains of a heron’s feast. We paddle on, and a family of mallard ducks parts to let us pass, then rejoins behind us. Charlotte laughs and slaps the water with the paddle, getting Seamus wet. At the base of another pier, she picks some flowering chives to nibble on. Beyond those, a grove of tall grasses, reeds, and yellow flowers. By the end of the day, we’ll have seen blue herons, hawk-like ospreys, and two good-size beavers, which will scurry away as we approach but remain hidden in plain sight, one just below the river’s surface, its eyes and snout peeking out, the other lurking behind some more wood pilings, knocking soil and branches into the water.