Page 58 of Eleanor’s Earrings

“You will discuss it.”

Lydia smiled. “Correct.”

The next verse began. Nathaniel sang anyway.

His voice was low and warm, not polished but steady. Eleanor found herself listening more to him than to the hymn.

Caroline noticed.

Of course, Caroline noticed.

She leaned toward Eleanor during the final line. “You missed a word.”

“I did not.”

“You stopped singing.”

“I was breathing.”

Nathaniel made a strangled sound. Eleanor looked at him.

His eyes were bright with laughter.

“Do not,” she whispered.

“I said nothing.”

“Your face.”

“Again?”

“Always.”

When the hymn ended, Mr. Daugherty invited prayer requests.

For several minutes the requests were serious: a child’s lingering cough, safe water, a mother back in Ohio, a brother serving at a military post, good weather for the crossing ahead.

Then Samuel Turner raised his hand.

Mr. Daugherty smiled. “Yes, Samuel?”

“Can we pray there are frogs in Oregon?”

His mother closed her eyes.

Mr. Daugherty remained solemn with visible effort. “We may certainly thank God for frogs.”

Samuel looked satisfied.

Lydia whispered, “That is not what he asked.”

Eleanor elbowed her.

Mr. Daugherty prayed for the train, for those they had left behind, for the country ahead, and—after the smallest pause—for the many wonders of creation they might encounter along the way.

Samuel whispered, “Frogs.”

His mother whispered, “Samuel.”