Page 22 of Caroline’s Compass

“There,” Caroline said.

Thomas pushed the rod into the creek. The depth reached his knee, then dropped at the next step.

“Not there,” he said.

They continued.

Samuel Turner appeared behind them carrying a stick.

Caroline turned. “Where is your mother?”

“With the baby.”

“Where are you supposed to be?”

Samuel considered whether honesty would improve his circumstances. “Near the wagon.”

“Is this the wagon?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Go back.”

He turned, saw a frog near the reeds, and stepped sideways.

The bank collapsed beneath one boot.

Thomas caught the back of his coat as Caroline seized his arm. Samuel dangled over the water for one breath before they pulled him onto firm ground.

He stared at them, white-faced.

Caroline knelt. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head.

“You were told to stay near the wagon.”

“I wanted to help.”

Fear sharpened her voice. “Helping does not mean following people into danger after they tell you to stop.”

Samuel's mouth trembled.

Thomas crouched beside them. “Miss Whitaker is frightened.”

“I am not.”

Thomas looked at her.

Caroline closed her eyes briefly. “I am. Because you might have fallen, Samuel.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You will tell your mother.”

“Do I have to?”

“Often.” Thomas stood and offered the boy his hand. “It is a family tradition.”