Page 27 of Caroline’s Compass

That night Caroline slept on her bedroll beneath the second wagon, with Thomas's field notebook under her pillow.

Across the circle, he slept on his bedroll beneath a canvas fly, with her father's compass near his heart.

The creek moved in the darkness, redrawing the land while the company waited.

Chapter Six

May 3, 1854

Westward Trail

At first light, Caroline stood on the creek bank and tried to decide whether six inches of fallen water counted as an answer to prayer or merely a discouraging joke.

The creek had narrowed during the night, but it still hurried through its changed channel with enough force to bow the willow branches caught along the opposite bank. Mud glazed both approaches. Yesterday's ford remained useless, and the shelf Caroline and Thomas had found downstream looked less friendly in daylight than it had in the rain.

Thomas came beside her with Father's compass in one hand.

“You kept your promise,” she said.

“I make an effort not to begin a partnership with theft.”

He offered the compass. Caroline offered his notebook at the same moment, and they exchanged them with exaggerated care.

“The water has dropped four inches at the shelf,” Thomas said. “The current is strongest near the center, but the bottom is firm enough for teams if we angle downstream.”

“And if we do not cross?”

“We lose another day. Perhaps two.”

Behind them, twelve wagons waited among damp bedrolls, dripping canvas, and people pretending not to watch. A day's delay sounded harmless until Caroline counted the flour barrels, the healing ox, Mrs. Bell's cough, and the miles still lying between the company and Fort Kearny.

Nathaniel rode down the bank, his right arm held close beneath his coat. He had insisted on saddling his own horse. Eleanor had insisted on watching him do it, which had slowed the process considerably.

“Can we cross?” he asked.

Thomas nodded toward Caroline. “She found the line.”

Nathaniel looked at her.

Caroline understood what he was doing. He had not asked Thomas for the decision. He had asked them both, and now he waited for her answer.

“Yes,” she said. “But not in the order we usually travel.”

She gathered the company beside the Whitaker wagon and arranged the crossing by load and team strength. Avery's lighter wagon would test the shelf. The Whitakers would follow with the lead wagon, carrying the heaviest reserve rope. Hall and Turner would cross next. Coleman, whose rear wheel had begun to wobble, would go between two stronger teams instead of near the end.

Rebecca leaned against the second Whitaker wagon with her arms folded. “Coleman should go before Turner.”

Caroline felt the old impulse to defend her first decision simply because it was hers. She pushed it aside. “Why?”

“Turner's off ox favors its left foreleg. If he has to pull Coleman's wagon from behind, he cannot do it. Put Hall behind Coleman and Turner behind Hall.”

Caroline studied the teams, then nodded. “Change them.”

Rebecca's brows rose.

“Do not look so surprised,” Caroline said.

“I was deciding whether to faint.”