Page 3 of Caroline’s Compass

“I know.”

“And—”

Rebecca straightened. “Caroline.”

“What?”

“I drove yesterday.”

“Yes.”

“The wagon remained upright.”

“I noticed.”

“Then go worry about your own team.”

Caroline opened her mouth, considered the wrench in Rebecca's hand, and went to the lead wagon.

Father's leather pouch rested beneath the driver's bench where Eleanor had placed it the night before. Caroline touched the flap but did not open it. For nearly a month, the pouch had belonged to Eleanor as surely as the garnets did. Father had written the route, Eleanor had carried it, and Caroline had made certain everything around Eleanor continued working.

Now Eleanor rode with Nathaniel.

Caroline lifted the pouch onto her lap.

“You look as though it insulted you.”

Thomas Reed stood beside the wagon, his map board tucked under one arm. Morning light caught the brown in his hair and the serious line between his brows. He was thirty-one, though Nathaniel called him young whenever Thomas was correct in an inconvenient manner.

Caroline lowered the pouch. “It has not spoken.”

“That has never prevented insult.”

“Is there something you need?”

Thomas's gaze moved toward the leather. “Your father's notes, if you are willing. The crossing we passed yesterday was nearly half a mile from where he marked it. The next fork may have moved as well.”

“Roads do not move.”

“Water does. Travelers follow.”

Caroline knew this. She also knew Father's hand filled every page in that pouch, straight and certain. He had planned their future with the confidence of a man who believed preparation could defeat death if it worked hard enough.

It had not defeated his.

“You may look,” she said. “I will look with you.”

Thomas nodded as if she had offered exactly what he expected. “After the noon break?”

“Before. We may need the information sooner.”

His mouth curved. “Of course.”

“What does that mean?”

“Only that your family has two settings. Immediately and already finished.”

“We are efficient.”