Page 34 of Caroline’s Compass

“That home did not disappear when our parents did.”

Thomas turned toward her. “Have you ever imagined a home that was yours alone?”

“I have never been alone.”

“That was not what I asked.”

Below them, Lucy's laughter carried from camp. Caroline could identify each sister by sound: Martha's low reassurance, Rebecca's impatient call, Grace's quick amusement. They formed the edges of every future Caroline had permitted herself to imagine.

“No,” she admitted. “Whenever I try, someone needs stockings mended.”

“A powerful obstacle.”

“You have not seen Lucy's stockings.”

Thomas laughed, and the quiet eased. Then he reached toward Caroline's face.

She held still.

His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. The touch was light and careful. He looked at her mouth. Caroline knew, with startling certainty, that if she leaned forward even a little, he would kiss her.

She wanted to.

A crash sounded below, followed by Lucy shouting, “It was not my fault!”

Caroline closed her eyes.

Thomas's hand fell. “The evidence argues otherwise.”

“It generally does.”

The kettle had overturned across a blanket, scattering half-cooked beans into grass and mud. Lucy insisted the handle had moved. Grace said handles rarely acted alone. Martha looked at the lost supper with the expression of a woman considering whether murder might conserve supplies.

Caroline knelt to salvage what could be washed. Thomas removed his coat, spread it beside the blanket, and began collecting clean beans from the outer edge.

“Your coat will smell like supper,” Caroline said.

“That may improve it.”

The whole family joined the rescue. Rebecca rebuilt the fire. Charlotte counted the remaining beans and announced that each person could have nine. Lydia suggested they invite Mrs. Bell to tell a long story so everyone forgot hunger. By the time Martha stretched the meal with cornmeal, Caroline's disappointed near-kiss had softened into companionship. Thomas had trusted her with his history and then come down the hill to save supper. Both acts mattered.

They hurried down to find spilled beans and Lucy holding a spoon as if it might testify in her defense.

Caroline organized the rescue of supper. Thomas salvaged the kettle. Neither mentioned the ridge.

Chapter Eight

May 5, 1854

Low Prairie

Fog settled over the prairie before dawn, turning the world beyond each wagon into pale wool.

Nathaniel delayed departure until the sun showed as a faint white circle. By then the grass was visible twenty yards ahead, and the wagon directly in front could be followed by sound if not by sight.

“Keep the spacing close,” he ordered. “No one leaves the line without telling the wagon ahead.”

Caroline drove the lead Whitaker wagon behind Nathaniel and Eleanor. Rebecca followed with the second. Bells had been tied to the rear wagons so the company could hear them through the fog.