Page 46 of Caroline’s Compass

“Give me a day,” he said. “I can check the crossings and find where the water cut the road.”

Coleman shook his head. “Spend a day to save two?”

“Better than spending four days pulling wagons from mud,” Caroline said.

Mr. Daugherty crossed his arms. “Or he spends a day and tells us to take the long road anyway.”

“Then we spend a day to avoid a dangerous mistake.”

“You are quick to spend everyone's time.”

Caroline met his gaze. “And you are quick to wager everyone's livestock.”

Silence fell.

Nathaniel hid a smile beneath one hand. Eleanor did not bother hiding hers.

Mr. Avery asked, “Could a small party scout it by morning?”

Thomas looked toward the western ridge. “If we leave at dawn and travel light, we can examine the first six miles before noon. That should include the damaged stretch.”

“We?” Caroline asked.

“I will need someone who understands the company's teams, loads, and turning limits.”

Mr. Daugherty said, “Take Cooper.”

Nathaniel flexed the fingers of his right hand and stopped when pain tightened his mouth.

Caroline answered before he could. “His shoulder is still healing.”

“I can ride,” Nathaniel said.

Eleanor looked at him.

Nathaniel reconsidered with admirable speed. “But I should remain with the company.”

“A wise command decision,” Thomas said.

“Marriage has sharpened my judgment.”

Nathaniel assigned Caroline and Thomas to lead the scouting party. Mr. Avery and Rebecca would accompany them. Rebecca's knowledge of wagons was nearly as useful as Caroline's, and her aim with a rifle was considerably better than Thomas's.

“I heard that,” Thomas said.

“You were meant to,” Nathaniel replied.

They spent the afternoon preparing. Rebecca selected the soundest horses. Martha packed bread, dried meat, and enough bandages to suggest she expected them to fling themselves from cliffs. Caroline studied Father's route notes, but the cutoff did not appear in them.

Because it was Sunday, the company stopped work before the evening meal and gathered beneath the cottonwoods. No church bell called them. Nathaniel walked the circle once, inviting those who wished to come, and no one asked those who did not.

They spread blankets on the driest ground. Wagon seats became benches. Mrs. Bell placed a clean cloth over an upended crate for Nathaniel's Bible, then moved the crate twice because the first position made the setting sun strike her eyes.

“The Lord may welcome suffering,” she said, “but He has never required squinting.”

Mr. Avery tucked his fiddle beneath one arm. “Which hymn?”

“One everyone knows,” Eleanor said.