Page 53 of Caroline’s Compass

Thomas wrote something in his small notebook.

Caroline stared. “Are you recording this?”

“Courtship requires attention.”

Grace leaned over his shoulder. “He wrote burned potatoes.”

“Those were roasted,” Lydia said.

“They were on fire,” Martha replied.

Thomas turned to a fresh page. “What do you enjoy?”

Caroline looked suspiciously at her audience. “Order.”

“We have none,” Lucy said.

“Exactly. I miss it.”

He asked about books, weather, houses, and whether she preferred a town or open land. The answers came slowly at first. Caroline was accustomed to describing what the family required, not what she liked. By the fifth question, she had admitted to enjoying thunderstorms when she was indoors and fresh bread heels before anyone else woke.

“That is theft,” Charlotte said.

“It is compensation for making breakfast.”

Thomas closed the notebook. “I am learning a great deal.”

“Mostly about potatoes,” Caroline said.

“Every courtship needs a foundation.”

Chapter Twelve

May 9, 1854

Established Road

The morning before the letter had been almost pleasant. Thomas asked Caroline a series of courtship questions while the company stopped to tighten wheels. He learned that she preferred blue to green, believed pie required a top crust, and considered geese evidence that creation contained mysteries.

“You dislike geese?”

“Geese dislike civilization.”

“I have met some civilized geese.”

“Then you were deceived.”

Caroline learned that Thomas owned six shirts, had once spent three days surveying in the wrong county, and could cook exactly one meal.

“What meal?”

“Beans.”

“That is not a meal. It is an ingredient.”

“There was salt.”

“You remain unqualified.”