Page 55 of Caroline’s Compass

“Because the ground is wet.”

Caroline nearly laughed, which made her angrier. “You considered leaving without first imagining whether there was a future we might share.”

“I considered a position I applied for before I met you.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“No. It is not.” Thomas's restraint tightened around every word. “What would you have me imagine, Caroline? Asking you to leave seven sisters on the trail? Asking them all to turn toward an Army fort because I received a letter?”

“I did not ask you to solve it alone.”

“There is nothing to solve unless I choose the post.”

“And there will be nothing to discuss if you keep every choice to yourself until it is finished.”

His jaw hardened. “I will not ask you to abandon your family.”

“Stop using my sisters to avoid saying what you want.”

The words struck cleanly. Thomas stepped back as though she had pushed him. “You believe that is what I am doing?”

“I believe you know how to leave. I know how to stay. Neither of us knows how to choose together, and you did not even try this morning.”

The argument had begun near the supply wagon and drawn them farther away with every sharpened sentence. Thomas held the Fort Kearny letter as if it were evidence against him. Caroline held herself rigid because anger was easier to manage than hurt.

He told her the position offered steady pay, equipment, and access to Army route records. She asked whether any part of his first imagined future included her. Thomas admitted that he had imagined asking her to remain at the fort, then rejected the image because it required her to leave the family. He had next imagined traveling west and feared he would resent surrendering the work. Rather than tell her either truth, he had waited for certainty.

“You promised honesty, not certainty,” Caroline said.

“I know that now.”

“You knew it last night.”

That was the injury beneath the argument. They had made a rule together, and he had broken it before the first week. Thomas did not defend himself with good intentions. His silence acknowledged the failure, but it could not repair it yet.

Around them, camp continued with humiliating normalcy. A child complained about a shoe. An ox shook its yoke. Charlotte called for the coffee sack, and Grace answered that coffee would not improve Charlotte's cooking.

Thomas spoke quietly. “I was afraid that telling you would make the choice yours before I understood it myself.”

“Then you do not trust me to leave your burden in your hands.”

“You take every burden you see.”

“That does not give you the right to hide one.”

Thomas tried once more to explain the hours between receiving the letter and Caroline hearing of it. He had walked the road alone, read the offer until the folds softened, and listed what the post could provide. Steady pay. Professional standing. A room that belonged to him for longer than a season. Each advantage had seemed reasonable until he imagined telling Caroline.

“Then you decided not to tell me,” she said.

“I decided to wait until I knew what I wanted.”

“You spoke to Mr. Avery.”

“He asked about the seal. I answered poorly.”

The small admission might have amused her on another day. Now it only proved that avoiding the truth had required effort. Caroline asked whether he had imagined her at Fort Kearny. Thomas said yes. He had pictured her managing a house near the post while he traveled with survey parties. The image had lasted less than a minute before he saw everything it required her to surrender.

“So you rejected it for me without asking,” she said.