Page 60 of Caroline’s Compass

“No. I am comparing caution to time.” Mrs. Lawson set down the plate. “Henry and I saved wishes for later because later seemed certain. It was not. I am asking whether protecting yourself from loss has begun to resemble choosing it.”

Caroline looked across the fire. Thomas sat alone, repairing the strap on his map case.

“He kept something from me.”

“Then be angry.”

“I am.”

“Be certain anger is all you are doing.”

After dark, Caroline walked beyond the last wagon with Father's compass. She chose a distant star, took the bearing, and marked it on a scrap of paper. Then she checked the line a second time.

The answers matched.

She no longer needed Thomas to tell her whether she had read the instrument correctly. The realization brought pride and a strange sorrow. He had taught her to trust the needle, but trust in herself did not require his absence.

Caroline closed the darkened brass case—still whole for one more night—and found her way back without asking anyone to verify the direction.

Chapter Fourteen

May 11, 1854

Rolling Prairie

The missing oxen were discovered at dawn by the simple method of counting noses.

Turner's ox was gone. So was one of Mr. Hall's younger animals. A night rope lay loose beside the picket line, its knot pulled open rather than cut.

Samuel Turner stared at the empty place. “I tied it.”

Rebecca examined the rope. “You tied something.”

“It held yesterday.”

“Yesterday it may have been frightened of you.”

Caroline stopped the exchange before Samuel's face could redden further. “How long?”

Rebecca touched the manure near the line, then studied the grass. “Several hours. They went northwest.”

The company could not move without Turner's team. Nathaniel assigned searchers while everyone else watered animals and prepared a late departure.

Caroline divided the ground into four sectors. Rebecca would follow the clearest tracks northwest. Mr. Hall would search the creek line. Coleman and two men would circle south in case the oxen had turned toward the previous camp.

Thomas waited near his horse.

He did not assume a place beside her. He did not offer advice. He waited until Caroline said, “Take the western rise. Mark any muddy draws before you cross them.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The title held no teasing this morning. It was acknowledgment.

Caroline carried the compass. Each searcher took a bearing from camp and agreed to return along it at noon. Rebecca led northwest with Caroline beside her.

The tracks crossed hard ground, vanished among prairie-dog mounds, then appeared again beside trampled bluegrass. Rebecca read every bent stem with a concentration Caroline had once mistaken for stubbornness.

“You should lead this search,” Caroline said.