Page 65 of Caroline’s Compass

Thomas glanced toward the fiddler. “Then I will wait.”

That answer mattered. Caroline squeezed his fingers once before letting go. “The next dance,” she said. “If there is one.”

Mr. Avery lifted the bow with suspicious speed.

Thomas smiled. “Providence appears favorable.”

They danced again while the sisters cheered, the children collided, and the wagon circle became, for one evening, something more than a defense against the dark.

Chapter Fifteen

May 12, 1854

Rutted Trail

The morning before the rut had already tested Caroline's patience. Lucy could not find her right shoe because Grace had used it to hold tent pegs. Grace defended the choice by noting that Lucy had not been wearing it. Charlotte discovered Lydia had entered “one irritating ox” in the inventory and demanded a more useful description.

“He is brown,” Lydia said.

“They are all brown.”

“Then the irritation distinguishes him.”

Thomas rode beside the lead wagon while the debate continued. “Do route records permit opinions?”

“Only mine,” Caroline said.

Caroline took out the compass for the morning bearing. The case sat warm from her pocket, still whole and familiar. She checked north, named the line, and rested the open instrument on her lap while she studied the apparently straightforward road ahead.

Rebecca called from the second wagon that the left rut was deeper. Caroline angled right, but a hidden stone forced the wheel back toward the depression. Thomas shouted a warning at the same instant the wagon dropped.

The wagon struck the rut hard enough to lift Caroline from the seat.

The left wheel dropped, the wagon box tilted, and a stack of tin plates flew against the canvas. Lucy shouted from inside. Charlotte blamed the road. Rebecca, driving behind them, blamed Caroline for taking the rut too straight.

Father's compass slid from Caroline's lap.

It struck the iron edge of the footboard before falling into the road.

“Whoa!”

Caroline stopped the team and jumped down. Thomas dismounted before his horse had fully settled.

The compass lay in the dust with its lid open. A crack crossed the glass from the hinge to the lower edge. The brass case had bent inward, pinning the needle against one side.

Caroline picked it up with both hands.

“Do not move the needle,” Thomas said.

“I know.”

The sharpness in her voice silenced him.

Behind them, the wagon line halted. Nathaniel rode forward, assessed that no one was injured, and sent the first three wagons around the rut. Rebecca took the lead while Caroline stood at the roadside staring at the broken glass.

“I should have put it in my pocket,” she said.

Thomas crouched near her. “The wagon jolted.”