Page 31 of Caroline’s Compass

Thomas passed on his way to his own bedroll beneath a canvas fly. He looked at the seven sisters arranged like spoons in a drawer. “Is there a mathematical principle involved?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “No one sleeps.”

Caroline threw a rolled stocking at him. Thomas caught it, bowed, and returned it to the laundry line. When darkness came, the sisters whispered for another half hour. Caroline complained twice and contributed four times.

Chapter Seven

May 4, 1854

High Ground Beyond the Creek

The day after the crossing began with sunshine, steaming blankets, and an argument over a frying pan.

Charlotte insisted she had put it beneath the flour sack. Lydia said that counted as burial. Caroline found the pan beneath Lucy's spare shoes and a sack of beans that no one admitted moving, then handed it to Charlotte without comment.

“Captain Caroline triumphs again,” Grace said.

Caroline considered throwing the pan at her, but breakfast seemed more important.

The company remained in camp to rest the animals and dry gear. Nathaniel inspected wheels with his left hand while Eleanor followed with willow-bark tea and the patience of a woman who had married exactly the trouble she expected.

Caroline was counting candles in the lead wagon when Thomas appeared at the back opening.

“I have something of yours.”

“If it is another title, keep it.”

He held out Father's compass.

The brass looked much as it always had: darkened around the hinge, scratched across the lid, and worn smooth where Father's thumb had opened it. Yet the hinge moved cleanly when Caroline lifted the cover, and the needle settled without the small hitch she had noticed the day before.

“You cleaned it.”

“Only the works. I used a breath of oil at the pivot.” Thomas tapped the case. “I did not polish this.”

“Why not?”

“Because the wear belongs to your father. Removing it would improve the brass and diminish the compass.”

Caroline looked down before Thomas could see how precisely the answer struck her.

Father had carried the instrument while choosing the family's route west. His hands had darkened the case. His planning had brought them this far even though he had not lived to guide them. Caroline had feared that using the compass would eventually erase him. Thomas had understood that without being told.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You are welcome.” He didn't spoil the moment with humor. That made it harder to breathe normally.

Caroline closed the lid. “Does it always point true?”

“The needle points north. That is not the same thing.”

“You have spent too much time alone with maps.”

“A compass identifies direction. It cannot decide whether the place at the end of the road is worth reaching.”

“And now you are turning instruments into sermons.”

“I have been traveling with the Whitakers for a month. It has altered me.”