Page 7 of Caroline’s Compass

Chapter Two

April 29, 1854

Wet Prairie

The trail divided before breakfast had settled comfortably in anyone's stomach.

The northern trace curved toward a stand of cottonwoods. The southern line was fainter, no more than two wheel ruts pressed through damp grass. Between them lay a low stretch of shining mud.

Nathaniel stopped the lead wagon and lifted his left hand. The company halted in a long creaking line.

Caroline climbed down before he called her.

“The old notes say north,” she said.

Thomas dismounted nearby. “My information says south.”

Mr. Daugherty, who had approached carrying the expression of a man prepared to dislike both choices, pointed at the deeper ruts. “The northern road has seen more wagons.”

“It has also seen more water,” Rebecca said.

Nathaniel studied the ground. His right arm remained held close beneath his coat. He had learned to keep the injury still until he forgot himself and reached for something. Eleanor watched him with the tireless suspicion of a wife who knew exactly how often that happened.

“We need eyes on both traces,” he said. “Thomas, take the south. Caroline, go with him.”

Caroline looked toward the Whitaker wagons. “Rebecca can hold the line, but—”

“Rebecca can hold the line,” Eleanor repeated.

“Charlotte will need the mileage.”

Charlotte raised the inventory book. “I own a pencil.”

“Martha—”

“Can make breakfast without your supervision,” Martha called.

Lydia leaned against the wagon wheel. “This is difficult to watch.”

Caroline ignored her. “I will go.”

Thomas held out the reins of his spare horse.

She stared at the animal. “I can walk.”

“You can. The horse will be faster.”

“I have not ridden since we left Independence.”

“You rode before that.”

“How do you know?”

“Your father packed a sidesaddle until Eleanor made you leave it behind the second week.”

Caroline looked toward the wagon.

Charlotte called, “He reads the inventory.”