Page 10 of Eleanor’s Earrings

Later, after the sisters had settled, he saw Eleanor sitting alone beside the dying fire. She had removed her bonnet, and the garnet earrings caught the last orange light.

“Those are unusual things to wear on the trail,” he said.

Her hand went to one earring. “They belonged to my mother.”

“Then I understand.”

She studied him. “Do you?”

Nathaniel thought of Abigail's wedding ring stored in the bottom of his trunk. He had not looked at it in three years. “Yes.”

Eleanor seemed about to ask a question, but he was not ready to answer it.

“Get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow may be dry.”

“Is that your professional opinion?”

“It is a desperate hope.”

He walked away before the firelight and garnets could make her appear any warmer.

*****

THE MORNING INSPECTION produced a problem Eleanor had not included on any list: Lydia had bartered two buttons for a tin whistle from a boy in the Turner family.

Eleanor discovered this when a shrill note sounded from beneath the second wagon.

“Lydia.”

The whistle sounded again.

“Lydia Whitaker.”

Her sister’s head appeared beneath the wagon. “Yes?”

“What is that?”

“A whistle.”

“I can see that.”

“Then I am confused by the question.”

Rebecca turned away, shoulders shaking.

Eleanor held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

Lydia surrendered it with exaggerated sorrow. “Samuel says every wagon train needs music.”

“Samuel is six. Yesterday he wandered toward a creek because of frogs.”

“That does not make him wrong about music.”

Nathaniel rode up in time to hear her. “What music?”

“No music,” Eleanor said.

Lydia pointed at the whistle. “She has crushed the arts.”