Page 21 of Caroline’s Compass

Caroline wrapped the compass in blue wool. “Lydia has no restraint.”

From the other side of the wagon, Lydia said, “Thank you.”

Caroline lay down and pulled the blanket to her chin.

Across the camp, Thomas's fire burned beside his bedroll. He sat with the folded letter in his hand.

Caroline turned her back to it.

The compass rested beneath her pillow, its needle pointing north whether she wished to know the direction or not.

Chapter Five

May 2, 1854

Flooded Ford

By midmorning, the road ended in water.

The creek was broader than the one drawn in Father's notes and moving too quickly for an immediate crossing. Muddy water pressed against reeds and carried small branches around the bend.

Nathaniel stopped the company on high ground.

Caroline unfolded Father's sketch on the wagon tail. “The ford should be directly west of the cottonwood grove.”

Thomas studied the opposite bank. “The grove is gone.”

“Trees do not vanish.”

“They fall.”

Three broken trunks lay downstream, half submerged.

Caroline sighed. “You could permit me to be correct once before explaining the landscape.”

“You were correct yesterday.”

“That has begun to feel distant.”

He smiled and stepped toward the water with his measuring rod.

“Do not enter there,” Caroline said.

“I am testing the edge.”

“The bank is undercut.”

Thomas stopped. The grass overhung the brown water by nearly a foot.

“Good,” he said.

“The bank?”

“The observation.”

Caroline took out the compass. She aligned the old bearing with the missing grove and walked downstream. Thomas followed, testing the soil before either of them approached the edge.

The current widened beyond the bend. Gravel showed beneath shallower water.