Page 33 of Caroline’s Compass

The rest-day repairs included teaching Grace and Lucy to grease a wagon hub. Rebecca demonstrated once, then stepped aside. Grace applied too little. Lucy applied enough for three wagons and decorated her sleeve, the wheel, and one passing chicken.

The chicken objected loudly and ran through camp with a black streak down its back. Mr. Bell attempted to catch it. Lydia attempted to direct him. Neither effort improved the chicken.

Thomas intercepted the bird near the Hall wagon by dropping his coat over it. He emerged holding an indignant bundle while the company applauded.

“Your surveying methods are unconventional,” Caroline said.

“The subject refused to hold position.”

Rebecca cleaned the grease with sand and declared the chicken serviceable. Mrs. Bell said no one had asked the chicken. Lucy apologized to the animal and promised not to grease it again unless necessary.

“When would it be necessary?” Charlotte asked.

Lucy had no immediate example but wished to preserve the option.

Caroline made both younger sisters finish the hub properly. Thomas stood close enough to offer advice and far enough to avoid being assigned a second chicken. The ridiculous work made the camp feel almost domestic. For a little while, the road ahead seemed less important than the people learning to maintain what carried them over it.

Late that afternoon, Thomas asked Caroline to walk beyond the wagons and take a sunset bearing. The request was perfectly respectable. The fact that he made it while Eleanor was listening made it suspicious.

Eleanor said, “Take your shawl.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes.

“The air will cool,” Eleanor added innocently.

They followed the ridge until the campfires lay below them like orange beads. Beyond the creek, the trail disappeared into folds of deceptively smooth land.

Thomas unfolded his map on a flat stone. Caroline opened the compass, waited for the needle, and read the bearing.

“You trust it now,” he said.

“I trust what it tells me. I reserve judgment about what you tell me.”

“Wise.”

She gave him the figures. He wrote them down, then remained seated on the stone while the light softened.

“Where did you learn?” Caroline asked. “Not surveying. Trusting things more than people.”

His pencil went still.

“You need not answer.”

“My father followed work,” Thomas said. “Canals first, then roads. We moved whenever the money stopped. Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri. My mother could make a home from two trunks and a cookpot, but every house vanished before I learned which floorboard complained.”

Caroline sat beside him, leaving several inches between them. “That sounds lonely.”

“It was ordinary. A map was different. Once a creek was marked, it stayed on the page. A mile remained a mile no matter who left.”

“People are less convenient.”

“Much.”

His smile was brief. “After my mother died, we moved again. I began taking measurements because I wanted proof that I had been somewhere.”

Caroline ran her thumb over the compass lid. “My sisters are my proof.”

“Of what?”