Page 4 of Caroline’s Compass

“Terrifyingly.”

Before the company could form, the Whitakers had to determine which sister had packed the morning coffee beneath a stack of winter quilts. Charlotte produced the inventory book. Martha produced an accusation. Lydia produced the coffee from beneath her bedroll and claimed she had rescued it from damp.

“It was beside your head,” Caroline said.

“The safest place in camp.”

Rebecca pointed at the hoofprint three feet away. “An ox nearly stepped on your safest place.”

“Then I also rescued it from an ox.”

Thomas arrived while Caroline stood with the coffee sack in one hand and the route papers in the other. “Should I return later?”

“Yes,” Caroline said.

“No,” the seven sisters answered.

Thomas removed his hat. “I recognize a divided council.”

The sisters demanded to know whether Thomas's maps could expose a dishonest man. Grace suggested testing them on Mr. Avery. Lydia preferred Mr. Daugherty because the result would be less uncertain.

Thomas explained that maps recorded ground rather than character until Martha handed him coffee. He drank, paused, and said, “This cup appears to point west.”

“That is because Lydia made it,” Caroline said.

Lydia objected that coffee did not require directions. Thomas said hers might. By the time the company finally formed, every sister had offered him mapping advice, and none had remembered her assigned breakfast dish.

The company formed up shortly after sunrise. Caroline climbed to the driver's bench of the lead Whitaker wagon and gathered the reins. The leather pouch rested beside her. Behind, Rebecca settled at the second wagon while Martha, Lydia, Grace, and Lucy arranged themselves for the morning's walk. Charlotte climbed in beside Caroline with the inventory book.

Eleanor rode past on Nathaniel's spare horse.

“You have the lead,” she said.

Caroline waited for the rest. Watch the left ox. Keep the spacing. Do not let Lucy ride if the ground becomes rough. Eleanor had given those instructions every morning since Independence, even after Caroline proved she knew them.

No instructions came. “I have it,” Caroline said.

Eleanor smiled. “I know.” She rode toward the rear division.

Caroline looked ahead as the first wagon began to move. The road stretched west through grass silvered with morning damp. She clicked her tongue to the oxen. The team leaned into the yoke, the wagon creaked, and the Whitakers took a new place in the line.

It should not have felt different. It did.

*****

THOMAS HAD SPENT MOST of his life drawing lines other people trusted.

Property lines. Road lines. River bends. Distances between one known point and another. A line behaved properly if measured with care. It did not decide to marry a wagon master and leave its sister holding the reins.

He rode beside the Whitaker wagon until Caroline looked at him.

“You are watching the wheels,” she said.

“I am watching the road.”

“The road is in front of us.”

“The effects of the road are beneath you.”