Mutter crossed her arms as if fighting a chill. "I do wish I were more like you, dear. A saint. You always have been."

Like her? A saint? Always have been? Except for the two different days she told Boney she couldn't marry him? If Anna didn't have her hands full of bread and cheese, she'd be tempted to reach up and feel Mutter's forehead for fever. Something wasn't right. Was Mutter trying to get Anna to let down her guard? Let her wander the next berg they passed alone?

Anna removed the wrapping from the chunk of blue cheese, the pungent aroma tickling her nose. "Those of us from the quilting circle, except for Caroline Milburn, are sharing a campfire and the cooking responsibilities at supper tonight. Maren has our album quilt. Remind me to show it to you."

Mutter rested her hand on the edge of the table, causing it to wobble, and quickly let go. Was that why Mutter crossed her arms, so Anna wouldn't notice her trembling?

"I wish I could be of more help to you ... to everyone. But"-Mutter glanced at the front of the wagon-"I need to rest."

"What about your dinner? You need to eat."

"I can't seem to get warm." Mutter stood and took small steps toward the wagon. "A short nap is all I need. Before my hammock takes to rocking again." She heaved herself up and over the seat, then disappeared through the puckered opening.

Swallowing a bitter bite of concern, Anna slid a chunk of bread and cheese into a red letter sack. She added one of the apples Maren had given her, then took a tin cup to the water barrel on the side of the wagon. The sack and full cup in hand, Anna walked through a bevy of wagons and travelers toward the meadow where she'd seen Grovater head with the four oxen. A few children scampered about with water pails while others managed mules on lead ropes. Before they'd left their noon meal on Tuesday, Anna took count. Sixteen children, including Hattie and Camille Le Beau, not yet eighteen, and Evie, still in her mother's arms. The boys outnumbered the girls.

Grovater waved from the grassy area by the pond. When Anna reached him, he took the sack from her and dangled it as if weighing its contents. "Doesn't feel like enough food for the both of us." He looked at her empty hands. "Where's yours?"

"Back at the wagon. I'm going to sit for a spell and put my feet up."

"Your mutter, how is she?"

Cranky. Shaky. Flattering. "She's resting."

"Good. She seems a bit out of sorts today."

Anna nodded and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll see to her."

"All right. I thought I might visit with Oliver and Owen while I eat."

Anna was on her way back to the wagon when the three Zanzucchi boys breezed past her carrying willow-switch fishing rods against their shoulders.

Back at the wagon, Anna set the two chairs to face each other. Bread and cheese in hand, she sank onto one chair and propped her feet on the other. Sweet relief. She tucked her shawl under her chin and leaned against the welcoming chair.

As she savored the rich rye bread and the pungent blue cheese, Anna surveyed the wagons parked in a line along the edge of the road. She wasn't looking for anyone in particular. That was what she told herself, anyway.

This morning, Caleb Reger had read from Psalm 19 to the travelers from atop a tree stump.

"Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O LORD, my strength, and my redeemer."

She probably owed him an apology. He'd only been doing his job Tuesday when he'd come out to meet her and Hattie. She should be thankful for his concern over her whereabouts and safety. Mr. Reger was nothing if not conscientious. And taking one's work seriously was an admirable quality. She'd just prefer that he not stick his nose in their business.

Giggles drew Anna's attention to their wagon. Mutter? Was she dreaming?

Anna sighed, lowering her feet to the ground. She'd told Grovater she'd see to Mutter. Perhaps it was time to wake her and see that she ate something. After setting her napkin and tin cup on the table, she stood.

"Die gedanken sindfrei ..." Thoughts are free. The words and tune to the folk song, however muddled, made their way through the canvas.

Mutter was singing in her sleep? Her voice always struggled to find the proper notes, but today even the words were being tortured in her attempts.

Anna took quiet steps to the front of the wagon. She stepped up onto the wagon tongue and gripped the dashboard. This morning, the wagon had smelled of coffee and sweat. Now, it smelled more like peppermint schnapps. Couldn't be. Anna had found three bottles and buried them in Saint Charles.

Pulling back the canvas, Anna peeked inside. "Mutter!"

Her mother startled and sank onto her hammock, then peered over the edge. "Dear, I'm glad you're here." She hummed a little of the tune. "Do you remember the words to my song?"

"No." Anna glanced about her. Satisfied no one stood in earshot, she leaned into the wagon. "You've been drinking."

Mutter pulled herself up, sitting in the suspended cloth. She clasped her hands in her lap like a lady. "I'm feeling better."

She was foolish to have thought four days on the road could cure Mutter. Anna yanked the canvas open, letting in some light and fresh air. She looked around the floor and between the trunks, then up at Mutter's hammock. She didn't see a bottle. But that didn't mean there wasn't one.

"Did you get off your feet, dear?" Mutter lifted her stockinged feet and wiggled them in the air. "It did wonders for me."

Anna opened her mouth to speak, but desperate shouts outside the wagon stopped her.

"Papa! Papa!"

The panic in the eldest Zanzucchi boy's voice sent a shiver up Anna's spine. She turned away from Mutter and watched the lad dart toward his family's farm wagon.

"Viene! Viene! It's Nicolas! He's hurt!"

Anna's breath caught as she watched Mrs. Zanzucchi run toward her son. She pinched her skirts in her fists, her Italian responses flying like bats at sundown. Alfonzo Jr. pointed toward the creek.

Dr. Le Beau emerged from a stand of trees where his six horses stood tethered. He ran to meet the boy, rattling in French.

Caroline came up from the pond with the youngest Kamden children in tow. "Nicolas fell from a tree. I think his arm is broken."

After a short trip to his wagon, the doctor returned with his black leather bag and followed the boy and his mother toward the pond.

Within moments, Hattie dashed toward the pond with Camille Le Beau at her side, the doctor's daughter and translator.

In the meantime, Mutter continued swinging in the hammock and butchering a good song.

Anna returned to the worktable to slice cheese and bread for Mutter, reminding herself that plenty of folks had far worse affliction than caring for a mother who imbibed and sang indecipherable words off key.

14.

Friday evening, Caleb twisted the axle nut with a grunt, then watched Boney Hughes take his weight off the lever pole and lower the wagon to the ground. The other three trail hands were scattered about the camp helping various men grease their wagon wheels. Their boss had a funny way of pairing them. Caleb hadn't figured out if it was conflict or the potential for resolution that Garrett relished most. At least the boss hadn't assigned him the job of digging the latrine.

Caleb glanced at the empty seats around the firepit, then at Boney. "You know, none of the rest of us are as good a cook as you. Ever think about opening a cafe?"

Boney's hands stilled. "Not for more than a split second, I haven't." A grin lit his narrow face. "Way too much work trying to please everybody's picky palate."

"My sentiments exactly."

"Besides, I'm not all that keen on staying so long in one place. Too much to see." Boney's bushy eyebrows arched. "Kinda funny that you were thinkin' about my future while I was thinkin' about yours."

"Oh?" Caleb set the wrench to the axle nut again.

Boney nodded. "Yeah. The way you read the Bible aloud over us every morning. Like God meant you to be a preacher."

Caleb had been sure of it, that God had made him to preach. That was before he'd gone and done something stupid.

And he couldn't let himself dwell on where that led him.

Boney shook out his hat and returned it to its perch. "Reverend Reger ... kinda has a r-r-ring to it, don't ya think?"

Caleb swallowed another bitter bite of regret. "Reading isn't the same as preaching."

Bent on changing the topic, he glanced toward Otto Goben's wagon where the elder man sat with his daughter in front of a campfire. "You're at the Gobens' camp a lot now. You and Miss Goben might marry after all?"

Boney chuckled. "You definitely need to work on your sidestep." He lifted the corner of the wagon. "Just an idea, you becomin' a preacher. I'm going west to be a miner. The other fellas plan to be farmers and ranchers. Don't seem like you have much direction yet."

Caleb pulled off the wheel and slathered some grease onto the hub. "Plans change."

Boney nodded. "I know about that, all right. Is that why you asked about me and Miss Anna?" The wiry fellow looked Caleb in the eye. "Your idea that you're not the marrying kind ... did it change too?"

Caleb shook his head. "Just curious, is all, after she came to see you the other night."

"She came to clear the air between us. I was her brother's best friend ... a friend of the family. That's how we see each other-good friends." Huffing and puffing, Boney held the lever down while Caleb replaced the wheel. "Me and Anna don't have a romantical kind of love."

"People have married for lesser reasons."

"Not Anna Goben. Nothin' less than that special kind of love would ever be enough."

Caleb had thought he and Susan had shared that special kind of love.

But it didn't matter, because during the war, he'd thrown away any chance of ever being loved again.

Caroline had a few minutes before she had to return to the Kamdens' camp to help Rhoda prepare supper. Little Nicolas Zanzucchi had broken his arm during the noon stop, extending the Company's stay. In the extra time, she'd managed to write a short bit for the missive that would go to Jewell and the others of the quilting circle in Saint Charles.

The children were now settled around a central campfire for a reading time with Mary Alice Brenner. This was as good a time as any to deliver the letter to Lorelei, who was next on the list to add her news, so Caroline double-checked the pocket in her skirt to make sure she had the letter with her. The Becks' two wagons sat at the far end of the line, and she'd seen Lorelei walking that direction from the pasture just minutes ago.

Caroline was about to pass the Zanzucchis' camp when Captain Cowlishaw suddenly stepped out from between the wagons. He skidded to a stop mere inches from her, his eyes widening and his mouth hanging open.

He yanked his slouch hat from his head. "Ma'am?"

Just as surprised to see him, Caroline took a step to the side and pulled her hand from her pocket. The letter managed to follow her hand out, fluttering to the ground before she could catch it.

She bent to retrieve the stationery, but Garrett managed to snatch it from the dirt first. When they had both stood upright again, he held the letter out to her and she reached for it. He extended his arm farther, and she ended up clasping his hand instead of the paper.

His mouth tipped into a grin. Her hand warm and still, she lifted her gaze to his eyes. Even at dusk, they seemed more green than hazel today.

Neither of them looked away as she slid her hand to his fingertips and plucked the letter from them. He swallowed hard, leaving her to wonder if when she'd let go of his hand, he'd also noticed the sudden chill in the air.

Caroline moistened her lips, hoping the gesture would help her push words out of her now dry mouth. "Thank you, Captain."

Was she thanking him for retrieving the letter or for allowing her the warm touch?

"Anytime."

Anytime. Heat rushed to the tips of her ears that surely now matched the color of her red hair. Thankfully, the captain didn't seem to possess the ability to read her mind.

"After all, ma'am, it was my fault you dropped your paper. I didn't mean to startle you."

She cleared her throat as she tried to bring order to her thoughts. "No. There's no need to apologize."

His eyebrows arched. "There isn't?"

"Oh dear." She tapped her chin and fought a smile. "I do see where that might come as a shock to you."

"Yes, well, given our past encounters ..." Garrett shifted his weight to his left leg. "Let's see ... My military history. My comment in the dry goods store about a dithering wife. I definitely wasn't off to a good start."

"Perhaps not, but you are forgetting about the mint bouquet."

"That small gesture bought redemption?" He chuckled, the sound surprisingly pleasant.

The letter crinkled in her hands. "I didn't say anything about redemption, but it might have moved you off the starting line."

Another of his crooked grins crinkled the lines framing his eyes. Neither one of them shifted as the silence stretched.

Then he glanced out at the children's reading circle. "Your charges, are they feeling better? With the poultice?"

"Although it seems to be Lyall's nature to complain, the leg cramps have lessened and they're all feeling better."

He nodded. "Nice to know I did something right."

"Yes, well, I wouldn't let it go to your head."

"Not much chance of that." His face sobered, and the laugh lines at his eyes smoothed. "It's been a bit of a rough day, what with the Italian boy coming to harm."

"Children climb trees and fall. Not much you can do about that. Don't be hard on yourself."

His eyebrows lifted again.

"You really are taking good care of us all," she added.

"Thank you for that."

"Anytime." She smiled.