Finally alone after five days on the road, Caleb sat at the top of a hillock on Sunday morning. He watched as colors as bright as his mother's spring flower garden streaked the morning sky.

The wagons weren't rolling today. The group had voted that Sundays would be their sacred Sabbath rest, which suited Caleb just fine. Rest sounded real good. He could use the time to do some thinking. His problem was deciding which topic to tackle first. Where he was headed and what he'd do when he got there. Why his boss seemed bent on shepherding him. Or should he concentrate on what he would do about the distraction Miss Anna Goben was proving to be? He'd surprised himself as much as he'd surprised her when he'd told her that her smile was worth more than any cup of coffee. Not the best compliment, now that he thought about it, but she'd seemed pleased anyway.

It had been easier to avoid her before he knew she and Boney only shared the love of two good friends.

The Scripture lay open on Caleb's bent legs, his hand resting on a familiar passage from the book of Psalms. He felt more in common with King David than any of the other Old Testament men. Not that he was destined to be a king, but his sin, though not the same as David's, had devastated his own people.

Footsteps squeaked in the dewy grass, causing Caleb to jerk. Garrett stood beside him.

"I've only known one other man who was as committed as you are to reading that book. He was a preacher in my regiment." The words came out on a huff as Garrett folded his legs and settled on the ground beside Caleb.

"I read more out of desperation than spiritual fervor."

"All of us carry scars from the war, but not every man turns to God like you have."

Caleb sighed. If only he'd remained consistent in his choice to follow God in the first place.

"That's what I came up here to talk to you about," Garrett continued. "Desperation?"

Garrett chuckled. "Some might say I'm a little desperate." He plucked a blade of grass and rolled it between his fingers. "It's Sunday. You've done such a good job of reading Scripture every morning. I thought you might like to preach."

The mere thought stung Caleb's heart. "Sorry, but I can't."

"Sure you can." Garrett glanced at the open pages. "It's basically the same as all the other mornings. Only difference is you talk a little about the verse. How about the passage you were just reading?"

Psalm 51. Have mercy upon me, O God.... For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me.

The verse still stung his heart.

"I can't preach." He wasn't clean enough.

"Can't, or won't?"

"Take your pick. I'm not a preacher." Caleb closed the Bible and stood. "It's time I get to my chores."

Caleb took quick steps down the hillock toward camp with Garrett close behind. They'd just reached more even ground, when Garrett broke the silence.

"See you at the breakfast table?"

Caleb nodded and waved his hat, then continued down the narrow path toward the chuck wagon. No need to ask where the captain was headed. To see the Kamden children. Or, rather, their red-headed nanny.

His boss was a good man. Not above jumping in and getting his hands dirty on any jobs needing to be done. The first night the Company set up camp, the captain had been the one to dig the latrine for the women. Garrett also had a touch for teaming up the men who might work best together. Their leader didn't believe in letting bad feelings fester. And no matter how sorely someone tested his patience, he treated everyone with respect. He certainly deserved a second chance at love.

Now, if Garrett would only give up the notion that Caleb would make a good preacher. He cared too much for all of them to pretend he was qualified to be their spiritual leader. He was already crossing the line between truth and lies when standing before the Company reading Scripture like a saint.

He'd already grown fond of many of his fellow travelers, which fed the fear that he'd let them down. He couldn't allow himself to fail the people who depended on him. Not again.

Unfortunately, that anxiety kindled impatience with anyone who didn't follow the rules to the letter. Miss Hattie Pemberton and Miss Anna Goben were among those. Although he'd been right to inquire after them and to remind the young ladies of the Company's policy, he really didn't need to be so abrupt.

He owed them both an apology. He'd intended to deliver one Friday evening when he saw Miss Goben charging toward the pasture, but she had the canvas and hoop on her mind.

Turning toward his camp, Caleb caught sight of a familiar green calico dress. Anna Goben held the lead rope of an ox. It looked like she'd be the first to receive an apology, after all.

Her steps light and the rope slack, she led the steer toward a less populated patch of grass. Were her lips moving? Was she scolding the animal? Comforting it? He chuckled at the thought. But as he drew closer to her, he picked up a melody. She sang in German, but Caleb recognized the tune to the familiar hymn, "Give to Our God Immortal Praise."

Wonders of grace to God belong; repeat His mercies in your song.

She apparently had a better understanding of God's grace than he did.

Just as quickly as his shoulders sagged under the burden of his past, he pushed the memories from his mind. He couldn't change what he'd done on the battlefield. But he could try to right his impolite behavior.

Despite his first impression of Miss Goben, she truly was a marvel. She cooked, helped her grandfather with the livestock, fetched water, looked after her mother, created hats, yoked oxen, and slept in a hammock suspended between a wagon and a tree. Those weren't all standard activities for a female who was also an eye-catching young woman.

Caleb slowed his steps.

Fact was, he'd found Anna Goben intriguing from the moment she'd summoned Boney Hughes away from the altar. And then approaching him on her grandfather's porch, her shoulders squared. Then, again, the evening he'd followed her to the creek bank and watched her bury what he was sure were bottles of liquor. Friday evening, he'd caught her watching him intently while she pretended to busy herself at the grub box on the back of the wagon. From what he'd seen of her, it didn't seem there was anything she couldn't or wouldn't do to provide for and protect her family.

And she sang about God's grace and mercy. To an ox.

He chewed his bottom lip. If he was thinking so highly of her, it might be best he maintain some antagonism between them. Fondness and affections weren't something his heart could afford.

Caleb was in the process of turning around, about thirty feet from Miss Goben, when she looked up.

With no choice now but to follow through on his original plan, Caleb joined her beside a young willow. "Good day, Miss Goben."

Her face pinked. "And to you, Caleb." She glanced around them. "I didn't see you there. Anna. Call me Anna."

"Anna." He pulled the derby from his head.

Her gaze rose to the top of his head, and a bashful grin brightened her blue eyes.

"My hair?" He looked that direction as if he could actually see his hair and then, smiling, raised his right arm. "On the top. Your left."

He switched hands and brushed his hair. "Better?"

She nodded.

"I heard you singing."

The pink in her cheeks deepened.

"You have a lovely voice."

"Thank you." She glanced at the rope in her hand. "I was just moving one of our oxen."

"Mind if I walk with you?"

"I don't mind, but I'm not going very far." She looked at the steer. "It seems he's feeling a bit cantankerous this morning."

Caleb grinned. "I know the feeling. That happened to me last Tuesday morning."

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"When I saw you out here, I thought this might be a better time to clear the air."

"I would've said you did as much the other evening when you helped with the wagon."

Caleb matched her easy pace, swinging his hat at his side. "Yes, well, thank you. But there was nothing official about it."

"All right, then. Let's clear the air."

"Good. It's just that I have a job to do, and I wish to be cordial with everyone in the Company. I don't want any ill will between us."

She stopped and looked him in the eye. He saw no sign of ill will, and what he thought he saw made him weak in the knees. Curiosity? Interest? Attraction?

Caleb cleared his throat, hoping his imagination would take the hint. "I became concerned when I learned that you and Miss Pemberton weren't with the wagons." He sighed. "I overreacted."

"Yes, well, at least now I am quite familiar with Company policy."

"Please forgive my curtness."

"You were only doing your job, keeping track of wayward women."

He chuckled. "Perhaps, but I really don't aim to make your trip miserable."

"That's good news. I agree that our travels will be more pleasant if we're cordial, free of any ill will." She moistened her lips.

Did she have any idea how distracting she was?

"You were new to Saint Charles when you took the job as a trail hand. My guess is you're from Tennessee or Georgia, maybe Kentucky."

"Good guess. I'm from Tennessee." But it hadn't been home since the war. "You went to school with Boney. Does that mean you've lived in Saint Charles all your life?"

"Since I was six." She stopped and let the lead rope drop to the ground. "My father left me, my mother, and Dedrick in New York. That very week, we climbed into a stagecoach and came to Missouri to live with my grandfather."

"I'm sure it was hard to leave your friends behind there, but it can't have been any easier to leave the place where you last saw your brother alive."

She shook her head, holding his gaze. "No, but I felt we had to make this trip if there was any hope of crawling out of our grief. It's been really hard on my mother. And on my grandfather."

And on her. Trying to be strong for them. He could see the strain of it in her eyes.

Sighing, Anna tucked a curl of golden-brown hair behind her ear. "What about you? And your family?"

"I have one sister. And my parents."

She raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for more. "They're all still in Tennessee?"

"As far as I know, they are. I haven't seen them since the war." For all he knew, they counted him among the dead. Something else he didn't care to think about, let alone say.

"I'm sorry, Caleb."

"For what?"

"For whatever it is you can't say."

"Thank you."

The air between them was certainly free of ill will, but it was nowhere close to being free of secrets.

Caroline greeted the two Beck couples on her way by their campfire. Rhoda had given Caroline time to herself this morning before the Sunday worship service. Davonna had found her missing locket, but the fact that she had jumped to disturbing conclusions remained. And so did Caroline's concern regarding the older woman's well-being.

She shook her head. Time to put the whole Kamden family out of her mind, for now, and think about someone else. Maren Wainwright. Whenever Caroline was tempted to feel sorry for herself, she thought about Maren. Here she was on this long journey to the unknown-a newlywed, stepmother to a four-year-old, and losing her eyesight because of some mysterious condition. And all without Mrs. Brantenberg, the woman who had become like a mother to her in America.

When Caroline arrived at the Wainwrights' wagon, Maren sat at the worktable cutting up potatoes and Gabi was still inside dressing. Rutherford came up from the stream, a bucket of water in each hand. After they greeted each other, he poured the water into the barrel lashed to the side of the wagon.

Rutherford captured his bride's hand. "I'll leave you two to visit. But I'll be back in time for breakfast." He pulled Maren toward him and kissed her on the forehead.

Caroline looked away while a niggling question taunted her. Would she ever love and be loved again?

Rutherford waved good-bye and strolled toward Garrett's chuck wagon.

A sweet, happy song floated from Maren's wagon, and Caroline looked that direction. "It sounds like Gabi is enjoying a little time to herself. As am I."

"You'll have breakfast with us?"

"Yes, if you're sure."

"I'm sure, and Gabi will love the company too." Maren pointed toward the three-footed skillet on the cookfire. "The spider pan, as Mother Brantenberg liked to call it, should be hot enough by now. Mind if I cook while we visit?"

"Not at all. I like to watch other people work."

Smiling, Maren rose from the stool. Before she could straighten, she began to teeter.

Caroline lunged forward, holding her arm out to catch her, but Maren quickly regained her balance.

"Are you all right?" Caroline asked.

"Yes. Thank you. I must have stood with too much haste." Maren took slow steps to the campfire, tugging her apron straight.

Caroline looked at the spread of fixings on the table. "What can I do to help you?"

"You want to slice onion for the potatoes or cook the bacon?"

"I'll take the onion." Caroline reached into the tow sack and pulled out an onion. She found a knife and while she sliced, Maren started the bacon to sizzling.

A few moments later, Maren turned to her, blinking, something she did a lot of to help refocus her vision. But this time she didn't look well. The color drained from her face.

"You're not well. Are you?" Caroline asked.