You are well?" Grovater glanced at Mutter then returned his attention to Anna. "Both of you?"

"Yes." They had survived. But she was a long way from feeling well.

"You can take care of her?" he asked.

Anna gave a curt nod, taking the lead rope from him.

"I'll help the Le Beaus then." Grovater wasted no time trotting off to the hobbled wagon.

Anna gave the rope a tug. The wagon groaned as its wheels slogged through the mud, voicing her sentiments. The blanket Mrs. Le Beau had wrapped her in was now soaked through. She was wet, cold, tired, and angry. And all the hugs and celebration hadn't helped any.

Out of the mud and now on dry soil, Anna trudged toward the camp.

Yes, she would take care of Mutter. It was what she did. That, and pretend her caring was enough. Pretend Mutter's condition was temporary, that everything would be all right.

But everything wasn't all right. Mutter wasn't all right, and neither was she.

Anna knew the truth. Worst of all, she could no longer ignore it. She could no longer pretend she could live with the lies. She wasn't strong enough to bear Mutter's grief. Not with the weight Mutter had given it.

The day she'd called off the wedding, Mutter had called her careless and she was right. Anna had been a fool to think she could change her mother. Only God could do that. Mrs. Brantenberg had told the quilting circle He was the only One who always saw and always heard; that He could heal a broken heart. So why wasn't He helping Mutter?

When the wagon shuddered and creaked and the oxen groaned, she slowed her steps.

Mutter caught up to Anna, matching her pace. "We have much to be thankful for, dear."

Anna couldn't look at her. "Thankful it wasn't our wagon that slammed onto the rail and broke a wheel?"

"Yes. That, and we saw the good Lord has indeed blessed us with dear friends."

"Strong, wet friends." Anna spoke over her shoulder. "Friends who risked their lives for us."

Mutter's feet sloshed in oversized boots. She'd lost her shoes to the river, and Maren had brought a pair of Rutherford's to the shore for her. "I was frightfully scared."

"So was I, Mutter." Yes, petrified to face the truth.

"Dear, you were brave to jump in after me."

"On the other side of the river ..." Anna was talking more to herself than to Mutter, her voice low. "While Grovater and I were visiting with the others, waiting for our turn to cross, you went into the wagon." She stopped and faced Mutter.

"I'm sorry I scared the horses and scared you." Mutter looked back toward the river. "I didn't mean to."

She never meant to.

Anna drew in a fortifying breath. "I didn't see any bottles in Independence, but you bought drink in the city. When you bought the beeswax. I thought I smelled whiskey on your breath when we were boarding the ferry, but I refused to think you'd do such a thing."

Mutter shook her head, water spraying from her stringy, wet hair. "Anyone can trip. Remember that time we were at the parade and you stumbled over a curb?"

Anna was done giving her the benefit of the doubt. "You didn't just lose your balance, Mutter. You staggered into those horses and spooked them." Anna shivered. "I hate to think what could've happened. I could've lost you."

"But you didn't. We're fine."

Anna swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. Caleb and Boney had risked their lives to save her and Mutter. What would she say to them? To the Le Beaus? And the captain? Did they know Mutter had been drinking?

Anna led the four oxen to the line of wagons that had formed. When their wagon was in position, she climbed up to the seat and set the brake. "Mutter, you can go in and change your clothes."

Mutter looked Anna over from her soggy bonnet to her soaked boots. "What about you, dear?"

"I'm fine." Another lie. Had they ever told each other the truth? "First, I need to see to the yokes and take the animals to the corral." She climbed back to the ground and slid in behind the oxen.

Mutter nodded, then climbed up onto the seat. "I'm sorry."

Anna shrugged the blanket off onto the wagon's wheel and bent to unhook the chains.

When the four animals were free of the tongue, she pulled the yoke pins and guided the heavy beam to the ground. Then she led the oxen to the open grass and hobbled the bull. Now it was her turn to peel off her wet clothes and warm herself before the sun completely disappeared.

A small fire burned a few feet from the wagon. Mutter wasn't outside. She wouldn't have lit a fire. That was always Grovater's job or Anna's. Anna glanced up the line to where Oliver stood, a wide grin on his face. He had built the fire for her. She waved her thanks and stepped up the spokes onto the top of the front wheel.

Climbing onto the seat, Anna peered into the wagon. A candle lantern glowed atop the salt barrel. Mutter sat on her trunk, dressed in a dry skirt and shirtwaist, her hair up in a twist.

When she let out a belch, Anna saw that Mutter held the neck of a flat-sided bottle-a whiskey bottle.

Anna scrambled over the seat and into the wagon. "You're drinking? You could have drowned! I could have drowned trying to save you, and you're drinking?"

"I was cold. Just needed a couple swallows to warm me."

"You think it can make you forget what happened? What you did?" Anna wrenched the bottle from Mutter's grip and stomped to the front of the wagon. Leaning over the seatback, she reached through the flap and tossed the bottle at the fire. The bottle hit the rocks and shattered, causing a fireball to rise, filled with smoke and steam. She turned back to face Mutter.

Mutter stood, clinging to the ribs of the wagon, her face twisted and her eyes bulged. "What did you do?"

"What I should've done a year ago." Anna jerked the lid open on her mother's trunk and dug until she found another bottle. After stomping to the wagon seat, she repeated her actions. While the glass crashed and the foul liquor went up in flames, the heat from the explosion warmed her face and fueled her determination to find all of it this time.

Her heart pounding, Anna climbed back through the puckered opening and searched another of the crates she'd seen Mutter hover around. When Anna found another bottle, she sent it to the same fate as the others. Her face still hot from the flames, she returned to Mutter. All she could do was stare, her whole body quivering.

"That's the last one," Mutter cried. "You don't know what it's like."

"What? Losing someone you love? When you lost your son, I lost my mother. I'm still alive, Mutter. What about me?"

Her lips pressed together, Mutter charged past Anna and out over the seat. She should stop her from going out on her own. Protect her. Care for her. But she wasn't strong enough.

Instead, Anna sank to the floorboard, letting her tears fall.

Caleb followed Wilma Goben, keeping distance between them. Wearing a dark skirt and shirtwaist, her hair pinned up in a loose twist, she ducked behind the back row of wagons toward a tree-lined draw.

While waiting for his dry clothes to cross the river in the supply wagon, he'd decided to go to Otto's wagon and check on Anna and her mother. He'd just escaped the mob at the paddle wheeler when he heard breaking glass and a loud whoosh. At the Gobens' camp, a ball of flames shot into the air. Plumes of smoke followed. After the second plume, he was close enough to their camp to see Anna climb out onto the seat and toss something into the fire.

No one had to tell him what had happened. Instead of burying her mother's bottles this time, she'd sent them to the fire. In the river, he'd smelled the liquor on Wilma Goben's breath. He'd seen Anna storm away from the shore. She'd held the lead rope taut, pulling the oxen as if they were her burden to bear.

She knew her mother had been drinking and caused the trouble out on the river.

Now, Caleb followed Wilma Goben into the draw, fighting his trembling insides. Where was she going?

Away. He knew from experience all she wanted was to get away from herself. From those she'd hurt. From anyone who knew her.

And this was his fault. He'd had his suspicions before they'd ever left Saint Charles. He should've told Anna he'd seen her carry a sack toward Blanchette Creek and bury what he guessed were whiskey bottles. Instead, he'd let Anna and her mother hold on to secrets that could've claimed their lives. Only God knew what would happen to Wilma Goben now if he didn't stop her.

Mud from the river bottom weighted his wet boots just as surely as the Saint Charles memory tugged his heart. Wilma kept moving, her pace as unsteady as her gait. The setting sun would soon give way to twilight.

Following directly behind her, he took longer strides. "Ma'am. It's Caleb."

She jerked, losing her balance. Mrs. Goben fell, landing in a heap on the sandy bottom of the wash.

"You've had a busy day, ma'am." When she made no effort to stand, Caleb sank his knees into the sand beside her. "Your hair is still wet, and the sun is sinking fast. Why are you out here?"

"You're out here. I might ask you the same question. Why?"

"I followed you."

She huffed, then pushed a thicket of graying brown hair behind her ear and looked at him. "It wasn't enough that you saved me from the deep?"

"I don't know. Was it?"

She looked everywhere but at him. "What do you know about it?"

"It?"

"Drinking. That's why you're here."

"I know some about it, ma'am. Too much." Caleb drew in a deep breath and let it out. "I had a problem with the drink myself."

"That's what you think I have?"

"You don't?"

"That's what Anna told you, that I have a drinking problem?"

"I didn't talk to your daughter."

She repositioned her skirt to cover her bare feet.

"I saw the flames in your firepit. Then I saw you running away from the wagon, and I wanted to be certain you were all right."

Wilma Goben crossed her arms, staring at the sand and sagebrush surrounding them. "Why should I tell a stranger anything?"

"Because he pulled you out of the river?"

"But you weren't on that ferry. You don't know anything about what happened."

He sighed. Nothing about this day had been easy. "That's right, ma'am. I wasn't on the ferry. Not when I saw you go overboard."

"I was feeling a little dizzy with the boat moving on the water and all. I lost my balance and fell into that doctor's flighty horses." Wilma sighed. "I feel bad about his wagon."

He'd heard from Le Doc that she was unsteady and had gotten too close to the horses.

"You were so kind to come in after us," she said, continuing. "You and Boney. Angels, both of you."

"I can't speak for Boney, ma'am, but I'm no angel." She was looking at him, but she still wouldn't look him in the eye. "We care about you and your daughter."

She pinched her bottom lip between her teeth. "The doctor's wagon, is it all right?"

"A wheel broke up and was lost in the river. All that's left is the hub and a couple of spokes."

Her lips pressed together, she shook her head.

"You could've drowned." His voice cracked. "Your daughter could've drowned trying to save you." He'd deal with those emotions later. Right now, he didn't want to let Wilma Goben off the hook. He was desperate for her to see the damage her drinking could do. Before it was too late.

Before she allowed liquor to stand between her and her duty.

Before she let down everyone who trusted her ... everyone she cared about.

"My vater is helping the doctor with his wagon?" she asked.

"Yes." Caleb swallowed the memory of coming out of his stupor and finding Billy and the others in his squad dead. He had to do what he could for Anna's mother. "My guess is you started drinking after your son died."

She looked up, her chin quivering. "You know about Dedrick?"

"Boney told me they were good friends, that Dedrick died in the war."

She pressed her hand to her cheek as a mother would to her child's face. "Dedrick was a good boy. When he died, I felt so empty. It's a cold life without my son. The drink, it warms and soothes the ache inside."

He nodded. "I know how that feels. To lose someone you love, and all you want to do is forget." A shiver raced up his spine. "To feel better. Warm again."

Tears streamed down her face.

Caleb blinked hard against his own tears. "Before the war, I had big plans. I was going to be a preacher. Then something happened that hurt me deeply, and I soon started drinking with friends."

"It wasn't like that for me. I did it on my own."

"Ma'am."

She finally looked him in the eye, her face drawn and gaze teary.

"For some of us, it takes catastrophe and heartbreak before we can see what the love of liquor is doing to us. And to the people we say we love."

Wilma mumbled something under her breath and wiped her eyes.

"Please, Mrs. Goben, don't let that happen to you." Caleb pressed his hand to her forearm. "Stop imbibing before there's any more heartbreak."