"Sally Rengler thinks it could be Oliver."

"That woman needs to have a second thought, then."

He chuckled.

"What, pray tell, is so funny?"

He straightened and took on the air of an expert. "Well, ma'am, if you must know ... it's you."

Her eyebrows shot skyward. "Me?"

"Yes." He gestured with his hand, like a barrister in court. "Your passion. For answers. For the downtrodden. For justice. I love that about you."

"You do?"

"I do." His neck warmed.

Her face pinked. "I feel the same about you."

"Oh?" He pulled his horse around to face her.

"Yes. I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend an afternoon with." Her hat tipped up, revealing a purposeful expression on her face. "And, in case you're wondering, I'm not just saying that because a horseback ride with you means a break from my responsibilities with the Kamdens." She moistened her distracting lips. "I really am enjoying our time together."

Clearly, there weren't going to be enough hours in this afternoon.

A lifetime of hours with the fervent and alluring Caroline Milburn wouldn't be enough.

35.

Anna added two more river rocks to the canvas sack she carried, then walked back toward the wagon. Grovater knelt at the new fire ring, forming the first layer of rock.

"Do you think we'll need another load?"

Grovater looked up at the burden she carried. "If we do, I'll go get it." He watched as she bent and let the rocks tumble from the canvas. "Anna."

She knelt at the small circle of rocks across from him and looked up.

Grovater held a rock midair as if he were weighing it. A frown dulled his eyes. "I wish I could bear it all for you."

Anna didn't know for certain what Grovater meant, but she nodded anyway. She guessed that he was referring to Mutter. That he'd make life better for both of them, if it were in his power to do so.

"But you and I both know I can't carry your burdens." He added the rock to the ring and peered up at her. "Any more than you can bear your mutter's sorrow."

Anna sat back on her heels. "I know I can't take care of her, not the way I wish I could. But she is doing better."

"And if it doesn't last? Then what will you do?"

Tears stung her eyes. "How can you give up on your own daughter?"

Grovater's sigh tore at her heart. "I won't ever give up on my Wilma, but I have no say if she's given up on herself."

The tears rolled down her chin.

"Anna, don't throw away your life."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Isn't it?" He stared at her, into her, his face solemn. "What about Caleb? He's the first man I've seen you take a fancy to, and you've turned him away."

"You don't know all there is to know about him."

"I don't think you do either."

"I know enough."

"You know enough to make a judgment, but not enough to hear him out?" He twisted a rock into the circle, making it fit.

"He's been talking to you?"

"He tried, desperate to know what he did or said that hurt you." Grovater pushed himself up from the ground, taking the sack with him. "You're not going to tell me what he did to end up on your bad side?"

"It's just better this way. He has a job to do. We don't need his help any longer. And I don't need the distraction."

She took over for Grovater and began to stack rocks more forcefully than she needed to, trying to convince herself she didn't need Caleb, didn't want him in her life. It was best for her to concentrate on Mutter's well-being; success in that area was all she truly needed.

Garrett pounded a tent stake into the root-bound soil. As of today, the Boone's Lick Company had been on the road one month. Slowed down by the fording of several streams this afternoon, the wagons hadn't covered as much ground today, but they were still making good time. He moved to the far side of the tent and set another stake. If they kept this pace, they'd arrive at Fort Kearney in less than three weeks.

The last two Sundays had been his favorite days on the road thus far. The day after tomorrow would be his third Sunday horseback ride with Caroline Milburn, and he couldn't wait. She had a way about her that had him caught-hook, line, and sinker. A perplexing blend of compassion and spiritedness, independence and appreciation for society. Her porcelain-doll looks pitted against an iron will. Crossing to the third stake, Garrett realized that if he didn't pull himself out of his daydreams, he was sure to pound a thumb.

"Boss!"

He followed Frank's nod. The redhead of his dreams marched toward him, her skirts pinched and raised to the tops of her boots.

"It's Davonna."

"Again?" Garrett blew out a breath. "What is she upset about now?"

"She's missing!"

His mouth went dry.

"She left camp to fetch a bucket of water from the stream. I thought it would be okay. It isn't that far."

"When did she go?"

"Just over an hour ago."

"I'm sure she's fine. Probably just decided to sit and enjoy some peace and quiet." At least he hoped so.

"About thirty minutes ago, Ian went to the stream and walked it a ways but didn't find her. We're all worried."

"Understandably." He shared their concerns that something wasn't right with Davonna. "Where is Ian now?"

"He went back out with a candle lantern."

"Tiny and Isaac are out scouting," Garrett said, his mind searching for a solution.

"The sun is nearly down. We have to find her before something terrible happens."

"I agree. I'll get a search party together."

"I'm going to look for her too."

The intensity in Caroline's green eyes told him any objection would only delay her involvement.

"All right, but you'll stay with me." He faced Frank. "Send Caleb out. Then you and Boney round up several teams of two and three. Make sure each team has a rifle with them."

"Will do, Boss."

While Frank took quick steps to the chuck wagon, Garrett went to the sycamore where he'd tethered his stallion and met Caroline's gaze. "We'll walk, but I want to have a horse with us in case Davonna is injured or ill."

Caroline squeezed his hand, and they set off into the twilight together.

36.

Caleb tromped upstream through waist-high prairie grass. He carried a medical kit over his shoulder and gripped a candle lantern and his rifle. Staying on the bank just above the stream for a better view of the surrounding area, he searched the grass for any sign of disturbance. Anna's mother had been easier to track in the draw. He'd seen her leave the camp.

Wilma Goben and now Davonna Kamden. Garrett was right. Women weren't designed for the trail. That was all there was to it. The day-in-and-day-out demands were too rigorous and emotionally taxing for the female constitution.

An image suddenly confronted him-Anna sitting peacefully on the quilt under the tree, her Bible laying open on her lap. He'd have to count Anna as an exception to the rule. He'd hate to consider this trip without having her along, even if she was angry with him and wouldn't say why.

When Caleb reached a stand of trees, he stilled his steps, listening. "Mrs. Kamden?"

"Caleb?"

It wasn't a woman's voice, but it did have a Scottish ring to it. "Ian?"

The broad-shouldered man stepped out from between some trees. "I can't find her either." He pressed his hand to his forehead. "Mither's not right. My wife tried to tell me. Miss Caroline too. But-"

"There's a search party out looking." Caleb hadn't heard much come from Ian's mouth before now, let alone detected any emotion. It made him miss his own mother all the more. He clapped Ian on the shoulder. "We'll find her, Ian. Much of the party is covering both sides of the creek. Why don't you loop back around toward camp?"

"In case she comes back on her own. Good idea."

Caleb hooked his thumb on the rifle at his shoulder. "We'll fire one shot to say we found her. Another to say she's unharmed."

Ian nodded before walking away.

Caleb started farther up the hill, praying someone found Davonna soon. First, the Zanzucchi boy's broken arm, then Otto's fever, Rhoda Kamden's recurring pain, and Wilma's near-drowning. The Company was already on edge.

An owl hooted from a far-off perch, a family of prairie dogs whistled nearby, and coyotes yipped and howled in the distance-all a part of a prairie song. But no hint of Davonna Kamden.

He'd only walked another thirty yards or so when he heard another song familiar in the prairie-a woman's cry.

At least it sounded like a woman. Or was it only wishful thinking?

Caleb held the lantern up behind him for light to scan the area. "Mrs. Kamden? Davonna?"

Silence. If she wasn't here, where was she?

Then the cry turned to wailing. It had to be her. Caleb made his way toward a bluff at a crook in the stream. At its base stood a clump of dogwood trees. A silhouette lay in a heap beneath them, her body trembling with her sobs. A shawl covered her head.

"Ma'am?" He didn't see any threat to her, but still she cried and trembled. He took careful steps toward the trees. "Mrs. Kamden, it's Caleb Reger."

Finally, she lifted her head. Tears streamed down her blotchy face, and her eyes were swollen.

He swung the pack to the ground and knelt beside her. "Are you hurt? Did you fall?"

She shook her head, her wails rising. "Look!" She ran her hand over the dirt in front of her.

Caleb noticed the rock beyond her knee and the freshly plucked bundle of sunflowers beside it. A piece of paper stuck out from under a jagged edge. She had stumbled upon a grave.

"Mrs. Kamden, I need to fire my rifle to let Ian know I've found you." He pulled the rifle from the scabbard and fired a shot. The second shot was to let Garrett know she was unharmed and he could return her to camp on his own.

She reared up on her knees. "Shush." Pressing a finger to her lips, the disheveled woman shook her head. "Quiet!" She spoke in a whisper. "A bairn ... only a wee bairn. And now he's a boy asleep in God's arms."

Caleb nodded, fighting the emotion clogging his throat. He knelt beside her and pulled the water-stained slip of paper from under the rock. Sitting on his legs, Caleb unfolded the crinkled note and read in silence.

Here lies my precious son Michael Eugene Stetson. Gone far too soon at six days, but now cradled in God's loving arms. I am made to travel on without him. Please leave flowers of beauty as you pass.

From a bereaved mother, thankful for the time she had with her boy, but ever hungry for more. Pauline Stetson.

Davonna Kamden patted the heads of the wildflowers as one would stroke a newborn's soft curls. "I picked these for Michael. Every one of them."