Chapter Eight
Low Prairie
Fog settled over the prairie before dawn, turning the world beyond each wagon into pale wool.
Nathaniel delayed departure until the sun showed as a faint white circle. By then the grass was visible twenty yards ahead, and the wagon directly in front could be followed by sound if not by sight.
“Keep the spacing close,” he ordered. “No one leaves the line without telling the wagon ahead.”
Caroline drove the lead Whitaker wagon behind Nathaniel and Eleanor. Rebecca followed with the second. Bells had been tied to the rear wagons so the company could hear them through the fog.
Before departure, Caroline tied bells to the rear wagons and discovered that each owner had an opinion about tone. Mrs. Bell wanted the clearest bell. Mr. Daugherty wanted the loudest. Coleman wanted whichever one didn't sound like his mother-in-law's dinner summons.
Lucy rang all four at once. Every ox in the company raised its head.
“We have located the animals,” Thomas observed.
“And frightened Nebraska,” Caroline said.
They assigned the deep bell to the Hall wagon, the bright one to the Bells, and the cracked bell to Coleman because he said he could ignore it. Rebecca tied each clapper short enough to prevent constant ringing. Mrs. Bell lengthened hers when Rebecca moved away.
Thomas explained how fog bent sound across low ground. Lydia asked whether it also bent conversation. Grace said Lydia's conversation required no assistance reaching people. Caroline made every driver repeat the spacing order, and every walker name the wagon he or she would follow.
Lucy announced that she would follow Caroline. Caroline assigned her to Martha instead. “Why?” Lucy asked.
“Because Martha notices when you disappear.”
“Everyone notices.”
“Usually after the damage.”
The joking ended once the company entered the white prairie, but the bells and repeated instructions became the practical tools that let Caroline recognize when three wagons were missing.
For the first hour, Caroline saw little beyond the oxen's broad backs. Moisture gathered along her bonnet brim. Thomas rode near enough that his horse appeared and disappeared beside the wagon like a gray thought.
“The ground falls north,” he said. “Keep west by southwest.”
Caroline checked the compass. “I know.”
“I enjoy hearing you say it.”
“Why?”
“It reassures me that I have not become ornamental.”
“You would make a poor ornament. Too muddy.”
He tipped his hat and rode forward.
Near midmorning, a wheel on Hall's wagon loosened. The rear three wagons stopped while Mr. Hall tightened the nut. The message passed forward by shout, but fog swallowed the voices. Caroline halted the lead wagon and listened.
A bell chimed somewhere behind them.
Nathaniel's horse emerged ahead. “Hall is delayed. We will hold here.”
For several minutes the company waited. Then another bell sounded far to the left.
Thomas frowned. “That is carrying oddly.”
The fog thickened as the trail descended. A breeze moved along the low ground, bending sound until every creak seemed to come from the wrong place. Nathaniel sent Thomas back to check the line.
He returned alone. “The rear three are not behind us.”
Caroline's stomach tightened. Rebecca was not among them—she had kept close—but Mrs. Bell, the Halls, and Coleman's repaired wagon had vanished into the white prairie.
Nathaniel began organizing riders. Caroline climbed down with the compass.
“They stopped at the rise,” she said. “If they followed the bell after we moved, the sound would have drawn them south.”
Thomas looked at her. “Unless the wind shifted.”
A distant shout came from the north.
Several people turned toward it.
Caroline opened the compass. “That is the creek bottom carrying voices. The rear wagons are south.”
Nathaniel studied the fog, then nodded. “Thomas, take two riders.”
Before they could leave, a faint wagon bell rang from the west. It was closer than before but moving away from the trail.
“They are circling,” Caroline said. “I can reach them faster with the Whitaker wagon. They will hear our wheel squeak.”
Rebecca objected. “I repaired that squeak.”
“Not well enough.”
“I will come.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “Keep the second wagon with the company. Caroline, take Thomas and Mr. Avery. Mark your line.”
They turned into the fog. Caroline kept the compass open on the seat and steered southwest over ground that softened beneath the wheels. Thomas rode ahead only far enough to test the soil. Avery followed, calling at intervals.
At last an answer came.
Mrs. Bell's wagon appeared first. Hall and Coleman were close behind, all three angled toward a shallow marsh. Mr. Daugherty had apparently heard their bell and shouted from the main line; the echo had drawn them farther from it.
“We knew we were near,” Mr. Hall said.
Caroline looked at the reeds ten yards ahead. “You were near something.”
Mrs. Bell leaned from her wagon. “I told them to wait.”
“You also told us the fog would lift before breakfast,” Coleman muttered.
“I am not responsible for weather.”
Caroline climbed onto Hall's wagon tongue and showed the men the compass. “The main company is northeast. We cannot turn here without sinking. Follow me west until the ground rises, then we will circle north.”
Thomas said nothing. He merely rode ahead and tested the line she chose.
The detour cost more than an hour. Caroline led the wagons across a strip of gravel hidden beneath wet grass, then turned them north. When the sun finally burned a hole through the fog, she found Nathaniel's wheel marks exactly where she expected.
They reached the noon camp to cheers.
Lucy ran beside the wagon. “Captain Caroline rescued three wagons!”
“Captain Caroline found three wagons that had ignored instructions.” Caroline shook her head at her sister.
Mrs. Bell called from behind, “A less inspiring version.”
Eleanor gripped Caroline's hand when she climbed down. Rebecca inspected the lead wagon for damage. Nathaniel nodded once, the acknowledgment of one captain to another.
Thomas did none of those things. He stood near the rear wheel, pale beneath the road dust, and waited until the sisters had crowded away.
“Behind the wagon,” he said quietly.
Caroline followed him into the narrow space between canvas and tall grass. “What is wrong?”
“You vanished.”
“I was sent to find them.”
“I know. I was with you.” Thomas took off his hat and dragged a hand through his hair. “And every time the fog swallowed your wagon, I thought I had misjudged the ground and led you into a bog.”
“You did not lead me.”
“That did not make it easier.”
The restraint he wore as habit had cracked. Caroline could see the fear beneath it, and something warmer that frightened her more.
“Thomas—”
He kissed her.
His hands rested at her waist, firm enough to steady and gentle enough to release her if she moved. Surprise held Caroline still for one heartbeat. Then heat rushed through her, bright and certain. His mouth softened against hers, and she caught the front of his coat.
He drew back abruptly. “Forgive me. I assumed—”
Caroline pulled him down and kissed him again.
This kiss was hers. It lasted longer, long enough for the shouts of noon camp to fade and for Thomas's hand to rise carefully along her back. When she finally stepped away, both of them were breathing too quickly.
“The kiss changes nothing,” she said.
Thomas stared at her mouth. “That is plainly untrue.”
“We still have the same responsibilities. You still have a position waiting at Fort Kearny. I still have seven sisters.”
“Yes.”
“Then nothing practical has changed.”
He put on his hat. “It changes what we know.”
Before Caroline discovered the watching sisters, Thomas tried to restore his hat and missed his head. The brim struck his ear. Caroline caught it before it fell.
“You appear unsettled,” she said.
“The fog.”
“The fog has lifted.”
“Its effects remain.”
She handed him the hat. He put it on backward. Caroline stared until he corrected it.
“You may never mention this,” he said.
“I have seven sisters. Nothing remains unmentioned.”
A muffled sound came from beyond the wagon corner. Thomas looked toward it. Caroline hoped briefly that the missing wagons had returned with a goat. A goat would have been less interested in her kiss.
For several breathless seconds after their second kiss, Thomas and Caroline remained behind the wagon. The canvas at Caroline's back shifted in the breeze. Somewhere nearby, an ox tore grass with shocking calm.
“I should explain,” Thomas said.
“You already apologized.”
“I could explain the apology.”
“That would require another apology.”
His laugh brushed warmly across her face.
He admitted the fog had frightened him because a bearing could be corrected, but a person lost in low ground could not.
Caroline told him she had trusted the compass because he taught her to read it, then corrected herself: she had trusted her reading.
Thomas's expression made clear that distinction pleased him.
He asked whether she regretted kissing him back. Caroline said no before caution could answer for her. The certainty surprised them both. Nothing practical had changed, but the knowledge between them had become impossible to fold away with the maps.
Caroline looked around the wagon and found all seven sisters standing at various badly chosen distances, pretending to be occupied.
Lucy held an empty water bucket upside down.
Grace examined a harness strap that was not attached to anything.
Eleanor smiled.
Caroline closed her eyes. “Unfortunately, it may have changed what everyone knows.”
The sisters did not allow Caroline's courtship agreement to remain private for the full twelve-foot walk.
Lucy met her at the wagon step. “What are the rules?”
“There are no rules.”
Charlotte appeared behind Lucy. “Every practical arrangement has rules.”
“It has one,” Caroline admitted. “Honesty.”
Rebecca frowned. “That seems broad.”
“And dangerous,” Grace said.
Lydia joined them. “Does honesty require you to tell us when he kisses you?”
“No.”
“Then it is poorly designed.”
Eleanor folded her arms. “Will any of you permit Caroline to enjoy being courted?”
Seven faces turned toward her.
“You watched Nathaniel cross half the camp for six weeks,” Martha reminded her.
“I was concerned about his shoulder.”
“Before he injured it?” Charlotte asked.
Eleanor considered this. “I withdraw the question.”
Caroline picked up her compass and studied it carefully. “Good afternoon.”
Lucy called after her, “That is not an answer about kissing.”
“It was not intended to be.”