“It’s just an idea.  Another idea is that we have to write to Miller Dawson right away, all of us, to tell him we’re fine, and give a copy of that letter to every wagon train that passes through here headed to Oregon Territory.  And here,” she reached down for another volume, “is the dictionary.”  She handed it to Brewster.  He paged through till he’d found the word.

“‘Reconnoiter’,” he said.  “‘To explore an area in order to gather information, especially about the strength and positioning of enemy forces.’”  His brow knit together.  “Mostly that doesn’t look like what they’re doing.”

“I agree, but at least we found out what the word means.”

28

28

Charlotte found that she was moving purposefully without fully examining the origin of any of her actions.  After dinner, while her charges watched carefully, she put a plank on the sideboard top.  On the worn but level slab of wood, she set a smooth river rock that she’d kept from the creek.  She balanced a playing card upright against the rock, the king-with-the-ax, then placed two long feathers lengthwise in front of it, one duck, one eagle.  Then she lit a candle and stood it nearby.

“What is this?” Ada said.

“I’ve always liked to put things together that mean something to me.”

“These mean something to you now?”

“More than you could ever know.”

“Wait, can I ask a question?”

“No, you can’t.  But for this one, it’s just the beginning.  It’ll only be finished when it’s got special things from all of us.”  She picked the duck feather back up and handed it to Grace who ran it through her fingers over and over again.

Without saying anything, Jeremy left his book, got down from the table and went into the other room.  Everyone looked after him, puzzled.  When he returned, he was holding the tiniest bird nest Charlotte had ever seen, the fine straw-colored wispy grasses woven around and around into a perfect, delicate bowl.

“What kind of nest is that?”

“I don’t know,” he said.  “I found it in a bush.  Can I put it up there?”

“Yes, of course you can.”  She watched, her eyes shining, as he stood on a chair and carefully placed his contribution, his small face beaming with pride.

Ada had been sitting deep in thought.  “It’s an altar,” she said.

Charlotte couldn’t avoid mentioning her family this time.  “That’s what my father always said.  He’d take them apart as fast as I made them.  But I didn’t have altars in mind at all.”

“Is your father still alive?”

Charlotte remained uncertain how to handle these subjects that touched so dearly on all they’d lost.  She decided she couldn’t avoid every mention of anything, that wouldn’t even be natural.  And this was Ada.

“Yes.  He’s still alive.”

“Was he there when you got trampled by wild horses?”