The wagon train halted at the noon hour.  The stop would be brief, rest for the horses, not the people.  The rhythm of the journey was coming back to Charlotte, the pace of the days and nights, the different priorities involved in such a life, finding the privacy of a bush from time to time being one of those.  She fit into the structure of it, the slow plodding forward motion, the land barely changing, the sense of time standing still.  If she did not fit into the community, so be it.  She didn’t need them.  She only needed Ellis Gray.

A space was left again for her at the bottom of the circle.  At least they continued to recognize her existence, though whether that was a good thing, she couldn’t tell.  She talked to the horses and stroked their necks before sitting down in the grass to eat her lunch.  She wished she could visit Fiona and see the new baby again, but with that husband lurking anywhere nearby she didn’t dare.

A presence announced itself by her side.  Charlotte was aware of dusty boots, trousers, a holstered gun, a stranger.  She jumped to her feet, still swallowing a bite of pancake.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.  The rest of him was young, fresh-faced, with unkempt cowlicked hair and an easy smile.  He was the first person she’d met who didn’t seem to have any idea of what her appearance implied.  “Miller Dawson,” he said and held out his hand.  She shook it, but couldn’t help being amazed.  He was likely very close to her in age.

“Charlotte,” she said.  “But you’re the pilot?  I heard about you.  You’re barely out of your teens.”

“Not yet,” he said and smiled again.  “Least I don’t think so.”

Charlotte took in the vastness all around her, the horizon visible in every direction.  “How are you so familiar with this land being as young as you are?  Doesn’t that take years and years?”

“I grew up here.  Know it like my own face.”

“Grew up where?  There’s nobody here.”

“Used to be tribes just like there used to be buffalo.  I’ve got to go.  I heard about you, too.  I just wanted to, I don’t know, I just wanted to pay my respects.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said.  “That’s very sweet.  Come back some time.  I want to know more.”

“There’s nothing interesting,” he said.  “But I will if I can.”  He had his hat in his hand, and now he hesitated.  “If you were ever to make that molasses bread again, I don’t think anybody’d mind.”

Charlotte shook her head.  It was only six loaves.  Had Brewster really managed to give everyone in the company a piece?

When Miller Dawson was gone, she was still thinking, what do the tribes have to do with anything?

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