“I guess.  I met Miller Dawson today.  He’s the first person who didn’t even seem to see what I looked like.”

“He’s that way,” Ellis said.  Charlotte listened as the violin began to play.  “So how well do you know this uncle?”

“I haven’t seen him in years, but he was part of my growing up.”

“And you trust him?”

Trust him, she thought.  “I don’t know if that’s the right word.  I suppose he’s as reliable as anybody.  Everything he and I are part of is all mixed up and crazy anyway, so what does it matter?”

Ellis ate quickly.  “I’m grateful for the food,” he said and handed her back the empty plate.  “I liked your father.  He’s an honest man.  I just don’t want to be delivering you into some other kind of hell whether I’m being paid for it or not.”

“You met my father?  When?”

“Your people stopped at Fort Leland that year they went traveling.  I was the lieutenant stationed there.”

“Maybe you met me then?  I was fifteen.”

“Could have, I suppose.”

And now here they were.  How strange.

Ellis Gray rolled a cigarette and struck a match, the flame casting shadows on his face.  Charlotte watched him closely.  Though she wanted badly to ask about the things Ada had told her, she knew he wasn’t approachable in that way.  Maybe she was as bold as her father said, but not with this.  Give it time, she cautioned herself.

“How are you faring back here?” he asked.

“It’s dusty and a little lonely but I don’t mind.  Lonely’s better than a whole lot of other things.”

“I’ll be staying close the next day or two.”

“Because of the wolf pack?”

He hesitated.  “No, not exactly.  Come to the front tomorrow if you want.  I’ll take the reins.”

“That’d mean putting myself out there.”

“Making molasses bread put you out there already.”

Why was Brewster wasting his time as a child?  He should be running for governor or something.

<>

In the night the wolves howled, the sound eerie and unsettling, echoing out over the prairie.  In the morning, clouds covered the sky.  Ellis Gray was gone when Charlotte woke to the sentinel’s rifle blast, but he returned before the wagons started to move.  She’d made pancakes again with dried apples in them.  She offered him one.

“Thanks,” he said, gulping down the pancake in two bites.  “You’ve got a knack for cooking.  What do you think, front or back?”

She was tired of the dust and tired of being afraid of people’s opinions.  “Front,” she said.