Jasper always has a twinkle in his eye when he sees me. One night he chucks me under the chin, which makes me flinch away.

“That’s a terrible haircut,” he says cheerfully.

“It’s Jefferson’s fault!” I blurt.

He rubs a hand through his own curly brown hair. “Next time it needs trimming, you come to us.” Jasper’s friend Henry has a neatly manicured beard that’s as pale and thin as the rest of him, and Tom keeps his chin clean but waxes his mustaches into sharp points. It’s like they have a barber stashed in their wagon.

“I’ll do that,” I say. “Somebody’s got to keep up the standards of civilization around here.”

He laughs. “You sound like Mrs. Joyner. Here’s some fresh butter for you and Jefferson. That’s about as much civilization as we can manage tonight.”

Mrs. Joyner has made a loaf of bread in the Dutch oven. I tear off a piece and let a clump of butter melt into the hot, almost-cooked dough. Jasper’s butter makes even Mrs. Joyner’s bread taste good.

“This is harder than I thought it would be,” Jefferson says that night as we lie beneath the wagon.

We’re both used to hard work, so that isn’t what he means. Maybe it’s the hard work and no place to go home at night. No family to welcome you, even if they are sickly, like my daddy, or mean drunk, like Jefferson’s. I miss having people familiar and dear—so familiar and dear that being with them is easy. Never worrying what they’re thinking or if they care about you or what will happen if they find out who you really are.

“It’ll be worth it once we get to California,” I say.

“It’s already worth it!” he says. “But sleeping on wet ground, waking up cold, jumping every time Mr. Joyner says so . . .”

“Keep your voices down,” booms Mr. Joyner from the box right above our heads. “People need their rest.”

“You hear that?” Jefferson whispers to me, his breath tickling my cheek. “I need my rest.”

He pulls the blanket up to his chin and rolls over, turning his back to me. Within moments, his breathing slows and lightens, like someone shedding a heavy load.

Not me. My head spins, and I lie awake for what feels like a long time, listening to Jefferson’s breaths mingling with the patter of the rain on the wagon covers, smelling the rich scent of wet dirt. I’ve got some happiness in me, I realize with a start, where there used to be only loneliness and grief. I’ve found Jefferson. I’m earning a wage. I’m on my way to the Promised Land and mountains of shining gold.