The next morning, everyone unloads what chairs they’ve brought along. The college boys fashion a quick pew from a split log and a pair of sawhorses. I sit on the Joyners’ wagon bench, which is close enough to look like I’m participating. Reverend Lowrey drones on about fearing God and the dangers of hellfire. I allow my eyes to drift closed and my chin to hit my chest, because if it’s a day of rest, then I’m going to rest. By the time services are over, I decide I like the Sabbath very much.

We set off the next day feeling restored. I gaze about as we ride, admiring the wild green fields and their copses of tall woods, stretching as far as the eye can see. The world has exploded with wildflowers—black-eyed Susans and blue chicory and yellow mustard—and the sun lounges heavy in the sky, casting the world in a golden haze.

I admit, it’s even prettier than Georgia. Mama and Daddy would have loved it.

The Kansas River fattens as we reach its confluence with the Big Blue, which is an odd name because it’s as muddy brown with spring rain as all the rest. Major Craven says we must ferry across the Kansas and follow the Big Blue north for a while.

I think longingly of Captain Chisholm’s flatboat, because these ferries are nothing but overgrown rafts made of weathered wood that looks near to splintering apart. I can’t imagine them carrying wagons and oxen and horses.

Just like we did for the flatboat, we unload the wagon, then lift off the box and fill it with the wheels. It’s too heavy for Jefferson and me alone, so all the families help one another—the college men and Mr. Robichaud help us, then we help them right back, which sets my back to aching and shoves a splinter into my left thumb.

Athena, the milk cow, rides across the ferry with us. She lows pitifully. Her pupils are huge and her muscles twitch, like her skin is covered with flies. Twice, she empties her bladder onto the deck.

Mrs. Joyner gathers up Andy and Olive and flees to the far end of the raft.

“What’s wrong with her?” I ask Jasper.

“I don’t know,” Jasper says. He kisses Athena’s muzzle, but she flinches away. “I hope she didn’t eat something disagreeable.”

The ferryman at the tiller says, “She been ettin’ a foul-smelling weed, about eh high?” He holds his hand midthigh. “Leaves are toothy, dark green on top, light on bottom?”

“Maybe,” Jasper says. “I haven’t been paying attention. Fellows?”

Henry gazes back toward the dwindling shore. “There was something like that where we stopped for lunch.”

Tom nods. “She was eating it, all right. There wasn’t much else. The whole trail has been grazed over by the argonauts who preceded us.”