The ferryman chortles. “That’s jimsonweed she et. Devil’s snare. Make sure she gets fresh grass, and she’ll be fine in a few days.”

“Poor girl,” I say, starting toward her. I have some grass in the pocket of my trousers that I pulled for Peony—a habit I picked up while riding the flatboat—but Athena is welcome to it. Tom and Henry have the same impulse, and her eyes go buggy as the three of us close in on her. She shakes her head, lowing mournfully. Quicker than I can blink, she stumbles off the ferry and plops gracelessly into the river.

We stagger over to the side as the ensuing wave sets us to rocking. Athena’s head breaks the surface, and she flounders, blowing water from her nostrils.

Mr. Joyner laughs. “She’s going to drown if she doesn’t get herself aimed toward shore,” he says.

“The children will miss the butter,” Mrs. Joyner says.

I gape at them both. “We’ve got to do something to help her!” But I have no idea what.

The ferry glides past, and Athena falls behind. The college men run to the back of the raft. “This way, Athena!” Jasper calls. “You can do it, sweetheart. Just keep swimming.”

“Pardon, pardon me, if you please, let me help,” Mr. Robichaud says, brushing past me and pushing Jasper aside. He has a rope in one hand, a looped noose in the other.

Mr. Robichaud swings the noose into the air above his head and tosses it out. It arcs unnaturally, but somehow lands right over her head and settles around her neck. He tugs the rope gently to tighten the noose, giving it one firm yank, which gets her swimming toward the boat.

“That was something else!” Jasper says to him. “Never seen that done on water before. Thank you, sir.”

“When did you learn that?” I ask.

“I wrangled cattle back in Ottawa Valley.”

“On a plantation? Or did you drive them?”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Mr. Robichaud says. “I’ll tell you about it if you practice English with Lucie.”

Jefferson warned me that Mrs. Robichaud is a chatterbox, but it would be nice to talk to another woman, which is something I can’t do without an invitation, not dressed as a boy. “I’ll do it,” I say.

When the ferry bumps onto shore, Jasper and Henry splash through the water to aid Athena. Her legs are wobbly, and she shakes with exhaustion and misery, but she manages to scramble up the riverbank with help and coaxing.

She’s just a cow, but I’m so glad she made it, and I look for Jefferson, wanting to share the feeling with someone. He’s already over by the Hoffmans’ wagon, helping them reattach the wheels.