We come to Fort Kearny two days later, which isn’t how I imagined a fort to look like at all. It’s no more than a small scattering of low buildings made of sod blocks. But the rooftops are bright green with grass, and they sit beside the lazy Platte as pretty as a painting. The soldiers stationed here are indistinguishable in clothes or character from the Missouri men in our own wagon train. Mrs. Joyner and several others drop off letters for family back home. We refresh our supplies, and the blacksmith shoes our animals and mends our wagon wheels. Peony’s shoes are worn thin, and it costs four dollars to get new ones. I make the mistake of counting what’s left: eleven dollars and forty-two cents. Staying a long time in Independence cost me dear.

“How’s the sorrel mare holding up?” I ask Jefferson the evening before we depart.

He shrugs.

Something in his face makes me peer closer. “Jeff? Does she need shoes?”

“She’s fine.”

“Our trail gets steep and rocky, and—”

“I said she’s fine!”

I reach into my pocket and fish out four dollars. “Get her shod. I know she’s not a barefoot horse, so don’t you dare say no. We need her sound.”

He stares at the coins in my hand. Sighs. Grabs them before he can change his mind. “Thanks, Lee.”

“You’d do it for me.”

I stare after him as he leads the sorrel mare toward the blacksmith’s stable, my pockets feeling light as air.

In the morning, we leave Fort Kearny behind, and it feels as though we’re stepping off the edge of civilization. The trail starts to incline, and the weather warms. I’m thirsty all the time. Still, we push on as hard as we can because the general word at Fort Kearny is that the cholera clears up past Fort Laramie.

Our train rolls by more shallow graves, most of them dug up. We make graves of our own when two of the Missouri men pass on in the night. I didn’t know them well, but I stand a long moment at their graveside, hat off, just like everyone else. Unlike everyone else, I stare at Jefferson the whole time, assuring myself that he seems as hale as always.

Mr. Joyner continues to improve, much to his family’s great relief, though he moves more slowly than before. The mood is better around our wagon, and at night, when we set up camp, I play hide-and-seek with Andy junior. He still wears my locket, like a good luck charm, and each time he hides, I pretend for a few minutes that I don’t know exactly where he is.