“That you are a young lady?” She waves her hand as waving it off. “Bien sûr. But you will be glad to know that Jasper fixed you. You had a bad slicing. From hip to knee. Never have I seen so much blood! The wagon wheel, I think. And you twisted your ankle, but it is not broken.”

I reach for my thigh and find thick bandages there. I’m wearing a long white shirt. Henry’s, I’d wager. My legs and feet are bare but for the bandages.

“How long?” I ask.

“Just a day. Jasper forced some laudanum into you, so you’d sleep. And so you’d stop bleating about your boots.”

I lurch up.

She puts a hand on my chest and pushes me back. “Don’t worry yourself. Jefferson wouldn’t let Jasper cut them. He insisted.”

“Oh. All right.”

“Mr. Robichaud and me, we take good care of you.”

It’s odd that I’m here instead of with the Joyners, who are my employers. Or maybe not so odd. They probably refused to help, once they knew.

“Merci,” I tell her. Merci. Danke. Thank you. It’s a good thing there are lots of ways to say such an important thing.

“I sent Therese to bring you some undergarments. It will be nice to see you in skirts, finally.”

I gape at her. “You knew?”

“Bien sûr.”

Her smile is kind, which does not reassure me. “How long have you known I’m a girl?”

“A woman. You’re a woman.” She pauses. “Since the first time I saw you, I think.”

“Oh, no.” I pinch the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. “Who else?”

“My husband noticed too. The college men—”

I wince. “I thought they might have figured it out. Back when we took off the Major’s leg. Did everybody know?”

“No, that’s all.” She frowns. “Reverend Lowrey says he knew all along, but I think he does not tell the truth.” She sits across from me in the tiny space and folds her hands on her lap. “And of course, Jefferson.”

“We grew up together.”

“Yes. It is obvious. You do things together without words. Like the way you went for Doreen while he went for the oxen. You would have much worse than a gash if not for that young man.” She reaches forward and strokes my cheek with a forefinger. “Poor chérie.”

A thump on the back of the wagon makes me jump. Therese’s head pops over the edge, and she tosses a bundle of frilly fabric into the wagon. She sees me awake and gives me a relieved smile.

Mrs. Robichaud grabs the bundle and shakes it out, revealing white drawers with lace trim and a ribbon tie of yellow silk. They don’t have a speck of dirt or the slightest wear at the hem. Therese must have been saving them.

“Therese, I couldn’t.”