“Oh, yes, you could. You saved my sister, and you will wear them or I will feel bad.”

Still, I hesitate.

“Jasper cut yours off,” she adds. “You really need to take them.”

“I have something for you too,” Mrs. Robichaud says, pulling another bundle from an open trunk beside her. It’s a yellow calico skirt with a ruffled hem and enough pleats that I could ride Peony while wearing it.

“I’m sorry I don’t have petticoats to go with it,” Mrs. Robichaud says.

“That’s perfect for you,” Therese says. “You have those pretty golden eyes. Like tiger’s-eye gemstones, Jefferson always says.”

Jefferson says that about my eyes? “Well . . .” I swallow hard. “Danke, Therese. Merci, Mrs. Robichaud.”

“Call me Lucie.”

Therese ties the canvas tightly shut at the rear of the wagon, then she clambers over me and does the same at the front. “I’ll help you change,” she says. “We need to be careful of those bandages.”

I sit up, wincing at the sharp pain in my thigh.

“Jasper says no walking for you for a few days,” Mrs. Robichaud says. “You must ride in the wagon or on your horse.”

Therese holds up the drawers while I put my first leg through. “Why did you do it?” she asks. “Wear men’s clothes?”

“Uh . . .” I’m not sure how to answer.

Mrs. Robichaud—Lucie—says, “My sister married a voyageur, a trapper. They trapped along the Hudson Bay. She didn’t want to stay home while he went out hunting, so she sometimes dressed like a man and went with him. When he died from a hernie rupture—”

“A ruptured hernia?”

“That’s it, a ruptured hernia. She continued his work for several years. Lived with his sister.”

“It’s not like that,” I say.

“What happened?”

I open my mouth to spin a tall tale. With a start, I realize I don’t have to lie anymore. The truth is the perfect explanation. It’s a relief to say: “My mama and daddy were murdered.”

Therese gasps.

Saying it out loud brings back the images: Daddy lying dead on the doorstep, Mama propped against the woodpile, trying to breathe. “My uncle Hiram, Daddy’s brother, did it. He as much as admitted it to me, but he’s such a fine gentleman—rich, handsome, educated. No one would have believed me. And then suddenly he was my guardian and our whole farm belonged to him, and I didn’t know what he was going to do with me. . . .”

“Quelle horreur,” Lucie murmurs.