“I have an idea!” Therese says. She runs back to her abandoned trunk and lifts out some linens, which she distributes to everyone who has thin gloves or no gloves at all. Jefferson gives her a grateful smile.

The remaining women and children skid to the bottom. I let Major Craven ride Peony down, on the promise that he’ll watch her for me. I remain at the top of the ridge, ready to jump in. Jefferson wipes sweat from his forehead and gives me a nod. But when I look to Mr. Joyner for permission to help, he ignores me.

“C’mon,” he says, clapping his hands. “One more wagon to go. Let’s get this done and get back on the road.” He whips off his gloves to study his hands. Scabs have ripped off, and when he wipes his palms on one of Therese’s linens, they come away bloody.

He re-dons the gloves and lashes the rope around the wagon’s tongue so it can be lowered backward. His hands tremble as he knots it, but his face has a fierce determination I’ve never seen before. This is probably the hardest he’s ever worked in his life.

They push the wagon over the lip of the ridge and let it start rolling. It slips forward and then jerks to a stop, slips and then jerks. Jefferson shoots me a worried look.

Permission be damned. I run to the end of the rope, behind Mr. Hoffman, who’s the biggest member of our group, and loop it around my waist and brace my legs.

The rope slips again and nearly pulls me off my feet.

“We have to slow it down,” Mr. Joyner yells.

Nobody answers. We just grit our teeth and strain as more rope slides through our hands.

Something crashes, splinters apart.

“No!” Mr. Joyner says. The wagon blocks my view, and I don’t dare let go to have a look, but I assume some bit of precious furniture has tumbled from the wagon bed.

“Hold on, hold on,” Mr. Joyner says. “I’m going to push that dresser out of the way so we can keep lowering it.”

“Andrew, no!” Mr. Hoffman yells. I grip the rope with all my strength. My heels start to slide. The veins in Mr. Hoffman’s neck bulge.

Jefferson yells, “Hurry!”

“Be careful, darling!” Mrs. Joyner shouts from the bottom of the slope, but she’s wasting her breath. She might as well tell a dog not to lick up its own mess.

“Almost got it,” Mr. Joyner calls out.

The rope slips again. “Get everyone out of the way now!” Jefferson hollers.