The next morning, Fort Hall shrinks rapidly behind us. The animals have eaten their fill for the first time in weeks, if not months. The size of our company has doubled, because it now includes a group of settlers headed for Oregon, who will travel with us for a short while.

Major Craven tips his hat to me from the jockey box of the Joyners’ wagon. He took Henry’s suggestion, and Widow Joyner eagerly embraced it. That leaves me and Peony free to make our own way. I’m wearing Lucie’s skirt, but I have trousers on underneath so I can ride without raising too many eyebrows. Everyone I pass is cheerful and energized, waving and smiling.

Everyone but me. My return smiles are forced, and I find myself drifting farther and farther from the line of wagons, wanting a little open air to myself.

Jefferson and the sorrel mare come up beside us, and it’s fine as long as he’s quiet. Then he says, “Hey, Lee—”

“I don’t feel like talking or listening.”

“All right.”

I’m being unkind, but I can’t help it. I stare after him as he rides over to the Hoffmans’ wagon, and I’m screwing up my courage to apologize and explain, when he turns around and rides back, wearing a scowl as big as the western sky.

“They didn’t want to listen either,” he says.

I say nothing. I’m not sure I made the right choice in the Robichauds’ wagon. Now that I’m a girl, I’m treated like I’m nobody again, to be owned or herded or strung along, so helpless and awful that I must be redeemed or married off because it’s convenient for someone. And it doesn’t matter whether their intentions are wicked, like my uncle Hiram’s, or good—more or less—like Reverend Lowrey’s. It doesn’t even matter if it’s my best friend in the whole world.

It’s possible the person I’m most steamed at is Mrs. Joyner. She knew the reverend was going to propose. It didn’t matter that she desperately needs my help. It didn’t even matter that we have a contract. She was ready to hand me right over to that self-righteous son of a goat.

Just like the folks back home in Dahlonega. They were relieved when Uncle Hiram showed up to take charge of me and my homestead.

There’s not a place in the whole world where everyone isn’t willing—no, eager—to give a girl up to a man. I don’t want to be a boy again. I hate lying. But when I get to California, I might not have a choice—not if I want to belong only to myself.