I almost glare back at him. Instead, I shift away from Jefferson, draping an arm across Therese’s shoulders, like we’re just two girlfriends out for a stroll.

“Thanks, Lee,” she whispers.

“If your daddy asks, I specifically requested your companionship, you being the only female of appropriate age with whom to keep company. You couldn’t say no.”

She nods solemnly. “It would have been rude.”

September days are still way too long. The heat is like a blanket on my skin, weighing me down and drying me out until finally the sun sets and the desert air starts to cool. The wagon train takes a short break to feed and water the animals, so we can push on through the night. We all have a few bites of the Major’s quick bread and sip some bitter slough water. I’m feeding grass to Peony when I hear my name.

“Lee,” Widow Joyner says calmly. Then frantically: “Lee!”

I run to the back of the wagon and peer inside. Her face is sheened in sweat that makes her look almost blue in the waning light. She pants like a dog in the desert, and a huge wet stain spreads out on the feather mattress beneath her.

“I can’t hold off any longer,” she says. “This baby wants to come right now.”

A whip cracks in the distance, and someone yells, “Haw!” I peer through the gloom toward the front of the wagon train.

Frank Dilley and the Missouri men are leaving without us.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Hold on,” I tell her.

Her hand darts out, and she plucks weakly at my sleeve. “Don’t go.”

The wagon already smells peculiar, and it feels too hot inside, too small. “I have to tell everyone,” I insist.

“Lee, please.”

My voice wavers as I say, “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Our three wagons are pulled together in a little triangle. “It’s her time,” I say, confirming what everyone already guessed.

Ahead of us, the Missouri wagons slow. But they don’t stop. Frank Dilley strides over to our group, thumbs stuck in his waistband. He squirts tobacco onto the ground at my feet.

“We can’t wait,” he says. “You’re better off leaving her behind with one of your horses. Take her little ones and go on without her.”

Major Craven shuffles forward and brandishes his crutch. “You think we should put her down too? Like you wanted to do to me?”

“We aren’t asking you to stay behind, Frank,” I say quickly. It’s not my place to speak for the group, but I can’t stand one more moment with him. “You do what you need to do, and we’ll do what we need to do.”