“This is good-bye, then,” he says. He takes one good last look at me, slowly from head to toe, which gives me an unpleasant shiver. “Though I suspect our paths will cross again. If you ever make it to California.”

As he strides away, he circles his hand in the air and shouts, “Wagons, roll out!”

Reverend Lowrey has been short on words around me lately, but he’s the first to speak now. “I came west to minister, so that the light of Christ might shine upon these miners, calling them unto salvation. God wills that I follow. But know that I will be praying for His blessing on the Widow Joyner as I go.”

He doesn’t give us any chance to argue. He hurries over to his own wagon, snaps his whipping stick over the oxen, and heads off after the Missouri men.

That leaves Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman and all their children. Mr. Hoffman’s hat is crumpled in his hand. “I’m so very sorry,” he says.

“Vati, bitte,” Therese pleads, and I don’t know how anyone can say no to those big blue eyes. She puts her hands on Doreen’s shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of her sister’s head. “We should help those who have helped us,” she murmurs.

“Es tut mir sehr leid,” her father answers.

Everyone looks to me for a reply. Somehow, I’ve become the official spokesman for the Joyners.

The Hoffmans’ oxen are weak. Any delay puts them in danger of not making it across. “You must go, for the sake of your little ones.”

He nods, and I know that he was going to go anyway, regardless of anything we said. He herds all his children toward their wagon. At the last second, Therese runs back to us. She throws her arms around Jefferson, who hugs her fiercely. She grabs me next, squeezing like she can’t bear to let go. I cling to her, unable to say “good-bye” or “good luck” or even “be safe” because of the tightness in my throat.

She steps back, blinking away tears. “I will be very angry if I don’t see you in California.”

Therese darts away before we can respond, and I barely glimpse Mrs. Hoffman and Therese looking back over their shoulders before darkness swallows the whole family.

A moan drifts out of the wagon.

“Coming, Mrs. Joyner!” I holler.

Quickly, the six of us gather around—Major Craven, the college men, Jefferson, and me. “As much as I hate to admit it,” I say. “Frank had a good point.”

“On the top of his head,” Jefferson says.