Jefferson claps his hands. “Great. Can we start moving now?”

But I’m looking over his head at something I’m not sure is there. A silhouette in the distance. Skirts flapping in the wind. A woman staggering out of the shimmering mirage that is the horizon.

It’s Therese. After five months on the road together, I would recognize her from any distance. She stumbles, gets up again.

I leap from the wagon and start running.

Everyone’s else pounding feet are right behind me. I skid to my knees when I reach her. She vomits—a thin, yellow gruel followed immediately by dry heaving. One foot is bare and riddled with open sores. Her sun-scalded skin is hot and dry. I try to help her up, and I feel her heartbeat under my palms; it’s as rapid and tiny as hummingbird wings.

“Therese?” Jefferson says. “Therese! What’s wrong with her! Jasper—”

“Heat stroke,” Jasper says. “Quick, get her into the shade and give her some water.”

Jefferson lifts her by the armpits. I grab a leg; Hampton the other. She swings between us as we half walk, half run back to the shade of camp.

“‘Märchen von einem, der auszog das Fürchten zu lernen,’ ” she babbles.

“I don’t understand, Therese,” Jefferson says. “Tell me what happened.”

“It’s a fairy tale, silly,” she says. Her eyes meet mine, and her face gets a sudden clarity. She reaches out, as if to grab my arm but misses. “You have to help them.”

“Of course we will,” I say. We’re almost to the tent.

“The axle broke,” she says. “Everyone left us behind. Vati tried to lead on foot, but Doreen was too heavy. He fell. Please . . . help . . .”

Her eyes roll back, and fear stabs through me. “Where are they?”

“I really wanted to see California.”

“Therese, where are—”

She seizes. Her leg shakes out of my grasp and plops to the ground.

“Hurry!” Jasper yells. He directs us to lay her down and turn her onto her side, then he dribbles water over her skin.

“Therese,” Jefferson whispers. His hand snakes out and grabs mine.

We watch, helpless, as she convulses for several minutes. It’s like seeing a contraction all over again. Except when she finally stills, her eyes are wide and sightless, and no breath passes her lips.

“What happened?” Jefferson asks. “Therese!”

Jasper shakes his head.

Henry says, “She cooked to death in her own body.”

It’s not true. It didn’t happen. Not to Therese. But she doesn’t move. She doesn’t even blink. I can’t amputate the badness from her. I can’t run to her rescue. I can’t give her a golden locket to keep her safe.

Jefferson opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“What’s going on?” Becky Joyner leans over the edge of the wagon, her new baby cradled to her chest. Olive and Andy peek out at her waist.