I’m plumb out of faith and courage. I don’t think I have anything left but stubbornness. Maybe that’s all I ever had. “Everyone’s afraid of something,” I tell her.

“Oh? What are you afraid of, Lee?”

I don’t have to think even one second. “I’m afraid of my uncle Hiram, the man who killed my parents. And I’m afraid of being alone again.”

Her smile is humorless. “And I’m afraid that my children will be alone.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re still with us.”

“So am I.” She sounds surprised by the fact. Then she looks up at the sky, where buzzards continue to circle. “For now.”

We take a rest when the sun goes down. The moment we stop walking, everyone collapses to the earth. Jefferson plunks down beside me, back against the wagon. He folds his arms on his knees and lays down his head.

Major Craven half jumps, half falls from the wagon bench. He hobbles a few feet and lowers himself to the ground to massage the back of his short leg. “Only one barrelful of water left,” he says.

One barrelful is not nearly enough for us and our animals.

“We should turn around and go back,” Henry Meek says. He lies on his back, staring at the darkening sky. “Before it’s too late.”

“Are you daft?” Tom says. “We’re more than halfway there. If we go back, we’re dead.”

“We’re dead if we go forward,” Mrs. Hoffman says bitterly. “If we go back, at least we know there’s water at the end of our journey.”

The Major shakes his head. “We’d never make it. We covered too much ground today, too fast, chasing after you and your family.”

“If your husband hadn’t run off after that Frank Dilley—” Henry starts, but Becky Joyner jumps in.

“They were just doing what they thought was best for their family!”

Her baby starts to wail. Jefferson raises his head for a moment, but then drops it back to his forearms, shutting the rest of us out.

“Henry has a point,” Tom says. “Therese would still be alive if—”

“Don’t you dare talk about Therese!” Mrs. Hoffman yells. Her son Martin jumps to his feet and strides toward Tom, fists clenched and murder in his eyes.

“Martin! Stop!”

It’s Mr. Hoffman, clambering, with Jasper’s help, from the back of the wagon. He is wan and haggard, with red blisters swelling his chapped lips. Becky’s baby wails and wails.

Mr. Hoffman sways on his feet. “What was that about Therese?” he asks. “Where is she?”

Mrs. Hoffman stares at her husband, unable to speak.

“She didn’t make it,” Jasper says gently.