“I just want to get there, whatever way I can. I’ve been walking overland so far.” But I don’t want to keep on that way, and the sullen tone of my voice gives me away.

Red says, “It’s much nicer on the river. And faster. The current does all the work.”

Faster. I desperately need faster.

“Not all the work,” the rough man says. “I have to do a bit of it too, while the two of you are busy plucking strings and scaring off the fish.”

“Singing lullabies, making ’em easier to catch, you mean,” Red says.

“We could use another hand,” the rough one says. “Someone to do the unskilled labor on board.”

“For God’s sake, just don’t tell him you sing,” Red Jack mutters.

“I don’t sing at all, sir,” I hurry to say. I love singing, truth be told, but my singing voice would give me away as a girl faster than you could say Open your hymnals.

“That’s too bad,” the newcomer says. “So, if we give you victuals and transport—”

“For me and my horse?”

“For you and your horse, you do whatever work we need on the way.”

I don’t know what unskilled labor is, and I don’t care. There’s no way my uncle or Abel Topper or those brothers could follow me on a boat. And even though I can’t walk on water like the Lord, as Free Jim suggested, Peony and I can swim just fine. “That’s a wonderful idea, sir. I’ll ask the captain.”

Red and Joe share a chuckle. Joe picks up the empty plate and mug. “This is the captain,” he says to me in a low voice.

My face warms.

“Rodney Chisholm,” the captain says.

“Lee,” I reply. “Lee McCauley.”

“Pleased to meet you, and welcome aboard, Mr. McCauley.” He stands up. “This is just a trial, boy. A week from now, if you haven’t proved trustworthy and able, we’ll put you ashore.”

“Understood, sir.”

“This table and chairs get stacked in that nook.”

Seconds pass before I catch on. I jump up. “Yes, sir!”

I try to tuck all three chairs under one arm, but they slip from my grip and clatter to the deck. So I pick up two and run to put them away, then come back for the last.

The crew stands at the bow, smoking their pipes, watching me.

“Please tell me I was never that green,” Joe says.

“Ha,” the captain says. “Don’t let Joe fool you, boy. I signed him on to do unskilled labor too.”

“Thirty-four years old before I ever set foot on a flatboat,” Joe says. “If an old dog like me can learn it, you’ll do fine.”