I had no idea packing up a whole house was possible—or that a dressing table could be considered essential. “Why didn’t you go the same way?” I ask.

He seems startled that I would dare speak to him, but he answers nonetheless. “And expose my wife and children to the harsh climates and rough heathen of Panama? Or the relentless waves of the Pacific? Never. Besides, the trip across the continent will be an adventure, something they’ll remember for the rest of their lives. Isn’t that right, Andy?” He tousles the boy’s near-white hair.

“Yes, Pa,” Andy says, but he gazes wide-eyed at the decking before him. The river is choppy with activity, which makes the boat pitch and sway. He slips a hand into his mother’s.

Mrs. Joyner is stiff beside her husband, and I’m put in mind of an egret, the way the woman’s senses are attuned to everything around her, the way she stands so pale and frozen, but perhaps ready to launch into graceful flight if startled. She squeezes her son’s tiny hand, saying, “It’s God’s will for America to cover the continent from sea to sea.” Her voice is soft, and it seems to have a question in it. “We’ll be part of something grand, helping spread civilization into the wilderness.”

“That’s exactly right, dear,” Mr. Joyner says.

I imagine civilization as a bag of seeds that she’ll be scattering along the roadside as we go. Like Johnny Appleseed. The thought makes me smile, but she glares at my grin like I’ve done something wrong.

“Come along, children,” she says, pointedly turning her back on me.

“Yes, Ma,” they chorus as she herds them aboard. I stare after them, wondering at “Pa” and “Ma.” I’ve never heard anyone call their parents that before.

“Hello,” someone says in my ear, and I whirl. It’s a gray-haired lady in sensible navy wool, with a straw hat and a patched satchel.

“I’m Matilda Dudley,” she says. “The Joyners’ cook. But you can call me Aunt Tildy.”

I tip my hat. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Lee.”

She chatters at me while I continue to load cargo, explaining all the ways in which she has served the Joyner family over the years, from tending their herb garden to caring for the children.

I don’t discourage her from talking, but her friendly prattle sets me on edge because the flatboat, which originally seemed huge, is shrinking rapidly. I don’t know how I’ll keep my identity a secret aboard this floating homestead, with all of us crammed in like sheep in a pen. How does anyone attend to their private business on a boat like this? What if I need to launder my shirt?

“That’s enough, Aunt Tildy,” Mr. Joyner interrupts finally. “No need to bore these gentlemen with ancient history.”