The gorge opens up, wider and wider. The cliffs give way to gentle hills. Our flatboat slows until it lazes along like it’s out for a Sunday buggy drive.

“Any damage?” calls the captain.

“We never hit!” Joe calls back. “Not even once.”

“Nice work, men,” the captain says, and his glance includes me, even though my only accomplishment was not getting washed overboard.

Red Jack stashes his pole and helps me to my feet. “So, how did you like your first trip down the Suck?” he asks.

It takes a moment to find my voice, but when I do, I surprise myself by blurting, “Very much, sir!”

He grins and slaps me on the back.

I’m alone in my sudden affection for white water, though, because now that things have quieted, I can hear the oxen lowing mournfully. Something crashes inside the cabin, followed by a long wail.

Aunt Tildy charges out, her face white and her hands shaking. “No, Lordy, Lordy, no, I’m not going one mile farther. You put me ashore! You put me ashore this second, or I’ll tell your mother.”

The rest of the family tumbles out after her.

Mr. Joyner’s cravat is askew, and he mops his forehead with a handkerchief. The children cling to Mrs. Joyner’s skirts, who is just as wide-eyed and white-knuckled as Tildy.

“Please don’t go, Auntie,” Mrs. Joyner says. “Who will feed the children?”

“Get Fiddle Joe over there to do it,” Aunt Tildy says with a wave of her hand. “Or learn to do it yourself, I don’t care. But Lord have mercy, I am not fit for this mode of travel.”

Captain Chisholm hops down from the roof. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he says. “Most of the river is as calm as a sleeping babe. We’re through the worst already.”

Aunt Tildy shakes her head. “I’m going ashore at the first landing, and I’ll make my own way back home if I have to crawl.”

“We should have brought one of the slaves,” Mrs. Joyner says to her husband. “Polly, or maybe Sukey. Surely your father would let us have Sukey? We can put ashore here, and the children and I will wait while you go overland to fetch her.”

My heart lodges in my throat. Waiting here on the riverbank, possibly for days, is the very last thing I want to do. We’re only a day’s ride from Chattanooga, where I saw Abel Topper. I hope he’s on his way to Kentucky by now, but I can’t be certain.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Joyner says. “I’ve read about these pioneers. They’re rugged, hardy types who solve their own problems, and we shall do the same.”

“Darling, you know I don’t cook! I am mother to your children, not some . . . not some . . .”

“There’s really nothing to it, ma’am,” Joe says.