He waves his hand dismissively. “Every road will take you to Independence if you choose the right direction and keep on going till you get there.”

“But which direction is the right direction?”

He points ahead. “If you go down to the river and turn north—”

“I don’t want to go that way.”

“If I had any maps, I’d sell you one. Huh.” He rubs his whisk-broom beard. “Maybe I should load up on maps.”

“Can I go that way?” I point in the direction he’s just come from.

He pulls up short and twists in his seat. “Head west and ask folks for the road to Charleston. You can make it there by lunchtime. Go to Mrs. Moore’s boardinghouse on Market Street if you need a place to stay, and tell her that—”

“Where do I go from there?”

He sighs. “From there, you’ll head west to Sikeston, Poplar Bluff, and then Springfield. There are a lot of towns along the way, but if you remember those, it’ll get you in the right direction.”

“Sikeston, Poplar Bluff, Springfield.”

“When you get to Springfield, you make a quarter turn to the right and head north. That’ll get you to Independence.”

“Thank you, mister. I sure appreciate it.” Charleston, Sikeston, Poplar Bluff, Springfield, Independence. I tip my hat to him and turn Peony back around. I almost feel hopeful again.

“It’s more than four hundred miles!” he shouts at me.

“Then I better get started!” I shout back.

“Good luck.”

“Good luck to you too, mister!”

Four hundred miles is nothing. I’ve traveled farther than that already. I’ll reach Independence by early March, find Jefferson, and leave with one of the first wagon trains of the season. If everything goes well, we’ll be in the gold fields of California by the end of summer.

An hour later, clouds roll in, and a cold rain falls, soaking me to the bone. Peony slogs through fetlock-deep mud. By the time we reach Charleston, my head feels thick, and it hurts to swallow. I’m far away from Georgia now, and more than willing to spend the twenty cents I can’t afford to pass the night in Mrs. Moore’s public boardinghouse, but it’s already full up with folks heading west.

I keep going until nightfall, when I find a farmer willing to let me sleep on the floor in front of his hearth.