I make it as far as Sikeston before coming down with a fever, and I spend an anxious week burning up in a farmhouse near a place called Gray’s Ridge. Despite the family’s kind care, I rave something awful, fighting them constantly—first because I’m afraid they’ll find out my secret, and later because, in my feverish state, I mistake the father for Uncle Hiram. Even after my fever breaks, I find him hard to look at, with his long, fine nose and keen gaze. When I’m well enough to travel again, they’re glad to see me go, but not as glad as I am to leave. I give them two precious dollars for all the trouble.

It’s a cold, wet spring, with day after day of weather that can’t decide if it wants to be rain or snow. Many of the roads are quagmires, trapping wagons and blocking passage. It’s slow going, and I can’t make up lost time no matter how hard I try.

These hills are chock-full of pioneers who are making an enterprise of boarding westbound travelers. I almost always find a bed, a meal, or unasked-for advice in exchange for mucking a few stalls or splitting some firewood or—if I’m desperate—parting with a few pennies. When I get back on the road, I sometimes find a napkin full of cookies, or a little grain for Peony. Once, I even discover a tiny ball of lavender-scented soap tucked into my saddlebag.

In spite of the goodness all around me, the low clouds feel like a yoke about my shoulders, and the sky drizzles sorrow down on Peony and me as I slump over her withers. It gets harder and harder to smile at strangers, and each morning, I’m clumsy and slow about packing up and getting back on the road. One night, when I’m camped in a small glen after having shot a squirrel with my pistol, I’m finally able to put words to my misery.

I miss Daddy.

With the thought comes a flood of memory. The winter I was nine years old, Daddy announced that he would teach me how to hunt. Mama bundled us both up and packed all the jerky and hardtack we could carry and sent us on our way without wringing her hands once. Daddy and I hiked horseless into the woods and were gone six days.