21
I WAKE TO THE LOWING OF OXEN. IN FRONT OF ME, West breathes softly, one arm tucked under his head. His shearling perfectly cocoons me.
I roll over slowly. Mist spreads out in fingers above us, like a drawer full of white gloves. Andy warms my other side. She grimaces, and then her face releases. Her hooked eyelashes tremble, and though she’s not awake, her hand clutches at the hem of her coat, like it’s a baby’s blanket. She is old enough to be a wife, a mother, yet a remnant of her innocence clings to her.
I was wrong to think I had nothing more to lose. If anything ever happened to her, I would feel responsible.
Her eyes flutter open. Making fists, she stretches out her arms, then smiles sleepily at me. Silently, we go for our morning rituals. A handful of pioneers are already washing by the river, which is so cold, it hurts to touch.
We dip rags into the water and wring them out. After we wipe our teeth, I yank up some wild mint growing by the stream and hand Andy a springy leaf to chew on. “What if you came with me to find Mr. Trask? And after that, we’ll search for your brother.”
“Isaac’s the only family I got. I can’t leave him waiting.”
“But Mr. Trask might give us proper supplies, another mule.”
“Actually,” she says slowly, “Peety said Princesa belongs to me.”
“He did?” I say once I recover my voice.
“Yeah. I didn’t ask for her, either,” she says. “Last night, after they told us we could we go with them, he said she and I were made for each other. Said he can tell by the way we carry ourselves—something like that. And then he said, she’s mine, as long as I promise to take care of her.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you right now.” She squeezes my wrist. “Listen, Sammy, you got you’s path to follow, and I got mine. Even if I went with you, you think Mr. Trask gonna let you leave with me, a runaway, to find another runaway? Especially with the law already chasing you?”
“He’s a good man. He’d help us.”
“He may be good, but he ain’t stupid.” She frowns at the water. Fish nip at mosquitoes, marring the surface.
“I still don’t think we should split up. What if you run into more criminals, like those Scots?”
She doesn’t meet my gaze. “Ain’t afraid of lawbreakers.” Her eyes stick on something in the dirt. “How long you think this bead’s been waiting on me to find it? Bet Tommy will like this one best.”
She hands me the barrel-shaped bead to inspect. It’s grooved along the sides and is smooth as glass. It looks Indian in origin.
I hand it back. “The Broken Hand Gang is still on the loose. Aren’t you afraid of them?”
“They only attack folks who got something to steal. And I won’t have nothing but myself. And now, this bead.”
“And Princesa.”
She gives me a stern look but doesn’t reply. I decide not to push further. For now. If I nudge the boulder each day, eventually I’ll get it up the mountain.
The boys are already up when we get back to camp. When West goes to wash in the river, I secure his coat to its usual place on the back of Franny’s saddle. I pray he didn’t see me bawling. Just in case, I pin a grumpy scowl on my face and gnaw on my bacon with extra gusto.
? ? ?
Soon, we join the endless stream of prairie schooners floating up the trail to Fort Kearny with their white canvas sails. I pull my hat as low as it can go over my head and fidget on my saddle as we crawl along. Dense grass on either side of the path means we can only go as fast as the wagon in front of us.
I glance back at Andy. Her eyes are unfocused, like she’s lost in thought. I hope that means she’s considering my proposal.
My attention returns to Cay, who’s memorizing lines he can say to French girls without being slapped.
“Je peux tu aider?” he says. “That one’s easy to remember. It sounds like ‘sh poo two a day’?”
“Use vous. You can’t be too familiar. A slap for certain.”
“Aw, heck, I’m gonna be black-and-blue by the time I catch one.” Cay steers Skinny toward a shallow stream that runs parallel to the main road. A screen of yellow grass grows tall enough to cut the wagons from view, except for their tops. The watery track proves cooler than the trail by a notch, and it’s more private.
“Why do you want to catch a Frenchie so bad?” I ask.
“It’s only natural, I’m part French. You gonna get yerself a China girl someday, right?”
I’d settle for just being a China girl again one day, but I nod.
“Long way to China,” says Peety from somewhere behind me. “Maybe you can find a nice girl here. Lots of Mexicanas in California.”
“You can’t joke like that, vaquero.”
“Not joking. I think Chinito can marry whoever he wants. If Europeans did not marry Aztecs, we would not have Mexicanos.” He thumps his chest, causing his buttons to jingle.
Andy angles her face toward me, an amused expression bending her eyebrows.
“Yeah but that happened way back when folks didn’t have choices,” says Cay. “It was either take the se?orita or row yourself back to Spain, and no one knew how to get back anyway. I think Chinito might be better off if he stuck to Chinitas.” Cay throws a glance over his shoulder. “Ain’t that right, West?”
West doesn’t answer, and I guess he’s too far back to hear. But then he says in a quiet voice, “I s’pect.”
His response cuts a notch off my posture. Of course it’s unrealistic to think he might feel differently.
“But that’s the problem. There’s no Chinitas here,” Peety tosses back, keeping his tone mild.
“Well, how’d Sammy’s daddy get a Chinese wife?”
“He had a matchmaker send him my mother from Guangdong,” I say.
“Like ordering a barrel of tea?” says Cay. “Is that legal?”
“No one complained.”