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crushed, and Joss wasn’t thrilled he’d squandered money on a ticket that wouldn’t be used, but they couldn’t wait for Tarsie. He’d told her eight o’clock. Wasn’t his fault she couldn’t follow directions. With a resigned huff, he heaved himself into the car.

    Tarsie collided with a wall of steam. Temporarily blinded, she ceased her headlong dash. Agnes’s tattered carpetbag, which she’d traded for Tarsie’s good pair of shoes and the quilt off her bed—an uneven trade, to be sure—bounced against Tarsie’s knees, throwing her off balance. She staggered two steps to the side, coughed, then squinted and plowed on through the steam. Just ahead, a conductor waved a tarnished brass bell by its wooden handle. She dashed to his side.
    â€œExcuse me, sir, I’m not in possession of a ticket, but—”
    The man gave her an imperious look. “If you don’t have a ticket, you can’t board.”
    Panic seized Tarsie’s breast. “But I must be boarding, sir! My friends and me, we’re going to Kansas!”
    â€œNot without a ticket you ain’t.” He took hold of her arm and steered her toward the depot.
    A tap-tap-tap captured their attention. The conductor halted and looked upward, as did Tarsie. To Tarsie’s great relief, Mary peered at them through a passenger-car window. She gestured with both hands, her meaning clear: Stay put! The conductor growled under his breath, but he hesitated long enough for Joss to burst from the car’s doorway.
    Joss held a square of paper in his hand. “I’ve got her ticket. Let her come aboard.”
    The conductor looked Joss up and down. Seemingly deciding he’d rather not tangle with the big man, he abruptly released Tarsie’s arm. Without a word of apology, he gave his bell a swing and plodded on.
    â€œWhat kept you?” Joss grabbed Tarsie’s bag and herded her toward the step. “You worried Mary half sick.”
    Tarsie lifted her skirts out of the way and struggled to mount the high step. She’d donned two dresses beneath her black cloak, and she felt thick and bulky. Joss let out a huff and caught her elbow, giving a push that launched her onto the little platform. She gasped in surprise and skittered out of his way as he leaped up behind her, his motions as lithe as a cat’s.
    Still panting from her wild dash to the station, Tarsie leaned against the doorframe. But Joss didn’t give her time to rest. Once again grasping her elbow, he propelled her through the narrow aisle to a tall wooden booth where Mary, Emmy, and Nathaniel crowded together on a green-velvet-cushioned seat. The children smiled greetings, and Mary reached both hands toward Tarsie. “Oh, Tarsie, thank the good Lord you made it.”
    The conductor bustled up the aisle with a wide-legged gait, the bell sticking out of his pocket. “Sit, sit! We’re leaving the station.”
    Joss tossed Tarsie’s bag onto the floor, then plopped onto the bench opposite his family. He filled the half near the window. Tarsie looked uncertainly at the open space beside him. Was she to share a seat with Joss?
    Mary released a soft laugh. “Here. You sit with the children.” As stiff as an elderly woman, she eased out of her bench and slipped in beside her husband.
    A high-pitched whine sounded, followed by a chug-chug, and the train lurched. Tarsie, turning toward the bench, was thrown smartly onto her bottom in the spot Mary had abandoned. Emmy and Nathaniel hunched their shoulders and tittered. Tarsie flashed a grin at the pair. The train picked up speed, and both children clambered onto their knees to peer out the window and wave at people standing on the platform. Joss sunk low in the seat and tugged his hat over his brows, his furtive gaze aimed at the passing crowd. Tarsie had no one to bid farewell, so she looked across the narrow gap to Mary.
    Mary smiled, her lips