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white in an equally colorless face. “Did you find it difficult to leave your employ?” Sympathy tinged Mary’s voice.
    Tarsie considered Mr. Garvey’s fury—ear-singeing expletives followed by a wheedling series of threats—when she’d told him she’d be leaving. When those tactics failed to sway her, he’d set her roommates to condemning her for leaving them holding her share of the rent. Then he’d insisted she honor her responsibility to clients who’d commissioned articles of clothing. By putting off sleep, she’d managed to complete the lace-bedecked shirtwaist and sweeping multilayered skirt for one of Mr. Garvey’s most particular patrons. The past days had been her most trying since her arrival in New York with her great-aunt a dozen years ago. But she gave Mary a warm smile. “Not at all.”
    â€œGood.” Mary yawned, wriggling into the corner of the bench. Even before the view outside the window indicated they’d left the city behind, she was sound asleep.
    Tarsie watched Mary, noting her white, firmly set lips. She’d crossed her arms over her middle and her thin hands gripped folds of her loose dress. Her brow remained puckered, as if unpleasant dreams held her captive. Even in sleep, Mary didn’t relax.
    Tarsie’s stomach twisted in worry. She faced an arduoustask, nursing Mary back to health, but her herb packets were tucked safely in the carpetbag at her feet. Now she’d be with Mary every day, not just once a week, giving her better opportunity to minister to her friend. During their journey, she’d ply Mary with slippery elm or perhaps cardamom to increase her appetite, ginger and garlic to improve her constitution, and goldenseal to prevent further illnesses from taking hold.
    The train rocked, an occasional whistle blast drifting through the crack in the window. Tarsie settled more comfortably in the seat, her plans lifting the burden of worry. By the time they reached Kansas, Mary would be hale and hearty. She’d see to it.

    Mary leaned over the spittoon provided by the conductor and retched until what little she’d eaten for supper found its way up again. Even if Joss begged, she would refuse food until they’d left the train. Hunger would be far easier to bear than the nausea the train’s rocking created in her belly. Completely spent, she collapsed into the seat.
    Tarsie pressed a handkerchief into Emmy’s hands. “Go dip this in the water bucket, darlin’, and bring it back for your mama.” Emmy scampered up the aisle, and Tarsie leaned in close to Mary, touching her forehead with the backs of her fingers.
    Even through her watery gaze, Mary read the deep concern on her friend’s face. She forced herself to smile. “You needn’t look so guilty. My sickness isn’t due to your cooking.”
    Tarsie didn’t laugh. “The sandwiches we’ve purchased from the conductor haven’t been the freshest, but they’ve not made the rest of us sick.” She shook her head, her brow furrowing. “My ginger tea should be settling your stomach, but you’ve not kept down a bite since we left New York. Three days of heaving!” She leaned closer, her gaze briefly flicking towardJoss, who leaned toward the opposite corner of the bench as if afraid of contracting whatever illness plagued his wife. “Could you be with child?”
    Joss sat bolt upright, his horrified gaze landing on Mary’s face. Mary started to reply, but Emmy bounded over and shoved the dripping handkerchief into Tarsie’s hands.
    â€œThank you, darlin’. You’re a big help, you are.” Tarsie began dabbing at Mary’s cheeks and mouth with the moist cloth.
    Emmy climbed back into the seat next to Nathaniel and engaged her brother in a finger game. While Tarsie ministered to her, Mary watched the children, an anguished lump in her throat. As much as she’d