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parents just how self-controlled their elder daughter could be.
    At least while anyone was around to see her.

four
Daisy, Tennessee
February 1836
    The stagecoach driver jerked the door open, startling the passengers from various stages of slumber. “We’re at Poe’s Crossroads, young lady.”
    A blush crept into Iris’s cheeks as she tried to understand why the coachman was beckoning toward her. “But I’m supposed to be going to Daisy, Tennessee.”
    The driver rolled his eyes, showing his disgust for her ignorance. “They’re one and the same. Daisy’s the name of the town, but this is the crossroads where the stage stops. Did you expect me to take you to your doorstep?”
    Reassured, Iris inched forward, trying not to jostle the sleeping child on her right. Mr. Howington, the middle-aged gentleman sitting in the position opposite hers, offered her a hand. She had been miffed at Pa for treating her like a baby by asking Mr. Howington to watch over her during the overland trip from Nashville, but she had to admit that he’d made the journey much more bearable. When they’d stopped for meals, he’d been her escort. Each evening when they reached a coaching inn, he’d made sure that some other female—whether the innkeeper’s daughter or a female passenger—slept in the same room with her so that her reputation would be protected. If not for his persistence, on several occasions she would not have received fresh water to wash away the day’s dusty travel. He’d even shared his food with her on those days that the coachman had decided to press on rather than stop for a midday meal. But perhaps most importantly, Mr. Howington had always made sure she occupied the seat directly behind the driver. The other passengers had grumbled a bit since that position inside the coach endured the least number of bumps and jars, but they had backed down in the face of his firm insistence.
    “Thank you so much, Mr. Howington.” Iris allowed him to pull her forward until she could stand up, albeit with a rather hunched stance. “I can never repay your kindness.”
    “That’s quite all right, Miss Landon. I would only hope some other gentleman might do the same favor for any daughter of mine.”
    In the crowded interior of the coach, Iris did not have enough room to give the dear man a hug so she contented herself with squeezing his hand. “Godspeed.”
    One of the other passengers yawned while a grouchy man frowned at her. “Would you go on and get out so we can get on our way? I’ve got to get to Washington before Friday.”
    Another blush suffused Iris’s cheeks. She had overheard the bad-tempered man offering a bonus to the stagecoach driver to get him to his destination early. Not only had that meant long days on the coach, it also meant she had a problem. Camie and her husband would not expect her to arrive tonight. As she inched her way past the feet, bags, and boxes of the passengers, Iris wondered how she would arrange transportation to their home.
    She stepped to the ground with a sigh of relief and took a moment to thank God for her safe arrival. A thump to her right made Iris jump back and stumble against the outside of the coach. Her trunk lay in the dusty road at her feet. A grunt warned her just in time. Iris looked up to see her portmanteau, the large case that held her dearest possessions, sail through the air to land neatly atop the trunk. She winced, hoping the bottle of expensive French perfume from Grandma Landon had survived the coachman’s callous treatment.
    Iris would have complained about his roughness with her items, but the coachman had already regained his bench on the front of the large coach. He whipped up the team of four horses without a backward glance, and the equipage careened around a corner and disappeared.
    “Well, I never.” Iris looked around her at the tiny town that was to be her new home. What she could see in the gloom of late evening was not inspiring. Only three or four