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the wagon’s seat and grasped the reins. Following the lead of the other wagons, she spoke softly to her team and urged them into the water. The river was shallow, coming no higher than the lower spokes on the wagon wheels. But the thick muck oozed and sucked at the mules’ hooves, forcing them to strain against the harness.
    Some of the heavier wagons became mired in mud as wagon wheels were caught and held fast. The Garner wagon, carrying Nancy and Jed Garner and their young son, Timmy, was soon bogged down in muck that resisted all attempts to free it. While the others watched from their position in the long procession, Rourke and Thompson and the scout Brand examined the Garner wagon to find a way to extricate it.
    While they waited, Violet climbed up front to sit with Abby.
    “What seems to be the problem?” she asked.
    “Garner wagon’s stuck.” Abby wiped her forehead and replaced her hat.
    “Oh no.”
    At her aunt’s exclamation, Abby turned. “What’s wrong?”
    “It must be the piano.”
    “Piano?”
    “Nancy Gamer insisted they bring along her family’s Spinet. She made Jed promise they would never leave it behind, no matter how heavy a burden it proved to be.”
    “They’re holding up an entire wagon train for a piano?”
    Violet’s voice held a note of sympathy. “It isn’t just a musical instrument, child. It’s a piece of her past. Something to prove that her life wasn’t always just dust and heat and backbreaking labor.”
    Abby thought of her aunt’s little chest in the back of the wagon, filled with lace and ribbons and bits of fine fabric. She was glad she’d persuaded her father to take it along. To Violet it contained so much more than sewing remnants. It was her aunt’s testament to a better way of life, a life of gentle culture, of shade trees and lemonade, of church choirs and Sunday picnics. A life they had left behind and might never see again.
    “Nancy Garner is such a lady,” Violet sighed.
    Abby absentmindedly nodded her head in agreement. Ever since they’d joined the wagon train, Aunt Vi had held the Garners up as the model young family. Jed was hardworking and ambitious. Nancy, always dressed in clean gingham, her long dark hair pinned in a perfect little knot, walked submissively alongside her husband’s wagon, keeping an eye on their young son. They were a handsome, cultured family, who had plans for a long and prosperous life in California.
    Hearing shouts and crying, Abby stood on the hard seat and watched in horror as the men struggled under the weight of the piano. Pressing their shoulders to the task, they managed to shift it to the edge of the wagon. Without ceremony, they shoved it over into the river. While the young wife let out a wail, her husband drowned out her cries with a shout to the team and a crack of the whip. Relieved of their burden, the team easily pulled the wagon ahead. The young wife watched from the back of the wagon, her eyes streaming with tears, a handkerchief pressed to her mouth to stem her weeping.
    One by one the rest of the train followed. As each wagon passed the submerged piano, the passengers stared at the scene, then turned their heads away. Every wagon carried something precious, something that might yet have to be sacrificed to this harsh land.
    As their wagon passed the piano, Abby glanced at the mud gurgling over the keys, spilling into the top of the instrument to rust the wires and soak the precious wood, and felt tears sting her eyes. Glancing at her aunt’s white face, she averted her gaze. It was only a piano. A piece of one woman’s history. Yet for the moment, they shared the pain of her loss. What price would they all be forced to pay before they reached California?
    As Violet retreated to the back of the wagon, Abby viciously cracked the whip and cursed the team. It gave her no measure of satisfaction to vent her anger on the silent, plodding beasts.
    Fort Kearny, Nebraska, was the first real concentration of