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demonstrating the proper placement of the yoke, traces and cinch. By the time they were done, Tom was nearly bouncing up and down in the saddle with impatience.
    “It’s time, Malloy. My brother’s about to call the start.”  
    With one last pat on Arthur’s head, John swung up into Blue’s saddle and headed for Buck Avery. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. This was not only the beginning of the trail for these pioneers, it was the beginning of his final trail ride.  
    Finally. John Malloy would get his piece of land. He could hardly wait.
     
     
    Frankie stood beside the wagon, vaguely listening to her sisters chatter on beside her. She watched the rest of the wagons impatient to move as the Chastains waited their turn. They were toward the back of the line, their rig slightly ragged but serviceable. It had been what they could afford.  
    She shifted from one foot to the next, leaning against the canvas. Her thoughts drifted to John Malloy and the way he treated the old woman who refused to leave. Francesca didn’t blame her for not wanting to go. She was nearly ancient—there was little chance she’d survive the trip to Oregon. The family had made a choice, a difficult one, to make the trek to the land of milk and honey rather than wait another year. The old woman was a casualty of the family’s decision, as horrible as it was.
    John had treated the old woman like a lady, with respect and gentleness. Frankie didn’t need to see that side of him. She wanted to believe he was a silly man with little regard for women. Yet he had shown a completely different approach with the old woman. Perhaps it was for show, to get the woman settled so they could get moving this morning.  
    Her heart had performed a silly pittypat after watching Mr. Malloy with the old woman. Frankie wanted to hear that tone spoken to her, as stupid as that was. There was something about his voice that sent a skitter of awareness down her skin.
    “Don’t you damn well think so, Frankie?” Charlotte was dancing from foot to foot, her still boyish figure swallowed in a dress two sizes too large. Frankie recognized it as one of Isabelle’s that had been outgrown years ago. Charlotte never cared much for how she looked.  
    “Papa will spank you if he hears you cursing.” Francesca shook her head at Charlotte’s stubborn expression.
    “I don’t care a whit.” Charlotte stuck her chin in the air. “I’m nearly sixteen. I can damn well curse if I want to.”
    Frankie remembered being fifteen, being naïve and full of herself. Now at twenty-one, unmarried and wiser, not to mention cynical, she ached to be that innocent. Choices made and decisions never to be undone shaped her life.
    “Of course you can.” Frankie pulled her into an impulsive hug. “Do not ever change.”
    Charlotte pulled back and shook her head. “You sure are acting dotty. Hell if I know why.”
    Frankie laughed out loud, and it felt so good, she did it again. She took Charlotte’s hands and danced in a circle. Isabelle and Josephine stopped to stare, and even Maman peered at them from her perch on the wagon seat.
    “Francesca, cherie , what is happening?” Maman called.
    “I am happy to be free and on our way.” Frankie’s smile was genuine for the first time in nearly a year. “And although they drive me to distraction, I love my sisters.”
    “How interesting.” Maman gave her a small smile and disappeared from view.
    “Well, I’m not professing goddamn love for any of you.” Charlotte’s expression told the story. “There’s no chance in hell.”
    This time Josephine chuckled, then Isabelle tittered. Frankie held in another laugh until Charlotte’s expression melted into mirth.
    “You are ready for an asylum, Frankie. Crazy as a shithouse rat.”
    This time all four sisters laughed together until Frankie’s stomach hurt and tears squirted from her eyes. The future and potential happiness were ahead of them—dark times