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lay behind them. Frankie could finally stop looking over her shoulder.
    “Oh, the wagons are moving.” Charlotte wiped her eyes and stood on her tiptoes to peer at the line of wagons.
    Frankie’s belly fluttered. Oregon had been their only choice, and she had done everything in her power to make sure the Chastains made the trip west. Now that they were here, ready to leave, to embark on the longest, toughest journey of their lives, her heart had begun to beat again. Excitement jumped through her.
    A hush fell over the wagon train as Buck Avery stood tall in the stirrups. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted. He was a bear of a man, with dark curly brown hair and blue eyes. “Our first leg of the journey will begin here to the Kansas River Crossing, a little over a hundred miles. If anyone breaks down or needs help, please give us a shout, we’ll have riders up and down the sides of the trail.”
    The silence of the waiting group was only broken by the occasional shuffling of the oxen as they waited.
    “If there’s no more questions, we’ll be on our way,” said Buck. He turned his mount west and raised his right arm over his head. “Wagons ho!” he shouted.
    With that, the wagons began to move one by one.
     
     
    The dark stranger arrived in Independence under the cover of night. His bulky form slid into the hotel as quietly as a gust of wind. He stepped up to the counter, his hat hiding much of his face except for the bushy black beard on his jaw.
    The young clerk behind the counter stared at the man, goggle-eyed behind his thick spectacles.  
    “I need a room.” The command made the clerk jump about a foot in the air. The stranger was used to the reaction and counted on it. A poor Irishman had few choices, and he’d made his long ago.
    “Y-yes, sir. I’ve got one right on the second floor. It’s c-clean and only steps from the washroom.” The clerk’s hand shook when he held out the key.  
    The stranger slapped down two dollars and snatched the key. “The wagon train headed to Oregon still here?”
    “Um, they leave regular-like, mister. Right now there is one just west of town, but another left two days ago.” The clerk slowly reached for the money.
    The stranger squeezed the key in his hand. “The wagon train that left, was that led by Buck Avery?” That name was hard-won and cost him days of tracking his quarry.  
    The clerk’s eyes widened more, impossible as that seemed. “Um, y-yes, sir. It was.”
    “Fucking hell.” He pounded the desk with one meaty fist. “Where can I find a horse to catch the wagon train?”
    “I’d talk to old man Gunderson at the livery.” The clerk didn’t let go of the money, but he didn’t step back either. The boy had balls after all.
    Declan Callahan stomped up the stairs, his bag slung over his shoulder. He cursed his luck for arriving two days late. Damn it to hell. If he went back without the woman, he would be dead before he had a chance to tell his story to his boss. He had to catch them. There was no other choice.
     
     
    During the first week out, the mood at each night’s campfire was jovial and full of laughter. The four Chastain sisters snuggled together for warmth as they had done since they’d arrived in Missouri. Frankie, as always, sat in the middle with Charlotte tucked under one arm. Isabelle and Josephine were on either side. They were all different pieces and parts of their parents.  
    Maman and Papa sat on the other side of their small fire, his arm resting gently around her shoulders. They were affectionate with each other and their daughters, an unusual occurrence many people attributed to their French upbringing.
    However, Frankie knew that wasn’t the real reason. After meeting various French immigrants in New York, her parents were an anomaly amongst their fellow countrymen. Theirs was a true love match, one that she envied and at the same time wondered how she would survive such an intense relationship.  
    “Papa, tell