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one. But Seth has. Zilah, at least. She's acting strange, he says.”
    “Left without telling me this morning. That's certainly not like her,” Suzanne said. “And she's never taken Clayton without saying. The baby'll be awake soon.” She reached for the bodice of her wrapper, the mere mention of the baby's waking causing her breasts to ache at their fullness.
    “Have Pig take you to the morning fire. Lura has one going beside her tent. Maybe Mariah has Clayton—oh, there he is!”
    “Where?”
    “That's odd.”
    “What?”
    “Zilah has him. They're out in the sand. Maybe he has to do his necessary thing. Are you training him, Suzanne? He's sitting down it looks like.”
    “I didn't tell her to do that. It's not safe, is it? Aren't there snakes and stickers?”
    Suzanne heard Mazy's intake of breath. “What is she doing?” She clutched at Mazy's arm. “Tell me! Mazy?”
    “Mother! Seth! Come quick!”
    Suzanne heard her son wail. “What? What's happening?”
    “Oh, Lord, please,” Mazy whispered. “Zilah's—wait here!” Mazy peeled Suzanne's gripped fingers from her arm before Suzanne heard Mazy turn and run.

    Boy making too much noise, too much. Follow all time. Put him by flower in garden, phnt him. Water him. Make him wait, grow up, leave Chou-Jou be.
    “No cry! You bad boy. Scare Chou-Jou. No hit Chou-Jou when walk by wagon. No hide! You stay in garden now. You stay. Sit dow. Sit dow!” The desert sand tripped her, made her feet heavy. She yanked at the boy, forced him hard again to his bottom, his wail piercing her ears. “No cry!” she screamed. “No cry!” She struck at the boy but he moved, quick like a fox. No, like a snake. He slithered between her legs, crawling, crying. She spun around. She couldn't see him; her eyes were filled with tears, her mouth, too, so many tears. She choked, coughed. She rubbed her hands across her lips, looked at the back of her palm. Allwhite and foamy now. She felt Clayton move. She grabbed the boy's feet, held him, pinched his ankles. She could not breathe, not swallow. She looked up.
    Sun, all yellow, mean good luck.
    She squinted toward a noise at the wagons. Hot. Snakes run toward her! One wears hat, walks upright, calls her Zilah.
    Not Zikh! Who Zikh?
    She could not breathe. Her heart pounded. Strike back! Stop snake on ground, snake up tall Stop, stop. Her world turned black, then white.

3

    Near the Decision Point, along the Oregon Trail
    The horse stomped impatiently. The man yanked at the reins, and the horse, resisting, danced sideways. The animal spun around, twisting the lead rope of the pack mule. Zane jerked the lead over his head, spurring, and yanking on the leather reins. “Headstrong, are you?” he said. “No challenge for me.”
    In time, the big gelding tired, shook his head, and snorted. He stood, tail twitching. Behind them, the mule brayed.
    “Much better,” the man said. “Thought you'd know by now.”
    The sorrel lifted his head up and down, jangling the bit and cheek pieces. The animal pawed at the hard dirt but didn't dance.
    The man stared then at the sign. It was handwritten in her pen. It seemed odd to see the loop of her letters here at the point of decision where people either chose the Oregon Territory or headed south to the States, to California.
    It was his own name written on a piece of broken bed slat, written with a pen she'd held, a sight he had not seen for five years. Zane Randolph, your family has gone to Oregon, it read.
    Not likely, though she was honest to a fault. It was one reason her testimony against him had been believed, he imagined. But she wouldn't have told him the truth about Oregon Territory. No, he'd find her inCalifornia. He didn't know where or when, but he knew he would. He swallowed in anticipation and smiled. She knew he was following her, had foolishly hoped to turn him north. That was good. He heard the sucking of his breath and cursed. He had to change the habit. He was free now, free of