Where the Lost Wander_ A Novel - Amy Harmon Page 0,9

more. They are a strange bunch. I amend the word immediately. Not strange. Frank. Forthright. They don’t lower their eyes or shift away like they aren’t certain whether they want to be seen with me.

“We meet again, Mr. Lowry,” a cheerful voice calls out. Naomi May, a brown paper parcel in her arms, skips over the rutted street, sidestepping man and beast as she approaches. I look away when she stops at my side as though we are old friends. She doesn’t loop her hand through my arm or brush against me as some women do, wearing innocence on their faces and conniving in their hearts.

“Miss May,” I say, suddenly winded.

“Her name is Mrs. Caldwell, Mr. Lowry,” Webb informs me. “But we just call her Naomi.”

I ignore the sinking sensation in my belly and step back, my gaze swinging back to the elder Mrs. May.

“When do you cross?” I ask, keeping my gaze on the older woman.

“The line is so long . . . but I think Mr. May has secured us a ride across on a scow.” The groove between Mrs. May’s eyes deepens.

“I saw a boat capsize yesterday, Mr. Lowry! The wagon and the people all went into the water,” Webb crows like he enjoyed the show.

“Don’t try to cross on the scows. If you don’t have anyone who knows the river, don’t swim your animals across. Go to Decker’s Ferry. It’s a bit of a battle to get to it through the trees, but there’ll be a pasture and a place for you on the other side to wait until your company has arrived—Whitehead’s Trading Post too, in case there are things you need once you’ve crossed,” I say.

“I’ll tell my husband. Thank you, Mr. Lowry.”

“Will you be crossing on Decker’s Ferry as well, Mr. Lowry?” Naomi chimes in.

“I’ll swim my mules across here. But I’ll be at Whitehead’s Trading Post on the other side tomorrow to assist Mr. Abbott where I can.” I still do not look at her, and I take a few steps back, not wanting to tarry any longer. I am unsettled, and she is unsettling.

“Then we will see you there, Mr. Lowry,” Mrs. May says, inclining her head, and I tip my hat in return. They all watch me go.

Jennie is dozing in front of the broad window, the rays of the setting sun softened by the fluttering white curtains she keeps drawn across the wide panes. Her Bible is in her lap, open, and her palms rest on the pages as if she is not napping but receiving revelation, communing with the written word. The bright light blurs the fine lines on her skin, and for a moment she looks younger than her forty-five years. My father is fifteen years older than she is, but it’s easy to forget the age difference when I’ve never known them independent of one another. She hears me, and her eyes snap open. Closing her Bible, she rises and sets it aside.

“John Lowry,” she says, greeting me.

“Jennie.” I’ve removed my hat as I’ve been taught, and her eyes move to my uncovered head.

“Your hair needs trimming,” she says, as though she’s just noticing and didn’t send my father after me. “I’ll get my shears.”

“I’m leaving tonight,” I blurt, a warning that I’ll not linger long.

“What?”

“I’m going to swim the animals across tonight. I’ll make camp on the other side. If I swim them across in the morning, I’ll waste daylight getting dry.” I have not planned any of this, but the words spill out smoothly, as though I have thought it all through.

“You’re leaving tonight? But your sisters will want to say goodbye.”

“I’ll be gone for four weeks—five at the most. I don’t need to say goodbye.” The last thing I want is a big send-off.

She leads the way through her immaculate kitchen to the back porch that overlooks the pasture behind my father’s stables. The mares are grazing with their little ones. We’ve had ten foals born in the last few weeks, ten Lowry mules that will be ready to sell next spring. But it is the mares I stop to admire. Some muleteers make the mistake of breeding their best jack donkeys with inferior horses. My father says, “It’s all in the mare. The best mules come from superior mothers. The jack’s important, but the mare is everything.”

So far he’s been right.

I sit down on the stool we always use. It sets me low so Jennie can reach, and my knees jut up