Like a River Glorious by Rae Carson Page A

easier to take in than let out.”
    â€œI’m a dab at the needle myself,” Henry says. “I could help you.” He’s practically beaming, so pleased is he to present this gift to me.
    I swallow hard and blink. “It’s pretty,” I breathe, fingering the fabric. “The prettiest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”
    Tom and Jasper share relieved smiles.
    â€œIf you don’t like it, we got an extra,” Henry says, reaching into his own bag. “It didn’t seem right for you, but . . .”
    He retrieves a lavender calico dress, shakes it out, and holds it up against his chest.
    â€œThat’s big enough to fit you,” I say. “No, I like this one just fine. More than fine.”
    He grins and folds the other dress back up.
    â€œTwo boughten dresses,” I say, marveling. Seems like an overindulgence to me.
    â€œThe seamstress gave us a deal,” Henry says. “It would appear there are far more dresses than women in the state at the moment, one being easier to ship west, and the other less willing. But we might be able to trade it for something later.”
    â€œLet’s get all this unloaded,” Jefferson says. He wears an odd expression, like he’s trying to figure something out.
    â€œWe ought to find a dry spot for all that fresh ammo you brought,” Major Craven says. “And we need to build a henhouse before those chickens get any bigger.”
    â€œAnd I guess I need to learn how to work a stove,” Becky says.
    Everyone stares at her. It’s easy to forget she didn’t cook a day in her life before hitting the trail, at which point she only cooked over an open fire. Becky gives us a sheepish shrug. “Sukey, my slave in Chattanooga, always managed the stoves.”
    I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of my chest. It’s almost too ridiculous for words, that a grown woman could be so helpless.
    But Hampton is frowning. “Don’t look at me to help you with it.”
    â€œI . . . Of course not,” Becky stammers.
    The Major steps forward, rubbing his beard. “I’ve been around a woodstove or two,” he says to Becky, “and I reckon you and I, we can figure this out together. If you don’t mind me being in the way.”
    She smiles at him. “Thank you, sir.”
    Everyone helps unload and find places to store everything. Most of it goes into the lean-tos, a bit in our saddlebags. Barrels and sacks of foodstuffs remain in the cart, off the ground, which is rolled under a huge oak and covered in canvas.
    Jefferson is the only one who goes about the work with a sour face. His look is so dark, his motions so brusque and hurried, that I finally sidle up to him and ask, “Jeff?”
    â€œSee all this stuff?” he says with a sweep of his hand. “It looks like we’re rich already, and us only being here a couple of weeks.”
    Understanding is like a click in my brain. “Oh.”
    â€œPeople are going to start talking, no doubt about it. They’ll talk about how prosperous Glory, California, is. Miners will come from all over to stake claims nearby. Everyone will hear about the group of folks, women and children among them, with a half Indian and a Negro besides. And when they do—”
    â€œMy uncle will come to fetch me.”
    He nods. “If we don’t get robbed first.”
    I glance over toward the cart. Major Craven is using his crutch to shift some stones aside and pound out a flat area for the new box stove, his amputated leg swaying as he works. It’s a marvelous feat of balance. “I can do more with one leg than most men can do with two,” he always says.
    â€œPeople will recognize descriptions of the Major, too,” I say. “I couldn’t stand it if something happened to any of them.”
    â€œI couldn’t stand it if something happened to you ,” he says, his dark eyes suddenly intense