Like a River Glorious Read Free Page B

least until we found a nice amount of gold. We’ve been through too much, Mr. Hoffman said, to give up on one another. Besides that, Jefferson pointed out, people you can trust with your life are hard to come by out here in the West. “We’re family now,” Becky Joyner concurred. So after reaching Sutter’s Fort, we headed into the hills to find a prospecting spot that would allow us to stake adjacent claims.
    I almost told them the truth then. But keeping secrets is such a habit. Especially when your mama and daddy died for them.
    My new family has a right to decide whether to throw in their lot with a witchy girl like me who could get them all killed. We got lucky with those claim jumpers. If they’d been working for my uncle, we wouldn’t have gotten away with a single bullet graze.
    I glance at Jefferson, riding on the wagon bench. His hand grips the edge to brace against bumps. Everything about that hand is so familiar. The shape of his knuckles, the exact color of his skin. My eyes start to sting, and I have to blink fast to keep the tears back, because if anyone else got killed over my secret, it would break my heart into a million pieces.
    â€œWhoa!” the Major calls, and the wagon jerks to a stop. He sets the wheel brake and hops down. I knee Peony forward to see what’s halted us.
    The creek is dammed by a warren of branches and mud.Above the dam, the creek widens into the prettiest pond I ever saw, teeming with cattails and buzzing dragonflies. The pond’s headwater is a stair-stepped rapids, frothing white. There, a huge blue heron stands sentry like a statue, eye on the surface, waiting for his next meal to wriggle by. A lone grassy hill overlooks it all, well above the flood line, big enough to pitch a whole mess of tents.
    â€œGlory be,” Becky Joyner whispers, staring agape.
    Jefferson’s big yellow dog, Nugget, gives a delighted yip and rushes forward, scattering a whole mess of sparrows.
    â€œBeaver,” I tell Becky. “They always pick the nicest spots.”
    â€œBeaver dam means fish,” Major Craven says, with a fever in his eyes, same as my daddy always got when he talked of gold.
    Mr. Hoffman ambles over, frowning. “You sure there’s enough distance between us and those claim jumpers?”
    â€œThis is California Territory,” Tom says. “Can’t set up camp without taking a risk.”
    â€œBut if we make camp on that hill,” I say, pointing, “we can see folks coming at us. And we’ll set a watch, just like when we were with the wagon train.”
    No one protests. “Let’s get to work,” the Major says.
    We skirt the pond and head uphill, where we unload the wagon, let the animals out to graze, and start ringing a fire pit. We move fast and with sure hands; we’ve all done it a hundred times before.
    Hampton whistles jauntily, and Henry shares a joke and a laugh with the other college men. I’m the only one who sets about the work with heavy hands and a frown.
    We’re well enough into the mountains that some of the oaks have given way to conifers, and our evening fire smells sharp of pine wood. The dogs, Nugget and Coney, are exhausted from exploring, and they curl up together as near to the fire as they dare. The Major caught a whole mess of trout, and he showed Becky how to roll them in flour batter and fry them up, which makes for the most delicious meal we’ve had in months—especially since the Major had a hand in cooking it.
    I’m licking my greasy fingers clean when Jefferson says to everyone gathered around the fire, “Plenty of timber to be had. And this hill is sound.”
    â€œThe boys and I could have some shanties built in days,” Mr. Hoffman agrees. “Like the ones we saw along the river. Maybe even a cabin before winter.”
    â€œI’d dearly like a cabin for the little ones,” Becky says. Her baby daughter sits in her lap,