"Cautious," Joe corrected.
"No, cowardly," insisted Emma. "Afraid to take a chance on anything. We took such a big chance, starting so late, with all the children. But Joe! I wouldn't undo it, not a single moment of it, not even the moments when I was miserable and angry and scared half to death! It's taught me so much about—about what courage can do." She turned to him. "I want to say something from the bottom of my heart, darling. I wouldn't have come if you hadn't made me come. And now, Joe, I want to thank you for making me come. Thank you, Joe." Her eyes were swimming. He laughed deep in his chest and blotted up her happy tears tenderly with the corner of her own kerchief.
"You weren't the only one who was scared half to death," he said simply. "I had a lot to learn about courage, too."
She put her head down on his shoulder and he drew her close. They sat, in harmony, watching the dying fire and making plans. Not far away sat Barbara and Ellis, clinging together, making their own plans, thinking ahead to their own home and their own children.
Inside the wagon, baby Emma cried out and they heard her turning restlessly in her sleep. The child cried again, and alarm mounted in Joe. He loosed Emma's hand and turned to listen. Emma spoke softly,
"She's been very fretful since noon, and didn't you notice that she ate very little?"
"No," and somehow Joe felt a great shame because of the admission. "I didn't. Is it the same fever?"
"Not yet, but I'm afraid it will be."
"It always came on in a snap of the fingers before."
"I know. But this is a little different."