“We have to get them out of here,” Tom says. “They’re so sick now. It’s only a matter of time before Dilley kills the rest, with Hiram Westfall and Abel Topper looking on and doing nothing to stop it.”

“How?” I ask. “What do you want me to do?”

“We don’t know yet,” Tom says.

There’s a silence, and then Muskrat says, “We need a distraction. Something like one of the feast days at the mission. Like Estanislao used to make.”

“Who was Estanislao?” I ask.

“A great leader of the Yokuts tribe, and an alcalde at Mission San José. When Spanish rule became cruel, he led an army and attacked the missions. The Yokuts followed him, the Chumash, others, including my own father. Because Estanislao had been an alcalde, he knew exactly when the missions would be distracted and easy to attack.”

“There might be a thanksgiving celebration,” Tom says. He looks at Muskrat and Mary. “It’s a harvest feast. Not everyone observes it, but Hiram might. I’m pretty certain Reverend Lowrey does. He mentioned it during one of his sermons when we were on the trail.”

“Hiram and my daddy were raised near Boston,” I say. “It was something we always celebrated in our house. So I bet Hiram will observe it, if only because it’s a chance to show off how important he is to everyone else.”

“Hiram ordered extra supplies, including whiskey,” Mary said. “Very special. Locked up. We are not supposed to touch them before he orders it.”

“That sounds like thanksgiving,” Tom says.

“So when this harvest feast happens, we escape,” Muskrat says.

“That’s a when, but not a how,” Jefferson says. “We still need a plan.”

I nod. “We should get a message to our people in Glory. If the Major and Jasper and Becky knew we were held prisoner, they’d come after us.”

“And get themselves killed or end up just like us,” Jefferson says.

“He’s not wrong,” Tom says. “But if we don’t come up with a good plan, or if things go awry, that might be our only hope.”

I think of the Joyner children, sweet Andy and little Olive and the tiny baby girl who doesn’t even have a name yet. I think of Hampton working so hard to buy his wife’s freedom, and the Major pining for my friend Becky while doing everything he can to help. I remember Therese, her skin burning in the desert, and that gives me a flash of Martin, lying on the ground, unable to move, whispering his last words. I shiver. I don’t want to put my friends in danger again. Not for anything.

“So what do you want me to do?” I ask.

“Listen,” says Mary. “Watch.”

“For now,” Tom adds.

“And don’t give anyone your water,” Muskrat says, in a scathing enough tone that I guess he figures me for a dimwit who’s bound to do something stupid, no matter what. But I see his point. The first time I acted impulsively, a man died. Muskrat and Mary have been here longer, have been planning longer, and maybe the best thing I can do is trust them and listen to what they say.

“Will we meet again?” I ask. “It’s not easy to sneak out—”

“It’s harder for the rest of us,” Mary snaps. “Trust me on that.”

I clamp my mouth shut. How did they all manage to sneak out for this meeting? My uncle said something about Jefferson and Tom being tied up at night.

“We need to get back,” Jefferson says, and Tom nods. “Working in that slimy mudhole is hard enough without a good night’s sleep.”

“You’re sure you’re both all right?” I ask. “Are they hurting you?”

Mary frowns at me, and I realize I’ve messed up again. The foremen are whipping the Indians, even killing them, and all I can think about is my friends. I glance at Muskrat, but he is looking away from me, into the darkness.

“Nothing we can’t handle, Lee,” Tom says, but his voice lacks conviction.

“Next time we are to meet,” Mary says, “I’ll signal by cooking cornbread biscuits with bits of apple for breakfast.”

“Okay. So, in the meantime, I just watch? And listen?”

“That’s our brilliant plan,” Jefferson says. “For now.”

“We know when we’re going to do it,” Tom says. “So we all sleep on it and figure out how.”

“Come for a visit,” Muskrat says, in a calm, quiet voice that is more of a command than an invitation. “Ask your uncle to show you. You should see.”

He doesn’t need to say what I should see. He wants me to witness the condition of his people, to understand how they are suffering. “Okay.”

“Now, we leave,” Mary says. “One at a time.”

Muskrat gives her a quick nod and then backs away into the darkness of the trees before anyone else can move. He’s in the most danger, so it makes sense for him to go first.

“My turn.” Tom reaches up and clasps my shoulder. He opens his mouth to say something, but changes his mind. He leaves, creeping around the stable, in a direction opposite to Muskrat’s.

“Leah, go,” Mary orders.

I start to tiptoe back toward my uncle’s cabin, but a hand grabs my arm and spins me around. Jefferson yanks me against him and leans down, breathing into my hair. “Stay safe, Lee,” he whispers. I could stay here like this forever, his chest warming mine, his lips against my scalp.

Instead, I wrap my arms around him and squeeze tight for the barest moment before reluctantly letting go. “You too, Jeff. I . . .”

“You what?”

“Just be safe.”

He regards me quizzically as I back away, and I stare at his precious face until I’m distant enough that not even the moonlight can help me make sense of it.

I crouch down and hug the shadows, hoping I’ll return as easily as I came. But my neck prickles all the while, as though spying eyes are watching my every move.

Chapter Sixteen

I make it back without incident, and I sneak inside with only the barest squeak of the door. I lower my slop bucket gently to the floor of my bedroom. Even after I’ve shucked my boots and pulled the quilt over my shoulders, my pulse races and my mind is too busy for sleep. It’s near dawn when I finally drift off.