5:30 PM

Carol agreed to Murphy's sleepover and accepted an invitation from Wohali for dinner. His cabin was no bigger than Sophia's, but his table—which was wood instead of stone—took up more space. Five mats were arranged around it, enough for him, Carol, Daryl, Rick, and Sophia. Dixon had not yet returned from the temporary camp.

An old woman, in apparently good health but likely in her early eighties, served them cups of water, corn pone, and steaming bowls of venison and butternut squash stew before leaving them to their meal and heading out of the cabin. "She your servant or something?" Daryl asked when she'd left.

"Everyone needs the dignity of work," Wohali replied. "To feel themselves a contributor to the tribe."

"She wash your skivvies, too?"

"Daryl," Carol warned. She understood the rivalry he must feel, but this was no way to encourage Sophia to leave with them.

"Just curious," Daryl muttered.

"Woya cooks for many people," Sophia said a little defensively. "Not just agidoda. She'll go cook for two more people now, and then eat at her daughter-in-law's table."

Daryl contritely backpedaled. "Stew's good." He pointed to it with his spoon. "Damn good. Sweet but hearty."

Koo, who sat on Carol's lap, reached for her spoon. "Can he have a little of the corn pone?" she asked Sophia. It might keep him from trying to grab her spoon. "If I break off a piece?"

"Sure. It's ground fine enough."

Carol broke a piece off and handed it to her seven-month-old grandson, whom she held steady with one arm while intermittently trying to sneak small bites of stew.

"Mnummnumnumn," Koo babbled as he gummed the bread.

"What's that word mean?" Daryl asked. "One you keep using? Aga-daba-doo?"

Sophia shifted uncomfortably on her mat. "Agidoda? It means father in the Cherokee language."

Carol watched Daryl's face fall, saw him try to hide the expression as he looked into his stew. He shoveled another spoonful into his mouth and swallowed so fast and hard it must have gone down stinging.

"What brings you to our lands to hunt?" Wohali asked, perhaps to deflect the awkward moment. "You're a long way from home."

"We had forest fires," Rick explained. "And our game ran west. We looked at a map and saw this was a state park at one time, with extensive forests and streams and a lake and valleys, and we figured it would be a great place for that fleeing game to settle. A good place to hunt."

"It is an excellent place to hunt," Wohali agreed, "which is why we settled here. And we can forgive this unannounced encroachment on our lands this one time, especially considering the forest is overpopulated this season and the herds must be culled to prevent starvation. But if you plan to return next fall, and you still have as many hunters as my scouts say you have today…well, then, the tribe will want to make sure you don't overhunt our lands. We'll need to discuss a hunting lease and bag limits."

"A hunting lease?" Daryl asked incredulously.

"The tribe owns these forests," Wohali insisted.

"Yeah?" Daryl shot back. "Who you buy 'em from?"

"We settled them. We are here."

"Agidoda," Sophia warned.

Wohali's tone grew suddenly less firm. "It's for the good of us all that we conserve these hunting lands, wouldn't you agree?"

"Course," Daryl replied. "But we ain't wasteful people. Know what we're doing."

"What would you want in exchange for a fall hunting lease?" asked Rick, playing the conciliator.

"Dixon told Tala you have orchards," Wohali replied. "We have only wild berries. Next time you come to hunt, bring us twenty jars of fruit preserves, and we'll lease our hunting grounds to you, within reasonable bag limits."

"Sounds fair," Rick said. "If you'll also lend us the help of one of your butchers so we can work quicker to prepare the game for transport?"

"Then forty jars of preserves."

"Twenty-five," Rick countered.

"Thirty."

"Twenty-five," Rick repeated. "We have a lot of mouths to feed ourselves."

"Do you speak for your council?"

"No," Rick admitted. "The coalition doesn't have a council. Each community does. Or something like a council. But our governments communicate with one another and work together, like we did for this expedition. I'm sure we can work it out by next fall. You'll get your preserves."

"Do you have a lot of fruit trees?" Sophia asked.

"Mount Vernon and St. Demetrios do," Carol explained. "Thirty trees between them—peach, apple, pear, and plum. And Alexandria has a handful. Everyone has gardens and chickens, but each community has its own specialty. We grow oats and potatoes. Mount Vernon has sheep and barely and corn. St. Demetrios has walnut trees and vineyards. Oceanside has a large fishing and crabbing industry. Hilltop has cattle and pigs and wheat and soybeans. The Sanctuary manufactures ethanol and ammunition and whiskey. We trade with each other, so we have a really good variety of food. And medicines. We even grow penicillin."

"So do we," Wohali countered, as though he thought maybe she was insulting what they'd accomplished here. "But we use a lot of native medicines, too, from the wild. Gooseberry and currant tea for sore throats. A decoction from the root for eye wash. Tea from the rootbark to expel intestinal worms. Juice from the milkweed to remove warts. Nettles to relive muscle pain. You can pick persimmon before the first frost and turn it into a syrup to treat diarrhea. I could go on."

"We could learn a lot form your tribe." Carol looked over Wohali's shoulder at a small, decorative wooden wall hanging with a hand-carved picture on it. "That's a lovely work of art. It's a Cherokee rose, isn't it?"

Wohali briefly glanced back at the wall hanging before looking at Carol again. "Yes. My late wife and one of my daughters created it together, many moons ago, before the earth groaned. It happened to be in my pack when we escaped Qualla. It's all I have left of them. There's a story behind the Cherokee rose."

"Of the mothers weeping for their children on the trail of tears," Carol said. "I know it. Daryl told me once." Daryl had told her the story of the jasmine when he'd given her that hunting knife and the story of the red rose when he'd given her that throwing knife. He'd told her the story of the Cherokee rose the spring after they erected Sophia's cross in Alexandria's graveyard. He'd brought home one of the flowers to lay on their daughter's grave. "He knows the stories of all the flowers."

Wohali looked at Daryl curiously. "You don't look like a man who would know the stories of all the flowers."

"Yeah, well I do."

"What's the story of the bluebonnet?" Wohali challenged.

"Little Comanche girl." Daryl rested his spoon against the side of his bowl. "Lost her family to drought. All she had left to 'member her parents by was a doll. Shaman said the spirits were angry, and the drought would end if folks would sacrifice their most prized possessions. No one was willing. 'Cept that little girl. She snuck away one night. Burnt that doll to ash. Next day, the rains began to fall. And the once parched countryside was covered with bluebonnets."

Wohali half-bowed his head to him. "A beautiful story, beautifully told." He turned his attention to Sophia. "A bittersweet tale. It could not have been easy for such a precious girl to make so great a sacrifice. That doll was her last link to her parents. But what courage she had! Such amazing courage to choose to sacrifice it. For the sake of her tribe."

Sophia swallowed. She silently picked up the last bit of her corn pone and dipped it in her stew.

8:00 PM

Sophia had nursed Koo and then handed him off to Carol to rock and sing to sleep, so that meant it was Daryl's solo walk time with his daughter. They strolled around the perimeter of the plaza, where people socialized and a few children still played. Six torches, spread around the perimeter, flickered to light against the darkness, and perhaps to keep the coyotes at bay. Daryl could hear them howling in the distance.

"How old is little curly haired Luke now?" Sophia asked. "Fifteen?"

"Sixteen, I think."

"And what about Mika? She'd be about nineteen now, right?"

"Yeah."

"Does she have a boyfriend?"

"Dated this kid Henry for almost a year, but they broke up."

"Why?" Sophia asked.

"They're 'bout the same age, but I don't think he was mature enough for her. Kid's kind of self-important, too. Then she dated Sam Anderson for a bit. But she broke it off with him, too. Thank God."

"What's wrong with Sam Anderson?"

"Just don't trust his genes," Daryl mumbled.

"His jeans?"

"Ain't from a good family."

Sophia laughed. "You're the last person on earth I would think would ever care if someone came from a good family."

"His father and big brother were both executed for rape."

"Oh," Sophia said.

"He ain't that way," Daryl hastened. "He turned out all right, I guess, all and all. Had a decent stepdaddy the last eight years." Tobin had married Jesse about a month before Murphy was born. "But Sam can be a whiner. Just rubs me the wrong way. Don't know what Mika saw in him, even for a month."

"Mom said Tara got married? To a doctor?"

"Denise. Used to be a shrink, old world. Now more of a GP. Got a kid by Siddiq. He's our other doctor."

"What do you mean, they've got a kid by him?"

"Denise popped it out, but it's their kid. Hers and Tara's. Siddiq's the sperm donor."

Sophia's eyes widened. "How do you have the technology to do artificial insemination?"

"We don't. He had to donate it the old-fashioned way."

"And Tara was okay with that?"

"Denise really wanted a baby," Daryl explained. "Tara couldn't give her one. And Denise claimed she didn't enjoy it none. Only took three times. Guess Siddiq's boys can swim real good. And they mapped it out or something. The right time to make the donation."

Sophia shook her head. "And what about Duane? Mom says he lives at the Hilltop?"

"Yeah."

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

"What is this?" Daryl asked. "Romance hour? How come you didn't ask your mama these questions?"

Sophia smirked. "Because it's a lot more fun to ask you."

Daryl smiled and ducked his head. It felt good to have Sophia tease him again. "Dunno. If he's got a girl, I ain't heard about it."

"What about Father Gabriel? What's he up to?"

"You mean has he got himself a girl? Yeah. Name's Anne."

"What's she like?"

"Strange," Daryl replied. "Used to live in a garbage dump and call herself Jadis."

Sophia chuckled. "I think I'm going to need to get my social details from Mom."

"It's true!"

When they were halfway between two cabins, a ways from any people in the plaza, Daryl strolled to a stop. "Hold up. Need to talk serious for a minute."

"About what?" Sophia asked nervously as she turned to face him.

"Think you know 'bout what. 'Bout the damn elephant in the room we all been dancin' 'round all day. 'Bout the fact your mama and I, we want you and Koo to come back to Alexandria and settle with us. But your aga-daba-doo and your boyfriend with the good tobacco, they want you to stay here with the tribe."

Sophia picked under a fingernail and looked like she was about to cry.

"Listen," Daryl said softly. He took a step closer. "Your mama and I…we talked 'bout this outside while you were nursin' Koo. We both know this ain't easy for ya. Got your heart torn in two directions. And we just want ya to know, what Wohali said at dinner, all that sacrifice bullshit, we ain't askin' that of you. We ain't askin' you to sacrifice a damn thing for us. We ain't gonna love you one speck less if you decide to stay here. And if you do, we're gonna come back every fall. Stay a while to hunt and visit. See you. See our grandson. Bring your little brother, too. We'll pitch our own tent if we need. We'll do it every year, year after year, no matter how much game comes back to Alexandria, no matter who comes with us or doesn't."

Sophia had begun to cry quietly.

Daryl put a hand on each of her shoulders and looked in her eyes. "Of course we'd love ya to come back with us. But we know you built a life here. So take your time to think 'bout what you really want. You ain't got to decide tonight. We're gonna be here a week huntin'. And when you do decide, know if you choose to stay with this tribe, you ain't got to sacrifice your favorite doll to do it. 'Cause we ain't askin' ya to. Understand that? All we're askin' is for you to do whatever it is that makes you happiest. And then we'll be happy, too."

A sob ripped through Sophia now. "Thank you," she choked through her tears. "Thank you, Daddy."

That Daddy just about exploded his heart.

"I love you, Soph. Never stopped. Never will." Daryl drew her to him in a hug.

"I love you, too." She threw her arms around his neck and wet his shoulder with her tears.