Note: This is a sequel to the story "Train Up A Child".

Under a sun of molten gold, in a land so foreign to her it might as well have been China, Casey Wells stood in the hard packed yard of a home station and watched as freight was unloaded from the back of a stagecoach.

I'm a million miles from home, she thought, and her fingers strayed to the little square of cardboard pinned to her jacket. The card read, "Cassandra Wells, age 10. Deliver to town of Four Corners, New Mexico Terr."

She was just another parcel to be delivered.

"Not far now, Missy," the driver told her. The small trunk holding her clothes had been pulled out and placed on the ground. "This'll go on your next coach. You'll stay here tonight, and tomorrow take the branch line to your town."

"Four Corners?" Casey turned a bright face to the driver. Was she really almost there? Throughout her trip, first by train, then by stage, conductors, station keepers and drivers had made sure the little girl traveling on her own got off and on where she was supposed to. Now she was being told the long journey was near its end. The coach she had just vacated would be gone soon, and tomorrow she would board a different one – the one that would take her to Four Corners.

"Yep. T'ain't far at all."

Casey gazed around. The travel here had taken her through ever amazing changes of scenery. Sometimes the stage drove through rocky terrain, gouged and gutted, then heaved up into row after row of colorful mesas. Sometimes there were long flat stretches of land covered by pale grasses, studded with bushes and strange spiky plants Casey could not begin to name. But her favorite thing was the mountains. She had never seen mountains before, but in this territory, they seemed always to be there, hemming the world, even when they showed only as smudges of blue or lavender in the far distance. The course of the journey had taken her through some of those mountains, and the beauty of them took her breath away.

Thanks to the talk around her, Casey learned new words along the way: Adobe. Cholla. Mesa. And arroyo, the deep gullies that were dry but could fill up in a trice and flood if it rained hard enough.

She'd found a tattered dime novel under her seat. "Texas Tomboy" was the outrageous tale of a young girl of the West who ran afoul of cattle rustlers, hid in a cave, and was stalked by a mountain lion. Casey knew her own destination, Four Corners, was truly the "wild west" and only a day's ride from the Mexican border. As the stages she rode went ever west, ever south, she read the novel and imagined herself riding into adventures.

Back home she'd been nothing but an orphan girl, and apparently a bother to the couple tasked with finding her a home. When it was discovered there was an aunt living in far-off New Mexico, Mrs. Sneed was furious. Now, instead of being soon rid of the girl, there was extra work to be done. Correspondence back and forth with this Nettie Wells, with long waits between letters. Travel arrangements to be made. New shoes and traveling clothes to be bought, so no one could accuse the upstanding Sneeds of dressing the girl like a ragamuffin. In those uncertain weeks, everything in the home Casey had shared with her grandfather was sold. She was allowed to keep nothing but her clothes and a Bible.

"You have many expenses," Mrs. Sneed informed her. "The bank is taking the house. You owe the undertaker and the grocer."

"How much more do I owe?" Casey asked. "Mr. Andersen bought the mare and the cow and the chickens. That was supposed to pay – "

Mrs. Sneed had never yet struck Casey, but she did now. She slapped her face, hard. "I've had enough of your insolence, child. It's not your place to question the decisions of grown men and women. You have no idea what difficulties your stay here has brought us. The travel to your aunt's place will cost a great deal of money. And who do you think paid for those shoes you're wearing?"

Casey touched her reddened cheek. "You said, the church..." she whimpered.

"Then you owe the church for the charity extended to you, and my husband and I will be reimbursed for all the costs of boarding you."

Casey blinked in confusion. She thought charity was given for free, not something she was supposed to pay back. Besides, time and again, she'd been told she was a penniless child with no business inquiring into the disposal of her grandfather's things.

One day, she stood across the street from her home as townspeople came and went, pawing through her family's belongings and paying the man who was in charge of clearing the house. Everything was sold, from the buggy in the shed to the preserves on the pantry shelves. None of the money went to her. A day later at the Sneeds', she heard a familiar chime from the parlor. When she peeked in, she saw her family's clock on a side table. The pretty pillows embroidered by her mama adorned the Sneeds' settee. Casey did not set foot in the parlor again.

-o-

Vin Tanner was a young man, not yet twenty, but he'd been roughing it his whole life. Orphaned at a young age, he'd lived where he could, and took what jobs there were, lately a stint driving for a small stage line. Being outside, moving all the time fit with Vin's nature. But the job itself wearied his mind. He wasn't a man made for schedules, or the tedium of traveling the same roads back and forth without end. It got to where a man could swear he knew not only every dip and rock in the road, but every anthill as well. Vin had grown restless, wondered what might be waiting for him elsewhere. He wanted to head north, lay his far-seeing eyes on what was over the next hill. He'd given notice to the stage line, and had one last run to make. The branch line looped through a string of mining camps and small towns to deliver mail, freight, and what few passengers wanted to tag along. Vin's last run would be an easy one.

He was doing his walk-around, inspecting everything from the four horses and their harness to the grease on the coach axles. No passengers had boarded. In a minute, Vin would climb up on the box and be on his way.

"Hold up!" Bard, the station keeper, was hurrying across the yard. Behind him, a little mite of a girl tried to keep up, a canvas bag in one hand, slouchy felt hat in the other. Bard chuckled as they drew near. "Almost didn't get her out the door, the way my wife was fussing over her, but this here's your one passenger. Get her to Four Corners."

With a short nod, Vin took in the appearance of the little girl. Eight, maybe ten years old, with a fresh round face. Brown pigtails looking so tidy he figured Bard's wife had re-braided them. The girl wore a blue calico dress, long black stockings with sturdy shoes, and a corduroy jacket with a note attached. He was used to this. Folks sent little kids off alone on the regular.

"Just drop her at the station?" he said. "Any certain person?"

"Mrs. Nettie Wells," the girl piped up. She darted past Bard to face Vin, shining brown eyes round with excitement. "My aunt. Do you know her? I'm going to stay with her."

Vin allowed himself a grin. No doubt this little gal was a lively one. "No, miss, I don't, but reckon someone there does." He gestured toward the horses. "Me and them'll get ya to her." He reached out. "Stow the bag?"

But the girl stepped back, pulling the bag tight to her chest as she shook her head.

"She doesn't let that far from her sight," said Bard. He opened the door of the stagecoach. "Hop in, Missy."

"That your name? Missy?" said Vin.

The girl lowered the bag a bit, exposing the note on her jacket. She loosened one hand to point at the card. "This is me. It says, Cassandra Wells, age 10. Deliver to Four Corners, New Mexico Territory." She lifted her chin. "I know my own name and where I'm going. But guess it's so if I die or get killed or something, they'll at least know where to send me for the burying."

Vin was amused by this. He touched his hat and ushered her into the stagecoach. "Well, C'Sandra Wells, age ten, it's my job to see you don't need buryin'."

-o-

Along her trip, Casey had loved watching when the horses were switched out at various stops. The teams were not matched, but all were pretty to Casey; she loved horses. One of the other drivers had invited her to ride on the box with him, and she was hoping this new driver would too, so she could watch the team at work, but he hadn't said anything. Finally, at one stop, she asked if she could ride up top. The driver looked at her, then off across the station yard, squinting, and shrugged. "Climb on up."

They hadn't been on the road for more than a minute when she started to chatter. "What's your name? You know mine, except I go by Casey, not Cassandra. What's yours?"

"Vin."

"Vin what?"

"Just Vin. Make it Vin."

"I'm going to be with my aunt in Four Corners."

"Yeah, you said that."

Casey squirmed a little on the seat. The other driver had told her some of the men didn't really care to have passengers ride with them, and weren't much for talking. Maybe Vin was one of those. She sneaked a look at him. Young and handsome, he wore a wide brimmed hat. Wavy brown hair swept his shoulders and ruffled with the moving air, and Casey thought the blue of his eyes was prettier than the sky. Back at the station, when she saw him smile, her ten-year-old heart had been stolen. She wanted to see his smile again. "I'm ten," she said. "How old are you?"

He slid a look at her, but didn't answer. Casey plowed on. "You put me in mind of the butcher's son back home. He said he was 19."

"I might be about that."

"Don't you know? How come? Where you from? Around here?"

Vin turned and studied her with a steady gaze, then tipped his chin up with a tight smile and said, "I can tell you ain't from around here."

This was not the smile or the tone she had hoped for. Casey frowned. "Why? How can you tell?"

" ' Cause them ain't polite questions to ask people out here."

Surprised, Casey snapped her mouth shut and crossed her arms over her chest. She'd been put in her place. It didn't stop her from asking a moment later, "Why not?"

Vin drew in a breath and blew it out through his teeth. "It ain't your business. Some folks come west to get a new life. Maybe got things they want to forget about where they come from."

"Oh." Casey hung her head, wondering if he was mad at her. She lapsed into quiet, thinking how she had a new life, too. But it wasn't of her choosing, and she certainly didn't want to forget anything about the old one.

After a time, Vin glanced her way. "Look here," he said, and he sounded a little nicer. He held his hands up. "Each one of these horses has its own set of reins." He spoke in a soft drawl. "Some drivers call 'em the ribbons."

Casey lifted her head, listening. Ribbons - she liked the sound of it.

"Now, to you, it might look like these ole horses just drive their selves." Vin smiled a little. "But I gotta control each one separate." He showed her how he held each set of reins between his fingers in a special way in order to do that. "I need to pay attention to things, Casey. The road, the horses, all the sounds the coach makes when we're runnin' along. I don't mind a little talk, but it can be a distraction."

"All right," Casey said. "I understand." After that, she barely spoke; instead, concentrated on the road and tried to catch the barely perceptible movements Vin made as he controlled the horses with the ribbons and the brake. And the stage rocked along, through the increasing heat of the day, drawing ever closer to Four Corners.

-o-

At the meal stop, Vin ate quickly and went back outside to inspect the coach. Somehow, he was not surprised to turn around and find Casey right behind him. He had to give the kid credit – she had listened to him and stopped her chatter when he told her it caused a problem. And she didn't squeal or grab his arm when the stage jolted over a rough patch, or the horses swerved around some obstacle, the way some kids or even adults did. Now she'd climbed inside the coach and come out with her bag. "Can I still ride up top?" she asked. "I want this with me."

Vin eyed the canvas bag. It was a ragged thing, with loop handles, and open at the top with no closure. "Ain't you worried stuff will fall out? Whyn't you keep it in the back?"

Casey waved a hand. "I can put it under the seat. It'll be all right there. I just – like to keep an eye it. It's got my most important things." When Vin didn't ask her to elaborate, she did anyway. "Want to know what those things are?"

He did wonder why she wanted it so close. "Sure."

"Well, first off, Reverend Sneed gave it to me when I left. He said I should carry my Bible in it, 'cause he was sure I'd want to "read it for comfort on the journey".

This last bit was said in a ponderous tone, and Vin grinned. "Did ya?"

"Um, no," Casey admitted, and shrugged her shoulders. "It's not... well, I don't want to say anything blasphemous, but it's not very fun to read."

Vin chuckled.

"But," she explained, "it was my Grandpa's, so it's a precious thing. I actually have three precious things." She set the bag on the ground and lifted out the Bible. "Besides the Bible, there's this." Awkwardly, she held the book in one hand while pulling a card from between the pages. She handed it to Vin and he studied the sepia colored photograph. A man and a woman looked out at him, faces unsmiling, but gentle. "My parents," Casey said. Softly, she added, "They died."

So the kid was an orphan. Vin handed the card back and turned his eyes toward her. "A picture of your folks," he said. "It's a fine thing to have." He thought Casey's face puckered a little then, and he sure didn't need her to start crying. "What's the third thing?" he said quickly.

Solemnly, she placed the photograph back in the Bible, riffled some pages and found a folded sheet of paper. "This. It's a letter – want to read it?"

"No time for that now."

"Then I'll tell you what it says." Casey brightened, tucking the letter away and returning the Bible to the bag. "I have an aunt in Four Corners. I've never seen her in my whole life, but you know what she wrote? She said I was dear to her heart and can come live with her."

To Vin's mind, that made the letter the most precious of the three things. Having a place to go, with someone who wanted her? Well. He felt a tug of melancholy, but shook it off. Briskly, he told Casey, "Time to go, kid. Hop up."

Back on the box, as they set off, Casey plunged a hand into the bag and brought out an apple. "Got one more thing in here."

Vin smiled again. "That precious to ya too?"

"No. Silly. Mrs. Bard gave it to me. Want to split it?"

The meal they'd been served at the station was greasy and tasteless. The apple was fat and rosy. Vin bunched the lines in one hand to pull a small jackknife from his pocket, and he passed it to Casey.

Setting the apple on the seat, she began to cut at it. "I used to have a knife like this," she mused. "But the Sneeds took it away. Said knives are only for boys." She sighed. "They took a lot of things. Mama's clock. Pretty things she made. Everything." With a crack, the apple snapped in two. "There." Casey wiped the blade on her sleeve, refolded the knife, and set it on the seat with Vin's half of the apple. She turned to the side, looking at scenery while munching on her own share.

Somberly, Vin noted the pensive slump to her shoulders, and thought of all the ways things can go wrong when a young one needs a new home. "That ain't right, what they did," he murmured. He didn't know who "the Sneeds" were, but was glad Casey was now far away from them.

"Vin," Casey said a minute later. She squared her shoulders and straightened up. "How far does this stagecoach go?"

"It's a branch line. Goes right back to Bard's place."

"Oh. Well, do you think they'd give me a job there? I'm pretty good with horses. Because, you know, if Aunt Nettie turns out to be not nice – like the Sneeds – if I have to, I could go back there and get a job."

"She'll be nice," Vin said, though he had no conviction.

"So, I was thinking," Casey went on. "She'll be waiting there in Four Corners, and when I see her, if she looks mean, I won't even get off – just keep riding. Do you think a person can do that? See another person standing across the street and know what they're like just by looking at them?"

"Sometimes," said Vin. "If you look 'em in the eye."

-o-

The sun disappeared under increasing clouds. At the next stop, Vin made Casey get back inside. For over an hour, he'd been attentive to distant thunder, and monitored a bank of black clouds behind them, from which trailed long braids of rain. The fact he managed to keep the horses ahead of the storm told him it was slow moving, dropping profuse rain over its course. But now the clouds overhead had grown darker, too. With a rush of cool air, leaves on the trees fluttered, then began to lash harder.

The road ran along a deep dry wash bordered by heavy brush, rocks, and scant trees. There was no place to shelter, nothing to do but urge the horses on, keep moving, hoping still to stay ahead of the storm. But that didn't happen. Light flickered in the clouds. Vin felt a distinct unease, an ominous tingling in his limbs. His scalp prickled, then suddenly, a tree ahead of him literally exploded, hurling shattered bark and wood in all directions. The top half of the tree, flaming, landed only yards from the stagecoach.

Terrified, the horses cut hard to the left and veered from the road. Vin struggled to stop them as they plunged through thick brush, headed toward the wash. At the rim of the wash, the lead horses balked, but momentum carried their burden on. The heavy wheels of the coach met the crumbling edge – next moment it was going over. A hard jolt threw Vin from the box. Careening down the rocky grade, the wagon pole snapped. The coach overtook the panicked horses, sideswiped a boulder, and tipped on its side, wheels still spinning.

Vin scrambled to his feet, mercifully unhurt. Over the rumble of thunder came the agonized sounds of mortally injured horses, and his blood ran cold. He raced to the edge of the wash, shouting. "Casey!" Then he was skidding down the steep embankment, grasping at tree roots, plant stalks, whatever he could get hold of to control his descent. At the sandy bottom, he swiped long locks of hair from his eyes and stumbled on. "Casey!"

The stagecoach lay on its side, a battered mess. Vin rushed forward. The door came open, slowly, like a trapdoor, and Casey's head appeared. To Vin, she looked like a miracle – a baby bird hatching from its egg.

There was a bloody scrape on her forehead. Her voice came out small and bewildered. "I hit my head on the ceiling." Vin pulled the trembling girl up and out, and set her on the ground. She looked at him with wide eyes. "You're not hurt, Vin?"

"I'm all right. But – " He glanced toward the horses. Two were obviously dead. The others heaved and writhed, making piteous sounds. Casey leaned to see where Vin was looking. He pushed her back. "Get behind. By the boot, and stay there." When she was out of sight, moments apart, the shots rang out.

Casey screamed.

Then the rain came. In torrents.

Lightning flashed, again and again. Casey ran to the side of the coach, scrambled up, and jumped inside. Vin followed, dropping in. The door slammed shut above them. In the cramped quarters, Casey huddled, crying, crushed into a corner as she tried to escape rain pouring through the windows. "This ain't no shelter," Vin said. He squatted on his heels, wary, prepared to move. The relentless drum of rain on the wall was deafening. Vin closed his eyes, alert, barely breathing, trying to hear beyond the sound. Thunder rumbled, growing and constant. He imagined the noise as a predator, rolling closer, carrying who knew what with it. Was there something more – a distant flood roar maybe? He didn't know. He didn't know! His hands balled into fists. They couldn't stay here. "Get out!" he barked.

Casey's head snapped up. "No!" She had a grip on the upended seat, and tightened her hold.

He reached, meaning to catch hold of her, explain, but she jerked away. "I won't go anywhere with you!"

"Get yourself over here," he ordered.

"No!" she screamed. She shook her head till her braids swung. "I hate you! I hate you and I won't go with you!" Defiantly, she pulled back even farther, folding herself up small.

Vin felt a flair of anger, and something else – impatience. His arm shot out, he grabbed her wrist. "You been goin' along with me all day," he gritted out. "Now suddenly ya hate me?"

"You killed the horses!"

What? Vin stared in astonishment. The horses?! The hell kind of nonsense? Whatever – there was no time for it."We're gettin' out of here now!" He yanked Casey's arm, and she stiffened. Furiously, she slapped at him.

Vin let loose; let his hand drop. Tantrum or not, he would not forcibly drag this child unless he had to.

"They're dead," Casey sobbed. "They were good horses, and pretty, and now they're dead! Why did you do that, Vin? Why did you?" She collapsed forward, whining. "I want my mama...I want to go home..."

A flash of lightning filled their small space, illuminating how Casey lay in a pitiful heap. Vin sagged, realizing. It ain't the horses. He closed his eyes. It was not the horses Casey cried for. She was orphaned, lost. She wanted her ma. He knew exactly how that felt.

He took a steadying breath. Vin had little experience, didn't really know how, to comfort a child. Tentatively, he maneuvered closer in the cramped, crooked space. Kneeling as best he could, he placed both hands on her shoulders and spoke gently. "Casey girl, you know as well as I do what killed those horses. It was the fall. The lightning spooked 'em and they fell and got hurt. You're right, they was good horses, but I had to send 'em to their reward. You know I had to."

That was enough to be said; long discussions were not his way. He became silent as Casey seemed to calm. Moments later, she looked up, into his waiting eyes. She nodded and leaned into him then, her face pressed to his shirt. "I know," she whispered. Vin laid a hesitant hand on her head. He stroked her hair, the way his own ma had done for him long ago. For only a second, though; they couldn't wait longer. He pulled away. "I know it's hard to understand, but a flood could gush through here, smash this coach up and drag us off 'fore we even heard it comin' "

"The lightning." Casey's voice quavered. "I'm scared of it."

"Can't risk a flood." Vin made ready to haul himself up and out, and stretched a hand toward her. "We're climbin' outta this place. Now."

The opposite side of the wash was less steep, but still no easy climb. The two picked their way slowly up the slick slope, bringing only a canteen and the coach gun. The most fearsome brunt of the storm had passed, but the rain remained steady. When at last they reached the rim, clambering back onto flat earth, they paused, looking across to the road on the other side.

"What do we do?" said Casey.

"Keep goin'. If it don't flood, and there's a place where the slope is easy, we can get back across."

Vin kept his stride short, leading the way over ground, rock studded and uneven, with scattered clumps of bunch grass. Casey trudged behind as the rain finally settled into drizzle. Her sodden muddy shoes squelched with every step. At last, where the arroyo widened, they were able to quickly cross. The day had waned to dusk, and Vin peered, searching, through the gloom. It would soon be dark. Both he and Casey were thoroughly soaked, shivering, filthy. He knew the little girl was exhausted. He knew, too, from his many times traveling this road, that there was a homestead nearby.

Minutes later, he saw a faint light.

-o-

Casey woke to sunlight slanting over the floor to touch her face. Pushing a quilt away, she sat up and looked around a large whitewashed room. She had spent the night on a pallet, and found herself barefoot, wearing a nightgown ten times too large. The house was cool and silent, no one else in sight. Her clothes were hanging on a nearby chair. Quickly, she got up to change, then padded to the door where, outside, she found her shoes, cleaned and placed in the sun to dry. It surprised her how much warmer it was out here than inside the stout walls of the adobe house. The sky overhead was clear and blue, the sun high – it must be near ten o'clock.

Across the farmyard, horses stood in a cottonwood shaded corral, and in front of a barn, hens pecked at the ground. The barn door was half open. When Casey pulled on it, the door swung farther open with a creak. In the cool shadows inside, a woman turned. "So you're finally awake!" She came forward with a broad smile, hands outstretched. "Little girl, pobrecita, you slept so long, so hard. Do you feel better now?"

Casey hung back. Her memories of the night before, arriving at this house, the kind people taking them in, were a jumble. But she remembered this warm voice, and the long gray-black braid that went down the woman's back. "Where's Vin?" she asked shyly.

"The men will be back soon, don't worry. Come and eat now. You must be very hungry." The woman ushered Casey back to the house where she cleaned her hands at a wash bench outside the door. Inside, she fetched eggs and a pitcher of milk, and set a frying pan to heat on the stove.

"Where am I?" Casey said at last.

The smile came again. "My house. I'm Señora Luna, but you may call me abuela if you wish. It means grandmother."

"Abuela," Casey whispered. "Grandmother." She felt a pang of homesickness. "My grandpa – he died."

"A sad thing," said Sra. Luna. "Mr. Tanner said you're on your way to a new home."

Blinking, Casey nodded. "I'm to go live with my aunt. We were almost there, and then – oh!" She turned away, scrubbing furiously at her eyes, determined not to cry. She was a girl of the West now, like the Texas Tomboy in her book, and she wanted to be just as courageous. "Let's not talk about it, please," she mumbled.

Sra. Luna patted Casey's shoulder, then handed her a little towel. "Go get ready for the day."

Outside, Casey found the privy, then returned to the house. At the wash bench, she poured water, warm from the sun, into a basin. Casey wondered, as she washed, if she would be offered the same unfamiliar food as last night, what Vin called tortillas and frijoles refritas. Last night, as they stood at this same bench, he had spoken to her in a low tone. "The food they put in front of you, no matter what it is, you eat without a fuss. When folks share what they got, you don't insult 'em by turnin' it down. Understand?"

She had answered meekly. "Yes, Vin." In the end, whether she liked it or not was of no matter; she had practically fallen asleep over her plate. Too tired to eat, she let Señora Luna wrap her in a huge nightgown and put her to bed.

The smell of frying eggs and onion wafted from the house. Casey's stomach growled as she hurried to dry off. In a small mirror above the stand, she saw that her hair ribbons were gone, the pigtails loose and mostly undone. She ran her fingers through her hair again and again, pulling out what braiding was left and working at snarls.

Sra. Luna appeared at the door. "Come in, little one. After you eat, I will braid your hair."

-o-

The top of the tree still lay in the road, vast debris littering a wide swath of ground. Vin and Sr. Luna used horses and rope to move the tree from the road, where it couldn't cause another accident. Vin didn't want anyone else to come upon it unexpected while rounding the bend, and end up like they had.

He stood at the rim of the wash, looking down at the destroyed coach. Someone would come looking for the stage that never showed up in Four Corners. He didn't know how soon it would be, but until then, the bulky mailbags, other freight, and Casey's trunk would sit at the bottom of the arroyo. If the rain had been as heavy to the north as he suspected, there was still the threat of flooding, even these many hours later.

"I'm obliged for the help with the tree," he said. "But I ain't done. There's things down there I have to get. Reckon I'll go back up the other side like before, and walk back to your place."

Luna studied the grade. "No need for that. The rope we have won't reach the bottom, but it'll go far enough to get you down and up the steepest part." Vin nodded, grateful for the man's help. They tied the rope to the nearest solid tree they could find, and Vin started down.

Once more, he found himself at the bottom of the wash, at the site of yesterday's nightmare. On the way down, he found his hat and the coach whip among some rocks. Now he turned his attention to the stagecoach. The company would send a crew, salvage what they could, and at some point, Casey would get her trunk back. It was still in the back boot, along with the heavy canvas bags of mail. He recovered two small leather mailbags that contained letters, and set them aside for his climb to the top.

Vin stood surveying the eerily quiet scene around him. The window curtains of the stagecoach moved with a slight shushing sound. Casey's bag, thrown from the coach, was several yards away. Nearby, her grandpa's Bible lay open, pages flipping with soft whispers in the light breeze, half of them gone and blown across the land. When Vin picked it up, the soggy cover fell off in his hands. The fragile pages disintegrated at the touch of his fingers. Even though he knew little about books, Vin felt this one couldn't be saved. But between what pages were left, he found what he was looking for. It was wet, though with care, perhaps salvageable. Vin tucked the photograph inside his shirt.

-o-

Sr. Luna took them to Four Corners. Casey waved at Abuela until a rise in the road hid her from view. Then she settled down in the bed of the wagon to watch hawks ride the warm air drafts overhead. Sr. Luna was assuring Vin he needed to make a trip to town anyway and this was a good day for it. He reeled off a list of errands. Casey wondered if it was made up. She would never forget the kindness of the Lunas.

Or the kindness of Vin. The men had returned just as Casey finished her breakfast. Nothing could describe the joy she felt when Vin showed her the photograph. She wanted to throw her arms around him, hug him with all her might, but stopped herself. Vin was the quiet sort, not the kind for that. He would probably pull away, embarrassed, and then she would be embarrassed too. Instead, she smiled as big as she could, her throat so tight she could barely get out the words "thank you." Vin had smiled then, too, and she knew he was glad to have made her happy.

The card was now wrapped loosely in a soft cloth. It was still wet, fragile, and the only one of her precious things left. She had nothing else to bring with her to Four Corners. The Bible, destroyed. The letter from Nettie Wells, lost, blown to the four winds. It was a sobering thought. The letter was proof that Aunt Nettie wanted her, had once said she was dear to her heart. What if, after all this long trip, something went wrong and now Aunt Nettie wouldn't take her?

The road was bumpy, but on the two hour ride to town, in the heat of the afternoon, Casey fell asleep on a pile of burlap bags. The quickened pace of the horses woke her, along with Sr. Luna's laugh. "They know where the water is."

Vin turned on the seat to speak to Casey. "Just about there."

Half a mile ahead, a cluster of buildings baked in the sun. Casey leaned forward with excitement, watched anxiously, but as the wagon rolled on, her spirits dropped at what she saw. The road to town traversed flat grassy land, but the grass seemed to end at the city limits. Two rows of wooden buildings, unpainted, weather beaten and ugly, lined the wide muddy street. At the other end of town, a neglected looking church nearly hid the glimpse of a lone tree. Casey gazed about in dismay. "This?" she said faintly, "is Four Corners?" Unbidden, an image of her faraway hometown sprang to mind: tidy houses with painted fences and grassy yards, well-kept business fronts on the main street. This town, all brown and gray and without a shred of grass, was supposed to be her new home. It didn't look like a home at all.

She walked with Vin to the telegraph office where he sent a message to the stage company. Then they headed to the local stage office. Vin delivered the two mailbags and spoke quietly to the man there, explaining the situation. He indicated Casey. "This here is C'Sandra Wells. Age ten. Likely her aunt is lookin' for her." Casey clapped a hand to the card on her jacket and looked down. After a day in the rain, the ink was completely illegible. She could have been anyone.

"Miz Wells was here yesterday," the agent assured. "She waited till dark, but had to go home and tend her stock. Set yourself down. She'll be along."

Casey sank onto a bench outside and gazed solemnly at Vin. "This town," she said. Her voice came out low, unsure. "It's not anything like home. I'm not sure how I can live here."

Vin let his eyes drift over the uninviting scene and understood her apprehension. He much preferred the clean open spaces of nature. He looked down at Casey. Her face was a picture of questions and doubt, yet her chin was firm; she didn't cry. Even yesterday when she did cry, she'd had the grit to fight him, and when finally she understood the need, climbed out of that arroyo and followed him without complaint. He reckoned the girl had what it would take to make a life here. "Can't say I've ever been in a place long enough to call it home," he told her. "But I think maybe the way it works is, if ya do – stay long enough – it comes to be a home in your mind."

"You've never done that? Stayed?" Casey fiddled with a button on her jacket. "Maybe someday you will. Maybe even here."

Vin shrugged. "Not likely. Soon as I get things about this stage mess straightened out, I'm headed north."

A young boy ran past them and dashed into the building. A second later the station agent appeared at the door. "Answer to your telegram's here." As Vin ducked into the office, the agent gestured down the street. "And there's Miz Wells now."

Casey hadn't noticed the coming wagon while she was busy talking with Vin. It was close now, pulling to a stop across the street. The driver set the brake and climbed from the buckboard. She was about fifty, grave-faced, wearing a wide brimmed farm hat and other country garb – a man's flannel shirt over a split skirt. Her eyes fell immediately upon Casey.

On the boardwalk, Casey sat rigidly, nervous, didn't know if she was supposed to approach the wagon or wait for the woman to come to her. But she couldn't stop herself; she hopped up and ran across the street. Mute, she stood before her aunt, who returned Casey's frank stare with clear, light colored eyes, brows raised in a slight show of curiosity. Matter-of-factly, Nettie Wells said, "I'm guessing you're Cassandra," and Casey whispered, "Make it Casey. I go by Casey."

Nettie gave a quick nod. "Casey it is. And I'll go by Aunt Nettie." She glanced toward the boardwalk. "No baggage?"

Oh. So Aunt Nettie did not know why the stage was delayed. Casey was suddenly able to speak. The words spilled out like water over rocks. "It's still with the coach! The stagecoach crashed! It stormed - there was lightning - I was scared! We had to climb out of a gulch in the rain and we walked and walked and walked. I thought I'd never be dry again! But we stayed with some nice people, the Lunas, and I learned some new words. Abuela means grandma. Frijoles are beans – " Abruptly, seeing Aunt Nettie smiling down at her, she stopped.

In the days to come, Casey would learn that Aunt Nettie did not usually smile big. Rather, she gave a small tilt of her head and tightened the corners of her mouth a mite. "Sounds like you had an adventure."

An adventure? Casey sure hadn't thought of it as one. What they'd been through, while it was happening, all it felt like was cold and mud, fear, misery and loss. They made it out, though, and Vin got her to Four Corners. If that's what an adventure was...well. She perked up. "I guess so."

"Ready to go?" Aunt Nettie gestured toward the buckboard. "I imagine you're wanting to see the place."

Casey looked up and down the street, wondering where "the place" was.

"Oh, it's not here in town," Aunt Nettie said. "It's in the countryside." Leaning down, she spoke low, as if sharing a joke. "There's grass and trees out there." She regarded Casey with a measuring look. "Did you bring boy's britches to wear?"

"No, ma'am."

"Well, then, we'll have to get you some." And Casey felt her heart soar.

Voices sounded from the direction of the stage office. Vin came out the door and stepped off the boardwalk, squinting into the glare and adjusting his hat. Casey saw him glance toward the bench and then over to her. She waved. "There's my friend Vin, Aunt Nettie. I have to say good-bye."

"Go ahead, but don't dally."

"I won't." Casey flew back across the street. When she got to Vin, she stopped and ducked her head. She didn't know what to say, didn't want this to be the last time she ever saw him, though surely it was.

There was a moment of silence, then Vin squatted down in front of her. "Got somethin' for ya." He opened his hand.

Her mouth fell open. "But that's yours!"

"I can get another. Figure a gal oughta have somethin' to carry in her pocket."

Flustered, Casey bit her lip. She accepted the gift, ran her thumb over the smooth brown handle of the jackknife before slipping it into her pocket. She would carry it always. "Thank you. I don't have anything to give you."

"Sure ya do. " Vin spoke softly. "Already did. A memory." He touched his temple. "I'll keep it right here." He stood up, nodding toward Aunt Nettie. "She's waitin' on ya."

Casey turned to look at the buckboard and the woman who was going to take her away in it. Away to her new life. There was no telling what that life would hold. She took a few steps, but whirled suddenly back. "Vin!" She grabbed his hand. Anxiously, she peered into his face, pleading, "Look at her, Vin. Can you tell? You said you sometimes can. Do you think it'll be all right?"

Across the street, her aunt waited, and when Vin tipped his head to turn his sky-blue gaze toward Nettie Wells, Casey somehow knew that their eyes met. It was for only a moment, but Vin nodded. He squeezed Casey's hand and smiled down at her. "I'm sure of it."

END